Here's the final installment of our tragic series... enjoy!
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III. All Shall Fade
It was near dusk when the orcs were busy at work repairing the bridge at Osgiliath. Already the trolls and siege towers and a countless host out of Minas Morgul were drawing closer. The orcs toiled in the growing darkness, using wood, stone, and iron to mend the broken passage over the river as quickly as possible. The clanks of their hammers were no match for the ever-loudening drumming to the East.
While these orcs worked up in the ruined city, a few climbed out of a crude boat onto the riverbank on the Pelennor. The corpses of men and horses lay prone on the grass.
"Search th' dead fer loot 'n weap'ns we can use! An' look fer unbroken arra's too," their leader growled. "Move, ye dogs, 'fore the rest make it over 'ere!" The members of the small party scattered. Some set about coming the grass for fallen black-feathered arrows which could still be of use, but most began searching the bodies of the dead soldiers.
One orc shuffled over to the corpse of a man, lying twisted on his side with one leg pinned under the fallen body of his horse. His steel armor, hammered carefully to bear the image of that hateful tree, was intact, save where one arrow had punched through it into his heart. A thin trail of blood leaked out from the hole in armor and body. The orc sniffed the air and leered cruelly at the body. The scent of blood would be so thick in the air by the morning that all the carrion-fowl from Mordor to Moria would come to feast on the dead.
He checked the body for trinkets of worth, but found not a single jewel or bit of gold. Grunting, he took the wrist of the fallen soldier and roughly pulled him out form under the horse. The then kicked the body over onto its other side and searched there. Still, he found nothing.
Yet a glimpse of white caught the orc's yellow eye, and upon closer inspection he saw that there was a little flower stuck into a buckle at the soldier's side. A browning petal fluttered off, and the orc frowned at the flower from whence it came.
Fool tarks, he thought. Impossible te understand. What soldier rides inta battle with somethin' so ridiculous 'pon 'im? Tarks. Mad, all of 'em.
He shook his head and spat in contempt upon the corpse. He then moved on in hopes of more success with the next body.
Before long the bridge was mended and the host was marching across the open field towards the White City. Corpses were trampled, swords of the dead were trod upon, and an unassuming white flower was crushed into oblivion in the mud.
End.
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Note: By the way, "tark" is a derogatory word used by orcs to refer to the Men of Numenor or their descendants. Just in case you didn't know. :)
Care to leave a final review? Thanks for reading!
Review Responses:
Ana the Serial Andy Molester -- But wait-- that's only one "n" I see in your name! Lol... hooray for your ever-delightful reviews! Grima says thanks for his "Grima-Snack," by the way.
DreaminofLorien -- Glad to see you don't depress easily! This is the end.
Over and out.