DISCLAIMER – I don't own any of Tolkien's characters or the whole Middle Earth concept, including

place names etc

The thud of every step jarred through his body. They had been on the move for three days and Druluk was using all his willpower to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Two things sustained his effort: the thought that if he slowed his pace for but a second the Uruk behind would walk straight into him, and the subconscious knowledge that if he stopped walking he would start remembering.

A young orc, on his first trip out of Isengard. Marching smartly as though Saruman's eyes were on him at all times. Eager, cheerful, curious about his marching companion:

'I suppose you've been on lots of missions.'

Druluk doesn't reply, but the young orc persists

'Go on, you must have some tales to tell…'

'I've only recently become a foot soldier. I used to work in the Tower of Orthanc. I have not seen combat.'

Druluk's tone implies the conversation is over, but the other orc is impressed, and continues,

'Wow! The Tower! You must be one of Saruman's favourites!'

'Not really.'

'Get a move on back there!' came a shout from the head of the marching column. Druluk forced himself to take longer strides and felt the wound in his leg open up again.

A brief rest after a day's march. Druluk leans his back against part of the rocky outcrop where they are sheltering. The young orc, Rashgrul comes and sits beside him.

'So what did you do in the Tower?'

What had he done in the tower? These were safer thoughts to dwell on. The repetition of his actions every day, stretching back for as he could recall. Rising before dawn and stumbling through pitch dark stone corridors until he reached Saruman's main hall. Without fail the wizard would be there before him. Then he would receive the day's instructions, invariably involving digging out a specific manuscript from the vast heaps of yellowing scrolls which were secreted in the Tower's deep vaults and returning, hours later, to where the wizard stood at a tall stone podium, pondering another ancient text. He would dutifully add his own to the pile beside the podium, then stand by. Sometimes he would stand for hours, the wizard scarcely aware of his presence. Then another order, another manuscript, another expedition into the dusty paper mountains.

He didn't remember learning to read. Saruman must have taught him, for he could understand not only orc runes but also the common script, elvish, dwarf runes and various other written languages that had been in use in Middle Earth at some time or another. But it wasn't until a month or so ago that he had taken any actual interest in the words he ferried from the tower's foundations to Saruman's lofty chamber.

'I read.'

'Read?' Rashgrul looks at Druluk expectantly

'Yes.' Druluk stretches his legs out in front of him, feels his hamstrings tauten. 'I read. History, legend, tales, I read them all.'

'So you must have some idea of…what this is all about? Of what's going to happen?' Rashgrul's voice is serious now. Druluk looks at him and sees the genuine question and also fear in his eyes.

'Not really.' His reply comes out bluntly, and he wishes he had not spoken.

'Halt!'

The order filtered back along the company. For a second the novelty of standing still blotted out all other sensations, but then the pain came flooding back.

Tramping through ancient woodland, Druluk's boots kick up flurries of golden leaves. He and Rashgrul are bringing up the rear. It is the middle of the day, and despite the shade of the trees the orcs feel somewhat uneasy with the sun's presence. But the Uruk Hai which make up the majority of their party march in full sunlight without complaint.

A sudden shout comes from up ahead, then the scraping crunch of metal smashing into metal. Rashgrul jumps, then rushes forward to join the main body of the company as they charge, fanning out as they weave in between the trees. Druluk watches, hesitating. He sees Rashgrul running, drawing his sword, turning his head to look back…

'Druluk! Come…'

He sees Rashgrul stagger, arch his back in a convulsion of pain and fall. Druluk stands for a second more, rooted to the ground in horror, then dashes over, oblivious to the arrows flying through the air.

'Rashgrul!'

The young orc is bleeding heavily, an arrow has pierced the back of his neck. Druluk grabs him by the arm, tries to pull him to his feet but his body crumples limply back to the ground. In desperation, Druluk drags him into the lee of the nearest tree. Rashgrul moans faintly as Druluk raises his head and cradles it with one hand

'Rashgrul, I…'

Rashgrul's eyes close.

'Rashgrul!' Druluk shakes him and the orc exhales with a sound that is half sigh, half whisper:

'Saruman…'

'Saruman?' asks Druluk, 'Saruman?' Rashgrul's body is completely still in his arms.

