Chapter Four: The Uruk-hai
A/N: Extra-long chapter today, because…because it took so damn long for me to update. *pulls Phoenix Flight up* Alright, dearie, you can stop begging now. And SilentStep, please don't turn my soul to cereal. I kind of like it the way it is. ;)
"Urk!"
Amy's eyes flew open again. That was an unusual battle-cry. Usually, it was more "AAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!" or "YAAAAAAAAAAH!", or some other scream to incite fear and despair into the enemy's heart, not to mention to get the testosterone flowing. In fact, it almost sounded as if—
Amy blanched again. Slowly, she turned her eyes to the warrior.
Boromir—for now she was sure of his name—was swerving slightly above her, a large, black-feathered arrow protruding from his stomach. His face remained stern, but his eyes were filled with pain. He was fumbling with his sword with his right hand as his left clutched at his mortal wound.
Amy was speechless. Her mouth worked like a fish out of water's, but no noise came. This was far worse than the movie; hundreds of times worse, because this was real. That was real blood trickling out of the wound, not fake stage blood. Amy felt the urge to retch.
What are you waiting for? Now's your chance! Move, you idiot!
Thanking the voices in her head for being honest for once, Amy jumped to her feet and bolted. She heard Boromir roar with pain and rage as she fled up the hill again. He wasn't going to let her get away.
Amy ran. Boromir followed.
*Swish*
"Ah!"
Amy covered her face with her clawed hands as Boromir yelled in pain. A second black-feathered arrow had pierced his left side. His pace slackened for a moment, but he soon pressed on.
Amy was running without purpose. All she knew was that she had to get away from Boromir. Where would she be safe?
The orcs, you idiot!
Thanking the voice in her head and glaring at it for being so rude, Amy scrambled up the hill, when she heard loud voices, very much like her own, crying in some foreign language:
"Sharkey!"
What the hell?
Without warning, hundreds of orcs stormed out of the woods. Jet-black steel armor clanking, sword flashing, feet crushing the underbrush in a great stampede of sweating bodies and foul war-cries, they poured out of the forest by the dozens.
Swept up in the assault, Amy could do nothing but charge forward, caught up in the rush of so many bodies. A wave of black swept over the hill, and Amy could see fear in Boromir's eyes, even as he struggled to stand, straight and proud against his foes. That was the last time she saw him alive.
The assault ripped through the foliage, giving no thought to stealth or the element of surprise. There were a good two hundred orcs in this assault; nine men made little difference to them. Amy had seen what those nine men could do, though. She tried to work her way into the back.
Amy saw the shore of the Great River coming into view beyond the trees; the three Elven boats rested on the shore. The Fellowship was waiting.
Scarcely had the orcs begun to pour out onto the shore before the arrows of Legolas were flying. Amy could only watch in horror as her 'comrades' fell before her, green shafts sticking out of their heads and hearts. All too quickly, she noticed the pattern of the falling orcs.
Must duck, must duck, must duck-
Too late. The dark eyes of the Elf turned towards her, even as she sought a breach in the ring of orcs to flee. His hands moved faster than sight, yet it all seemed in slow motion to Amy: the drawing of the green-feathered arrow, the nocking of the arrow against the ash bow, the tightening of the white string-
Oh, God, no, I don't wanna die here at the hands of some Legolas-impersonator with brown hair…
The Universal Laws of Comedy kicked back in, none too soon. Another rule of canon was shattered at the same time.
Amy was so caught up in her panic that she didn't see the dead orc right in front of her. And, despite being a natural gymnast (or so she claimed), she, of course, tripped, her heels whirling into the air over her head.
This caused Legolas to miss for the first time in his life—badly.
"AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"
THERE'S AN ARROW IN MY BUTT!
Screaming, Amy fell to the ground on her face and clutched at her rear. If her taking an arrow to the rear was someone's idea of a sick joke, she was not laughing. Quite the opposite, she was howling in pain on the forest floor. The uruks simply ran around her, not caring about her obviously dire situation, as she dragged herself off to the side of the battle, hid under a sparse tree overhang, and began to administer her own crude form of first aid on her *ahem* wound.
