Chapter 22 reviews:
Hel – Only Grôltakh and Bruzmûk have any idea what is inside 'the box' – and they aren't going to tell the others any time soon. The nameless one is probably the only one who is going to enjoy the battle… but you'll have to read this chapter to find out! The ghosts in Bruzmûk's chambers are those that he tortured in life, but in death have come to torture him. The thing is… Bruzmûk is not at all affected by them. Enjoy!
[Edited: 24/11/03. Due to: Mistakes mentioned to me by a reviewer (oopsie!) Also added the 'Thanks To' section, which I meant to do in the first place, but forgot.]
A/N: Gasp! Last Chapter! And get ready for – yes, that's right! Even more marching!
(And I do hope that I have the timing of everything right between the events and the journey of my little orcses, preciousss!)
~Chapter 23~
They did not stop for anything, be it food or water, rest or recovery. Twice now the nameless one had fainted from dehydration and heat exhaustion, and for some reason, Grôltakh had felt duty-bound to help him – so he made Yutshrug carry him. Before long, they came across two orcs in Cirith-Ungol clothing sitting at the side of the road, and the group halted. The Uruk-hai whipping the back of the group along approached them, and Grôltakh, Ragnäkah and Yutshrug took some much-needed rest. Yutshrug fell forwards and collapsed, the unconscious nameless one still on his shoulders. The two orcs that were still standing looked at each other.
"Well I'm not carrying 'em," Ragnäkah protested. Grôltakh listened into the conversation of the Uruk.
"Come on you slugs! This is not time for slouching. Deserting, eh? Or thinking of it? All your folk should have been inside of Udûn before yesterday evening. You know that. Up you get and fall in, or I'll have your numbers and report you." The two soldiers struggled up onto their feet, and the Uruk ordered them to join into the group three rows from the back – right behind Ragnäkah and Grôltakh. The march began again, and Ragnäkah somehow managed to get Yutshrug up and walking again – probably with the promise of food. The next stop was when they had to get their company to merge with other companies from other areas of Mordor; it was brutal chaos. Small fights were breaking out, and the Uruk-hai attempted to straighten everything out, but seemed to be failing miserably.
"'Ere," Yutshrug said, tapping Grôltakh's shoulder. "Those two orcs that were behind us – they've slipped off!" Grôltakh let out a short, sharp bark.
"I can't blame them! I would do the same, but you lot would follow, and two exceptionally small orcs have more chance of slipping away than four normal-to-tall ones." The lines shifted forwards slowly, drawing the orcs ever-closer to their demise. And Grôltakh expected that it would be cruel.
*
Bruzmûk ran alongside The Mouth of Sauron's horse, his legs nearly as long as any Uruk-hai's helping him to keep up, but it was really the spell that the Dark Lord had placed upon him that caused him to run so fast and so far in such a small amount of time. He would be at the forefront of the battle, and possibly one of the first to die, but he felt no remorse for serving his dark master, and would eagerly die for his cause. The Nazgûl screeched in the sky above; the battle at Minas Tirith had been lost, and now eight of the nine Nazgûl remained – the Witch-king was dead. This was terrible news, but the battle could still be won – if the One Ring was found. They came to the gates, and their journey ended. The orcs began to drum, horns were blown and war cries sounded and the gates were opened.
In front of them, they could see a small host of men walk forwards towards them, and a large host of human soldiers behind them. It did not matter; they were small compared to the numbers of orcs, trolls, wargs, bats and balrogs that Sauron had attained. It was a strange company that rode out to them: three elves, one of whom was a Mirkwood prince, and the two others were the sons of Half-Elven of Rivendell. A dwarf was at the Mirkwood prince's side, and an Istari – Gandalf – was at the forefront. He had been expecting Imrahil, and perhaps he should have expected Aragorn, for he was Dúnedain and heir to the throne of Gondor. But what he was most surprised to see was the Hobbit. He had read of them in an ancient tome of his that had crumpled and fell apart at the slightest touch. Despite his vast knowledge, he knew very little of the creatures, only that they lived far in the west, a long way away from Mordor, and that they were not built for fighting. Perhaps he could capture it alive and study it.
Talk ensued, even though both sides mentally agreed that it was only teasing and preparation for the battle, and as the belongings of one of the enemy's spies had been brought forwards, he witnessed their reaction of shock and distress – much to his amusement. The Istari ended the talk hastily, using his powers to frighten his superior and take back the items. It was then that the pretending and toying stopped, and the fighting began.
*
They surged forwards, trampling any that got in their way, be they enemies or their own. The fire was lit in Grôltakh, and it could not be easily quenched. His sword flashed to and fro, and he fought nearly as good as a sword-master. Ragnäkah (still clutching the box to his chest) and Yutshrug worked in complete unison, Ragnäkah using his whip to be wrapped around a soldier's legs, neck or weapon, whilst Yutshrug finished them off by the dagger he kept by his side.
The young orc stood there placidly, gaping at the scene that he beheld. He was pushed and shoved endlessly as others rushed into the battle. His sword was limp in his hand. So this was war. Carnage, destruction, malice and insatiable bloodlust on both sides… It was a glory that ripped into his very heart and devoured his soul, making him one with the world around him. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought such a magnificent slaughter could be carried out. And yet here it was.
"I wouldn't stand about if I were you. You gotta flow with the rest of us, or you'll get squashed," Grôltakh told him, stopping to advise to him briefly before running onwards, sword held steadily out in front of him with both hands. The nameless one lifted his blade high into the air, and with a defiant roar, he slew his first human.