'Saruman?' he whispers, as though this is a mantra which can work miracles. 'Saruman?'

Rashgrul's blood feels hot and sticky on his fingers. With shaking hands he lays the orc's head down on the ground, then slowly rises to his feet. For a moment he stands, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Then anger rushes through him, takes over his body and sends him pounding out from behind the tree towards the fray.

'Saruman!' he screams, 'Saruman!'

He does not see the trees, he does not hear the sounds of battle, all he can envisage is the wizard ensconced in his stone fortress, studying his papers, planning his strategies, sending orcs like Rashgrul out to die.

Someone shoved him roughly,

'Get a move on!'

Druluk staggered forward, mind still focussed on three days ago. His clear memories ended in a blur of red blood and autumn leaves. He must have taken part in the battle...his leg had been slashed by some kind of blade and his whole body felt bruised, but he couldn't recall anything. And now here he was, marching back with what remained of the company that had set out, and two prisoners. He couldn't summon up the energy to try and work out why.

They marched until the sun turned the scuddy clouds a lurid pink. As the gloomy dusk bled imperceptibly into true night, Druluk saw they were approaching the borders of a forest. Fangorn forest. This landmark meant they were approaching Isengard. Approaching Saruman. The image of the wizard, the last time he had seen him face to face, kept floating to the top of his mind.

He had been told to bring back a particular manuscript, some ancient treatise on the chemical properties of various minerals. But in leafing through Saruman's hoards of scrolls the runes on one had caught his eye. He recognised the word 'orc'. And he had read. And read. He didn't know how many hours he had sat there, dust settling on his clothes just as it settled on the reams of history surrounding him. But he had read that scroll, and he had rummaged more in the pile and found another, with handwriting that he recognised. And he had read that one too, with horror beginning to bubble up inside him. And just as he replaced the scroll, with hands that trembled, the very paper mountain itself had trembled, as though a breeze had managed to penetrate that underground stronghold, and he had looked up to find the wizard standing over him, fury emanating from his whole being. He had not spoken. Druluk knew he was to leave and never enter the tower again. He had joined the regiment for want of anything else to do. He had never known a life outside Isengard. But now the thought of returning there filled him with repulsion.

He was already fairly near the back of the company. He took a step to one side, to get out of the moving mass of orcs, and knelt by the side of the path they were taking, as though tightening the straps of his boots. The other orcs and Uruk hai seemed to take no notice. He shuffled a little further away, hoping no one would take a sideways glance. Then he crept a little further, rose to his feet, and ran as fast as he could. Heart and lungs burning, stabbing pains shooting up his leg, he ran without thinking of direction.

A light! Up ahead, was that a fire? Squinting, Druluk decided that he hadn't imagined it, there was definitely a light. He dropped to his stomach and crept closer. The light was definitely coming from a camp fire, but he could not make out who was tending it. His aching limbs cried out for a rest in the warm glow, but if it came to a fight he hadn't a chance in his state of near exhaustion. With a grunt of resignation he started to edge away, back into the impenetrable darkness.

An arrow whipped past his ear. Druluk threw himself into the mud, heart thudding. With one hand he struggled to free a knife from his belt, but before he could pull it out he felt a foot pressing into the back of his neck.

'Make any sudden moves and the next arrow won't miss.' The voice spoke in the Common Tongue but the accent implied this was an elf. Druluk felt gloved hands grab his own. He let his arms be twisted behind his back and tied together with what felt like string. His ankles received similar treatment. Then the pressure on his neck was released, and he could raise his head. Spitting out mud he gasped out

'I intended no harm to you!'

'You'll have to forgive my scepticism about that,' answered the elf. 'Where is your company?'

'I have no company.'

'Your armour implies otherwise.'

'I've deserted my company.'

The elf made no reply, but grabbed Druluk by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. He shuffled uncomfortably along as the elf guided him towards the fire. In the flickering light it cast, the elf crouched to look directly into Druluk's eyes. Druluk saw that the elf had a typically delicately shaped nose, mouth and chin, but that the braids in his hair were coming undone, and that smears of mud and blood adorned his cheeks and forehead. He couldn't quite decide if the odd look in the elf's eyes came from reflections of the dancing flames or from within…

'Why did you desert your company?'