Ow, ow…okay, Forces of the Universe! I've had it! Throwing me into Middle-earth half a mile above the ground was funny! Turning me into an orc was…amusing. Hitting me in the butt with an arrow is NOT COOL!
Cursing the Forces for obviously not caring about whether or not she found this situation funny, Amy began to gently tend to herself. Taking the shaft of the arrow in her fist, she tenderly began to move the weapon back and forth in a short arc, trying to pull it out of herself with minimal pain. She bit her lips with her fangs to keep herself from screaming and drawing attention to herself. Outside her little overhang, the battle raged on; the screams of pain and the stench of blood and orcs did not help her concentrate on her wound.
Alight, Amy, you're not going to do yourself any good by dragging it out like this…just pull it, already!
Cringing, Amy gave the arrow a yank. A bolt of pain ripped through her body, which quickly set into a dull throbbing in her hindquarters.
With a wince, Amy looked at the arrow. It was of excellent craftsmanship: adorned with green feathers on a smooth, perfectly-balanced wooden shaft, ending with a meticulously-shaped arrowhead, covered in black blood.
Her blood.
Amy felt a wave of nausea building in her lower stomach. Fighting to keep it down, she stuck the arrow in the dirt beside her and laid down in a fetal position under her overhang, one hand over her wound to stop up the steady trickle of blood, for lack of a better bandage.
The sounds of battle were starting to get fuzzy in her ears. Her heavily-lidded eyes managed to focus on an ant crawling beside her.
Awww, shit…I'm dying. From a flimsy little arrow to the ass. Man, thanks a lot, Forces of the Universe. You sure played with me a long time…
~*~*~*~
"Ow!"
Amy was in pain. Lots of it.
She was lying in the dirt, face-down. Her hand was still clutched over her wound, which had since scabbed up. Sticky black blood coated her hand, which she wiped off on the grass in disgust.
Dammit, why am I not home yet?
Pushing herself up and sitting back on her heels, Amy realized she was still in the same little overhang where she had pulled the arrow out of her rear. Said arrow was still lying beside her. Picking it up, she cautiously ventured out of the tree overhang.
Amy made a face. The carcasses of orcs were strewn about the wooded area, and the stench of blood was so strong it made her dizzy all over again. Flies were beginning to buzz into the clearing to feast, but so far, the bodies remained relatively untouched.
I guess I haven't been out for that long, she thought, moving through the corpses and clutching her sore spot gingerly. I guess the Fellowship must be gone off to rescue Merry and Pippin. Meh. I don't think I'll follow. I've had enough adventure for one lifetime.
Stretching and wincing slightly, Amy began to walk at a leisurely pace through the underbrush. I wonder if there's a bar anywhere near here.
The sound of laughter, ringing through the trees, reached her ears; also, the smell of cooking meat. Her stomach gave a loud growl. Blushing slightly, she pressed her free hand over it and wandered cautiously towards the trees were the laughter was ringing from.
Pushing aside the bushes with one hand, Amy gasped at what she saw inside the clearing.
Orcs.
Dozens of orcs, sitting around small campfires, holding what appeared to be a
feast of epic proportions. There were no less than five orcs at a fire, and,
from the sound of things, there were more orcs in the clearing beyond that.
Each orc was roasting a hunk of meat, eating a hunk, or carving a piece off of
a nearby carcass. There was also a great amount of laughter, chatter, and
singing among the ranks.
Amy smiled wryly. The orcs seemed so much like humans from her time: humans that went out to clubs and bars at night to celebrate nothing in particular, and were just looking for an excuse to have a good time and get smashed. She lifted an eyebrow at her own internal comparison. Why did the orcs have to be so much like humans? It gave her a rather foreboding feeling in the pit of her empty stomach. Carelessly, she shifted her weight to her other foot; a twig broke under it.
Every head in the clearing immediately turned towards her, and Amy's face paled as she realized what she had done. Aw, shit…
"Hai! You! Come join us!" A large orc was motioning her over. "Well, don't just stand there gawking! Come, take your spoils with the rest of us!"