Soon, the nameless one, Yutshrug, Ragnäkah, and Grôltakh found themselves together again, back-to-back, and each with an enemy to butcher. They were nearly trapped in a pocket, but they fought on, encouraged and filled with the knowledge that they were winning.
"For Mordor!" Grôltakh cried in the Black Speech. "For the Dark Lord!" Soldier after soldier fell on their blades, and soon the four orcs found Bruzmûk in the midst of the fighting as well. He had no weapons, but was using his body to deflect attacks and kill his opponents. This did not come without a price, however, and Bruzmûk was soon covered in wounds, all of which he endured stoically. He soon found himself wrestling with a soldier, grabbing a hold of part of the human's sword and effectively preventing him from using it. As this was taking place, another soldier – a lieutenant of some kind – stole up behind Bruzmûk and raised his sword to his shoulders, preparing to hack off the orc's head. Before either Bruzmûk or Grôltakh had time to react, the nameless one bounded in and put his sword through the chest of the lieutenant, whilst Bruzmûk finished off the soldier. The nameless one received a grin-like grimace from Bruzmûk as a thank you, and the two rejoined the three others – who had nearly been cornered again – by cutting a path right through their adversaries.
Abruptly, with a cry that seemed to emanate from the very foundations of Lugbûrz itself, the black tower collapsed, the ground shook, the Nazgûl were undone, Mount Doom began to erupt, the tides of the battle were changed and the Dark Lord – their unholy master – was no more. All this, in a moment.
There was a unanimous halt in the killing by both sides, and the battleground fell silent. Burzmûk witnessed these things and dropped to his knees. He shook his head, and gaped at the tower. A shout was given by one of the leaders of the human forces, and the attack resumed, the rumbling of Mount Doom the background sound to the rest of the battle. Grôltakh looked around him. Without the Nazgûl to lead them, or their Dark Lord to inspire them onwards, the battle was quickly being won by the side that had been losing only seconds before. He saw, and he understood. If they did not get away, they would surely die. Yutshrug and Ragnäkah raised their weapons and were about to charge headlong into battle when he caught both of them by the collars and pulled them aside. He managed to find the nameless one, fighting on against a Rohan warrior on his horse. Somehow, the nameless orc had managed to avoid the blade of the rider and the feet of the horse and stab the horse in its side, wounding it beyond recovery and causing it to fall to the ground. Grôltakh finished off the unhorsed rider. Bruzmûk was easy to find; he was still staring up at where the peak of the tower had been, whilst the battle raged on around him, ignoring his presence for the time being. It was as if he was a ghost, part of a separate world. Ragnäkah and Yutshrug dragged him away by his shoulders, leading him to a rocky place in the cliffs that could be climbed with some effort. Eventually, Bruzmûk's mind returned to them, and he was no longer a burden to the others. The battle became more distant, but the outcome more obvious, and soon all of the orcs were thanking Grôltakh in their heads for saving their lives. Grôltakh however, was now planning his next step, working and reworking his plans around this significant change. Perhaps his plans still had a chance of being successfully completed.
Bruzmûk quickly took the lead, and within a few hours they found themselves outside a large tunnel, half-clogged by rubble. This place had obviously been abandoned to time.
"It is one of 'Her Ladyship's' old tunnels – I doubt that even she remembers it is here now," Bruzmûk explained to them all. "The men and elves will not want to follow us here – will not, if they have any common sense." His voice sounded slightly unfocused; distraught. His old life in Lugbûrz was gone. The tower and his lord – his way of life – had been decimated, and he would have to revert to his old ways. He would have to be… a follower.
The orcs tentatively crept inside, trying hard to withstand the smell, and to conquer their fear. If Grôltakh had not gripped Yutshrug's arm and dragged him further into the tunnels, he would have been back outside, probably being shot down with arrows. They trudged on wearily, knowing that with their master gone, there were dark times ahead for the orcs. Eventually, they came around to naming themselves to Bruzmûk. Grôltakh, whom he already knew, introduced Yutshrug and Ragnäkah, but he paused when he came to the nameless one.
"And this one… doesn't have a name."
"No name?" Bruzmûk enquired, looking the young orc over. The nameless one looked at Bruzmûk hoping that the orc of Lugbûrz would have a name for him. As they trudged along, the silence resumed, but this time, it was a silence filled with thought by Bruzmûk. Yutshrug, Grôltakh and Ragnäkah began whispering amongst themselves, probably deciding which way to go through the tunnels. Finally, Bruzmûk turned to the younger orc.
"Ashrat," he said simply.
"Ashrat?"
"Ashrat," Bruzmûk confirmed, before turning back to inner thoughts.
The smaller orc stopped for a moment and smiled to himself.
"Ashrat…" he mused. He quickly realised that he was falling behind the rest of the group, and scuttled off to re-join them.
There was an uncertain future ahead for the small band of orcs, but Grôltakh was going to make sure that it was going to be an adventure. And, meanwhile, somewhere deep underground, Shelob was howling with anger and pain.
~The End~
A/N: The part from "Come on you slugs!" to "I'll have your numbers and report you(.)" comes directly from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Chapter 2 – The Land of Shadow. Just so that you know – credit where credit is due.
Remember – all loose ends and unexplained mysteries will be revealed in the sequel or prequel. There you have it folks – Amilyi's first completed fan fiction! Questions? Comments? Flames? All are welcome to my e-mail address, and don't forget to leave a review!
Thanks To:
J.R.R. Tolkien, for giving me and everyone else the possibility to write 'Lord of the Rings' fanfiction, and all reviewers, especially Hel, who has reviewed just about every single chapter as the story progressed.