A/N: I'm terribly sorry I took so long for this chapter. Hope that it is to your (readers') satisfaction.
I used capital H for 'His, He' etc. in some places to emphasize that it's the Orc that I'm describing or him speaking, since Finrod is going to appear and two males (one without name yet) is going to be mighty confusing.
*…* = Quenya
"…" = Common Speech
The Tale of an Orc
Nine: Finding Out
Finrod walked towards Brethil, cloaked in dark green with a hood pulled over his face. The rays of Ithil were muted by some passing clouds, as if by his calling, and did not reveal him to any eyes that might have watched the lands.
His sword hung by his side, swinging gently with each stride he took, and two small knives were concealed on him.
He did not wish to go to Brethil so armed, but the forest was under the domain of Thingol, who was his friend, and who wished to see it safe. He had love as well for the People of Haleth, and wished no harm to befall them.
He had smelt its scent before, on the girl: Utíraiel, she was named; the scent which Firstborn and Secondborn alike hated. And he had seen the marks left on her that she could not see.
He did not know why she had not told them about the attack on her, but did not press her further.
But there was something different Finrod had smelt…a faint sense of Elvishness beneath the foulness of Orcs that led him to wonder about the first Orcs. Mayhap some would still live.
He halted for a moment. But even if he saw the First, and found it, what more? Should he slay it? Or would it be Elvish enough so that he could seek help for it, mayhap from Melian?
Finrod shook his head and continued on, the hilt of his long Elven knife gripped tightly.
***
Utíraiel sat on the log as usual, hearing the noises of hungry eating to the left of her. She grinned as she felt her hand being held up by His calloused one and her traveling pouch placed into her hand.
*Thank you,* she said.
A growl.
*What, you are not full still?* She laughed lightly.
*You…have aided me mu-much,* the rough but uncertain voice said. *T-thank y-y-you.*
Utíraiel smiled, feeling light of heart as His ways became gentler and He slowly gained back his use of speech. Her hand sought out His, touching the rough root of the tree ere His hand took hers. *Nay, there is no need for thanks.*
He was silent as her thumb felt the ridges on his palm, and the back of his hand. He allowed that, for it brought back remembrances of soft caresses beside a great silver lake. And he recalled that the time spent near that great lake was short.
The while shimmering from the waters of the lake from his memory soothed him, and he thought of the road that led to the lake, but he found that he had forgotten its path.
Utíraiel's thumb continued its exploring.
Darkness and the red of fire took the place of the lake, and dimness and greyness. And in that place came soft touches amidst the shadows and darkness.
He grunted.
The girl's thumb stopped. *What is wrong?*
*I-I remember a lake, and touches…*
Utíraiel felt an unexpected pain go through her. *W-who was she?*
*I do not know. It was too—* He halted and sniffed the damp air of Brethil, then rose swiftly and snarled.
She felt him step in front of her, for she smelt his faint odour directly before her. His hand released hers as she rose, but she had felt its tenseness.
"W-who is there?" She demanded, half-afraid that other Orcs had somehow found a hidden way into Brethil, but she did not doubt that he would protect her; or that someone of her people her come.
There was silence for a moment, in which Utíraiel shifted more behind Him, trying to hide herself from the stranger that had come upon them so unannounced.
"Utíraiel?"
The voice was light and musical, but wary, and she had no trouble knowing its owner, for he was her friend, and she had grown up accustomed to his presence. "Lord Felagund? Finrod?"
She heard the soft crunch of leaves under light footsteps, and she felt Him tense even more and growl, shoulders hunched as if ready to spring and attack.
The song of a skillfully drawn sword hummed in the still air.
"No!" She cried, moving around Him to reveal herself. "No, Finrod! Sheath your sword, please!" She turned to the direction she knew He was in, and her hand touched his skin. *No, do not attack. He is a friend.*
The Elf knew Utíraiel's speech to the Orc he saw, and halted, sheathing his sword, thought reluctantly. He stepped forward warily, eyes ever on the Orc that he knew Utíraiel could not see, but should have sensed. * Utíraiel, walk towards me, slowly.*
*Finrod, he is a friend.* She felt Him shift beneath her hand, and she squeezed his arm gently to stay him. *You have no need to fear him, Finrod.*
* Utíraiel, he is an—*
*Orc? I knew that a few months ago, Lord. May we sit down? And I will tell you the tale.*
The Orc kept an eye on the Elf, but aided the girl back to the log and saw that she sat. He then rose to his full height and stared at Finrod, barring his teeth and hissing.