Hesitantly, Amy pushed back the brush and stepped forward into the orc encampment, making her way towards the orcs that had called her over. The other orcs stared inquisitively at her, making her feel quite uncomfortable, as she sat down next to the orc that had called her over. He was quite large and hairy; and he was clad in black mail, gnawing on a bone. A human femur bone. Amy closed her eyes and wished against wishing that THAT image didn't have to be imprinted into her brain for the rest of her life. Gradually, the chatter around her resumed.
"Where am I?" Amy asked the orc, trying to look only at
his face and avoid staring at the bone he was chewing on. "And how can I
understand you?"
The orc glowered at her. "You're at the Hill, my duck; and what sort of
question is that?" it asked, moving the bone in and out of its mouth, as if
gnawing on some succulent treat.
"A foolish one, I should think," another orc said, sitting down beside this first one. This one was carrying a half-charred hand of a human male, which he immediately began to tear at with vigor.
"Oh my…God…" Amy turned away, trying to keep the bile from rising to her throat.
" 'God'? Who?" a third orc glared critically at her. "What is the matter with you, woman? What do you have to fear from some well-deserved fare?"
"It's just that it's all bloody and gross and—wait. 'Woman'? I'm female?"
The Uruk-hai stared at her as if she had a third arm growing out of her face. Finally, the second one spoke cautiously:
"You didn't know that?"
"Have you been confused this entire time?"
"…Well, yes. But that's beside the point! How do you tell a male orc from a female orc? They look the same to me."
The uruks stared at her.
Shut UP, you idiot! You're an ORC, remember? They think you've been an ORC for your entire life! Now, get your foot out of your throat and start acting orc-like!
"…Never mind."
The orcs stared skeptically at her before the fourth one spoke: "Where do you hail from, woman? We've not seen many like you 'round lately."
"Uh…East?"
"Ah! 'Ow is it over there?"
"…Sunny?"
The first orc made a face. "Sun. Bah. Here, have some Man."
Amy looked down at the bloody lump of flesh the uruk was offering her. There were tufts of dark hair sticking out of it in haphazard places, similar in color and texture to the hair of the warrior that had pursued her—Boromir.
"Erm…no thanks. I, um…ate a hobbit before I came here," Amy said, handing the bloody flesh back. "So," she said, sitting back on her rear, gripping her knees with her arms, and staring at the orcs, "what're your names?"
"Skaikûr," the first said, taking a moment from his bone-gnawing to speak.
"Azrat," the second one said, tearing at the meat that Amy had rejected.
"Múzhak."
"Bâzsnik."
"And what do they called you over in that 'sunny' East?" Skaikûr asked, throwing the bone over his shoulder at last.
"Umm…umm…ah…"
The orcs waited for a few moments before a knowing grin spread over Muzhâk's face.
"She didn't know her gender, and know she doesn't even know her own NAME!" he said with a roar of laughter, slapping Skaikûr jovially on the back. All four uruks collapsed into a fit of disturbing giggles. "I guess that standards to be a soldier aren't very high in the East, eh? Or did you just take a few to many whacks to the head with the flat side of a sword?"
"I know my name!" Amy said with a huff. "It's…ummm…ahhh…"
"If you know it, then say it, woman!"
"Stop calling me that!" Amy barked. "I'm…Grûsbálk!"
"Ah. Lovely name," Bâzsnik said sarcastically. "Why didn't you just say so?"
"She forgot," Azrat said simply, as if Amy weren't there. "I've heard that they're not the brightest stars in the sky, over there in the East, and now I've lived to see it proved."
"Stars. Bah."
"Elves. Bah."
"Hai!" A large orc came striding through the clearing where the Uruk-hai warriors were having their makeshift feasts. "There you are, you lazy slugs! Up! Get up, you! We're off to the Tower! Get up!"
"Why now, Uglúk?" another orc, feasting nearby, snapped. "We slew the warriors; why do we need to move now? There's no hurry! Those halflings aren't going anywhere."
"Who knows how many more of them there are? For all we know, those bloody-handed Elves-" -he said this word with a great deal of disgust-"-are on their way out of that accursed yellow wood right now. Get up, you maggots! And spread the word to the others. Or we'll be on our way without you." With that, Uglúk stomped away through the underbrush from where he came.
