A/N: I'm sorry I took so long to update, and that this is such a short chapter. I was working during December, and now, guess what? My college timetable starts at 8am everyday and ends at 5pm. Very nice, huh? Grrr…
*cringes at Moonstone's glare* (See chapter 33 of Forbidden Wanderings by Moonstone Tears). I'm sorry! I'm sorry! And my apologies to Belthronding as well.
The Tale of an OrcEight: A Talk Between Old Friends
The halls of Doriath were built under the canopy of the huge trees claimed long ago by Elu Thingol as his own. Few rocks or boulders decorated it, the dwelling of the Sindar being formed more by the tightly intertwining branches and overlapping leaves of the trees. The trees had allowed Melian to shape their lower branches as well, so that many hallways of sorts were formed by the arches.
Finrod Felagund smiled and admired once again the work of one of the earliest Elves from the Awakening. He was bathed by sunlight at regular intervals as he walked, Thingol having convinced the trees long ago that the Elves needed light from Anor as well as of Ithil, and the trees had suffered gaps in their growth to allow light through.
Several of the Sindar greeted him and Finrod hailed them as they passed him. He came finally to a large hall, built partly from stone in some places, but covered by the trees and plant growth in others.
"Suilad, mellon nîn." Finrod placed a hand on his chest and bowed slightly. (Greetings, my friend.)
"Mae govannen!" (Well met/ Welcome) Thingol hurried down from where he sat to embrace the younger Elf. *It has been many months since I have seen you. How do you fare?* He led Finrod to a table laden with lembas, fruit and dried meat.
*I am well, Elu.* Finrod sat down with his friend. *How do you fare?*
Thingol shrugged. *Orcs have still been troubling my borders and the land, but we hold them away well.*
*Tell me, my friend, if I do not overstep myself, how the first Orcs came about.*
Thingol's face darkened and he turned his gaze upon his friend. *I have told you the tale before.*
*Again, please. I grow old, and my memory fails me some times.*
The king of Doriath did not respond to the jest, but merely shrugged again and acceded to his friend's request. As one of the Firstborn of Cuivíenen, he knew more about the birth of the Orcs than the later-born. He did not see himself how many of his kin had vanished, but he remembered the faces of many when they spoke in fear of those who had been taken.
*There is not much to speak of, as you know,* he said. *Mayhap a few hundred years passed after our awakening and we had formed speech. We knew no fear then, and many wandered the lands. When the first disappeared one night, we did not think much but that mayhap he had sought out new lands.
*But more were gone after the first, small by the count of the Elves, yet too many to ignore. I have gone with the others to seek out those who were lost, but I knew that they could not be returned.* His face clouded with the pain of a memory. *For one night, under the light of the stars, we went to search again, going further from the waters.
*I saw in the shadow of a wood eyes that gleamed yellow, and black, scarred skin. My companions did not see him—nay! it, and I did not speak to them of it.*
*Orc?* Finrod asked gently, laying a hand on Thingol's shoulder, having not heard this part before—his friend had always spoke of the tale quickly, though he knew not why Thingol would tell the full tale this day.
The Sindar sighed heavily. *Aye. I did not know it, then, but it was one. I was afraid of being attacked, but I saw in its eyes deeply my kin of old, who had been changed beyond recognition. It did not hurt me that night.* He closed his eyes and leaned back against his seat. *Why? What has happened to stir your interest again?*
Finrod smiled easily. *Naught, but my own capacity for curiosity.* A pause. *Do you think…maybe…*
Thingol exhaled, half with amusement and half with frustration. *Speak more plainly, my friend! It is unlike you to hesitate in speech.* He narrowed his eyes and poked the other Elf in the arm. *Are you truly my friend, Finrod? And not someone else?*
Finrod laughed, and jabbed his finger at the king's side. *Aye, I am he.*
*Are you?* Thingol rose from his seat and walked about his friend. *Bright hair and bright eyes, high nose, and…ah, yes. Pointed ears.* He clapped the other on his back. *You are truly Finrod.*
He pretended to cough. *You are trying to kill me with that slap on my back, Elu.*
The king chuckled and held a goblet of wine out. *Here. Our friendship is salvaged over this?*
Finrod took a sip, and found that the taste of the wine of the Sindar was as good as ever. *Aye, it is, for how can I refuse such fine wine?*
*Then you have drunk enough in all your visits to have salvaged our friendship even without this cup.*
*Nay, I would still want this.* Finrod kept his goblet out of reach, eyes laughing.
*I will not deny you that, my friend.* Thingol sat down, still smiling, apparently halting their brief fun. *Nor aught else that you wish for, if it be in my power. But come, you were about to ask a question.*
*Do you…do you think that any of the First could still live?*
Thingol shrugged. *I do not know.*