Finrod, for his part, made no move towards the Orc, but walked without fear to Utíraiel's other side and sat as well. *You are not hurt?*
*Only for the first time many months ago,* she answered. *He was an Orc that escaped the swords and bow of King Thingol's warriors and yours, and came into Brethil one night as I walked. He attacked me then, and I was hurt, and I feared. My brother went about with me for a whiles,, but I thought that He," she waved her hand vaguely before her, "would have been hunted down or would have fled.
*But it was not so, for I met him a second time, but he did not harm me. The third time, I sought him out, for I wished to speak with him for answers.*
*What questions were so urgent and of so great importance that you should think to seek out an Orc alone and unaided?* Finrod's tone was one of gentle rebuke, but also of curiosity.
Utíraiel halted, hesitating, and her voice was soft as if she spoke from far away in her memories. * I felt his tears fall upon me when he attacked me.*
The Elf fell silent and turned to his own thoughts. Tears, he thought, and I trust Utíraiel on that. Yet how—why—has he need to cry? "You bring him food every day?"
She wondered at her friend's change to Common Speech, but answered, "Every night, Lord."
"Would you meet with him again tomorrow?" He asked. "In the morning? So that I may see him better in the light of the day, for though Elven sight is keen even in the darkness, I cannot see if he is who I think he is, for his skin is dark and blend too well into the night, and his eyes are yellow."
And Utíraiel perceived that her friend mistrusted Him still. "Finrod, he speaks in Quenya, for he knows no Sindarin, as Elves of the later times do. He spoke of a great lake, of Cuiviénen."
Finrod raises his eyes to see the dark shape of the Orc prowl the clearing, his body tall but hardened. "The name of Cuiviénen may be learnt or heard of by mouth or books. King Thingol is one of the First, but I deem that you would not wish him to know of this, though he should know with a glance if your friend is what he truly claim to be."
"No, I wish for no one else to know of this." Her voice was quiet, but worried and shrill.
The Orc turned, hearing the desperation in her voice, and perceiving that Finrod had the intent to harm her, snarled and stalked towards them.
Utíraiel heard his approach. *Nay! It is all right! Give us a moment more!*
*You are—all right?*
*Yes.* She smiled. "Finrod, the morning will be too revealing. Make it evening, I beg you."
He took her hand and rose, pulling her up. "It is late and your parents or brother will fret." He took her bag from the log.
*Meet me—meet me when the sun sets tomorrow,* Utíraiel said to Him. *Earlier than tonight. Would you come?*
*I—will come,* he rasped, and turned to run.
Finrod watched him until he was gone, then led Utíraiel home. "Do not worry," he said. "I will tell no one of this should you wish it not so."
Utíraiel took his hand and smiled.
***
He slowed to a walk when he was far from the clearing. That Elf! His mind cried to him. One of the First!
And in his thoughts, he saw still the glow of the Elf, that light that had shone from within, mixing with the rich gold of his hair.
But he knew that that Elf was not at the Great Lake, for he did not recall seeing his face. He stopped. H-how should I know of a-any of the First? Not there.
To him came again the visions of memories from long ago, and he felt once more the tightening of the trees about him, and the roaming eyes of his Master, searching for him.
No pain came, but he trembled as the gaze of his Master crossed him but saw him not, and the trees trembled as well. And he felt fear come unbidden, that he should be found and ordered to return or slay all him this forest.
He halted. Nay. He served his Master, though he feared Him. His will and malice were for Morgoth to command.
As he climbed a tree, he growled aloud, wishing to see an Elf or a Man he might lay his claws on and tear to pieces, tasting the blood of their veins.
But the trees were silent, and drew away not from him.