Grumbling, muttering, and snarling at their leader's arrogance, the uruks stamped out their small, scattered fires and gathered up their gear—all black with small, white devices on the helmets. The wooded area clinked and clanked with the noises of mail shirts being fastened up and warriors girding themselves with swords and battle-axes. In five minutes, the uruks were off again, running into the West. Amy found herself next to Azrat.
"So, umm…what'd he mean when he said 'we slew the warriors'? Only one warrior was supposed to die…"
"Not so, my duck!" Azrat laughed. "Sharkey wanted them all dead, and those halflings caught and brought back alive. That's what I've heard from Uglúk's mutterings, anyway; and," Azrat said with a sigh, "what Sharkey wants, Sharkey gets. Pity. Those halflings would make a dainty little dish, I'll wager." A roar of laughter went up through the ranks of the uruks. Amy felt herself growing ill again at the thought of those cute little hobbits being roasted over a fire…or worse, eaten raw.
"So, how many of the great warriors did we kill, anyway?" she asked, trying to sound orc-like.
"Aye, you didn't have that strong Western stomach, did you?" Azrat said with a laugh. "Not enough to face off with those bloody-handed Elves and keep your wits about you. Don't worry, Grûsbálk: we only need to rush now if we don't want to catch it from Sharkey, or that arrogant Uglúk. Fact is, we killed every single one. Captured all the halflings, too. Four dainty little dinners…"
Amy nearly fell flat on her orc face. "ALL of them?! All…" She counted quickly on her fingers. "…All four of the warriors? Even the Elf?"
"Elf!" Azrat spat on the ground in disgust. "Yes, killed 'im too. Took some time—just didn't seem to want to die. Quite a love of life in them Elves—but we got 'im after a while. What's wrong, Grûsbálk? You look like you've just been banished to the Black Pits!"
"I—I'm fine…" Amy said shakily, clutching her face (and digging it up with those claws something nasty) with one hand. "I just…ate some bad hobbit, that's all."
Azrat looked suspiciously at her, but turned his attention to the makeshift path and continued running.
Oh, God! What's wrong with this place?! This isn't right! Only Boromir is supposed to die! Not my precious Leggy! Even though he did shoot an arrow into my ass…but that's not the point! What matters is that something's terribly, terribly WRONG in this world! What's going on? Why did Frodo and Sam get captured, too? They were supposed to go off to Mordor together! Aww, that scene was so cute…no, FOCUS, Amy! Orcs! Fellowship dead! Ringbearer captured! Something is very, very wrong here! Not to mention the fact that I can understand these orcs…why couldn't I understand Boromir? What's different about these orcs that I can speak to them?
Desperate for answers, Amy once again turned her face skyward. The blue emptiness stared back at her through a mask of leaves, flecked with clouds and the occasional wayward bird. She squinted in the light that glared through various intervals in the tree canopy. Her orc's body was not taking kindly to the sunlight, now that she was in it. Her skin was itching and burning, and it got worse with every step she took. She was going to have to find some sort of shade, or this was going to become unbearable quite fast.
Looking around, she saw that there were no orcs to her right, where the sun was glaring in at a slight angle. There was only Azrat on her left; but he was very tall, and she could see that he cast a shadow large enough for her to run comfortable in.
"Azrat," she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Can I run it your shade?"
"Hmm?"
"The sun…it burns…"
Azrat furrowed his brow. "You can't take the sunlight?"
Amy shook her head.
"One would think you'd be able to take that in the East. Fine, then. Come here, Grûsbálk; no sense in driving yourself mad on the run 'cause of a little sunlight—annoying though it is."
Gratefully, Amy maneuvered herself around the orcs running behind her into the shade of Azrat's huge body. She gave a small sigh of content as the burning feeling against her skin abated drastically. She turned to him again.
"So, when do we get a break from all this running?"
"Nightfall, I suppose." Azrat muttered something in another language. "Stubborn Uglúk. Knowing him, we'll stop to make camp, and for no other reason."
"Great," Amy sighed, rolling her eyes. This was going to be one long, long run.
A/N: Rejoice, for I now have a website. Check out my bio.
Coming Up: Amy discovers the values of exercise. Hobbits make pouty faces.
Remember the Fords,
Simbelmynë
~Simmí~