Druluk hesitated.

'I don't want to fight for something I don't believe in.'

The elf held Druluk's gaze for a moment longer, then said abruptly

'Sit down.'

Druluk tried not to let the relief show in his face. He dropped awkwardly to his knees and shuffled closer to the flames. The elf moved to the other side of the fire, where a metal pan was suspended on a frame made from a thin branch bent into an arch. Inside it something sizzled. The smell made Druluk's mouth water.

'What're you cooking?' he asked

'Mushrooms with wild garlic.'

'Smells good.'

'I thought goblins liked to eat raw flesh'

'Yeah, well, you thought wrong. And it's orc thank-you'

'Sorry.'

'But if you did happen to have some meat around the place…'

'I'm a vegan.'

'Yeah, right, of course. Sorry.'

Druluk shifted his weight from one side to the other and winced as he put pressure on his wounded leg. The elf glanced up, then looked away, clearly still indecisive about how much he cared for his uninvited guest. Druluk didn't blame him. But he something drove him to keep talking.

'What's your name?'

'Ylfronir.'

'I'm Druluk.'

Ylfronir didn't answer, but ladled some mushrooms onto a wooden plate and came over to where Druluk knelt.

'I am going to untie your hands. Betray my trust and you die.'

Druluk wondered at the fact that Ylfronir had let him keep the various knives he had stored in his belt. Surely he must have noticed? Did he really trust him that much? It was a gratifying thought. But then the elf did still have his own knife, and his bow. And Druluk's legs were still bound.

The mushrooms were delicious, though the lembas bread Ylfronir offered him almost made him choke. Having eaten they now sat staring at the flames. Druluk, now no longer weak with hunger and freezing cold felt his confidence returning. With this came curiosity about his unlikely companion.

'So what brings you to the outskirts of Fangorn forest?'

'I am in exile from my home.'

'Oh. Shame. Where are you from?'

'Mirkwood.'

Druluk said nothing, but the elf seemed to want to go on

'I left 3 years ago,'

'What'd you done?'

Ylfronir added a piece of dead wood to the fire and turned to face the orc

'Tell me, Druluk…what do you know of elves?'

'Not a lot.'

'We are an ancient race. We are immortal. You cannot conceive of what that means.'

'OK….'

'We have set ourselves apart from the rest of the world, we hide our kingdoms from the eyes of men and dwarves…'

'…and orcs?'

'well, that goes without saying. My point is, we live our reclusive lives wrapped up in our own affairs and traditions, and very rarely concern ourselves with the outside world. But some of us are growing tired of this.'

'Some of you?'

'Well, I, and others. Ten, twenty years ago we knew that something was wrong in the world. We could sense powerful forces stirring. So could any elf. Yet our ways are such that all knowledge of what was happening was kept secret. Any information about what was really going on had to be gleaned from overheard conversations and passed on in whispers. Our king and his small circle of chosen advisors kept all they knew to themselves.'

'Well, come on, that seems fairly reasonable,' put in Druluk, 'I mean, spies can be anywhere. You don't want secret information being the talk of the…wood…'

'Yes, but who is our king to be the one to decide what path the elves of Mirkwood should take in response to this rising evil?' said Ylfronir, his voice betraying emotion for the first time. At the word 'evil', Druluk couldn't help but flinch. Ylfronir looked away. After a long pause, Druluk broke the silence

'If not a king, who then?'

'Some form of elected council! A group of elves selected for their talents not their birthline!'

'Selected by who?'

'All the elves of Mirkwood.' Ylfronir lent back on his elbows and gazed up into the night sky. 'This was our dream,' he sighed. 'We formed a society: Mirkwood Elves for New Democracy, MEND for short.'

'Catchy.'

'We began campaigning. We wrote all manner of anti monarchy songs…'

'Songs?'

'Oh yes, scored for harp and 3 part vocal harmony. We would sing them around the fire, you know the sort of thing…'

'Er, yes, of course,'

'And we wore brooches on our cloaks with the initials 'MEND' wrought in finest silver,' Ylfronir pointed to the clasp which held his cloak around his shoulders. It was rather tarnished, but the letters MEND were still recognisable in a much embellished version of the common script.

'Why didn't you write in elvish?' asked Druluk, in genuine curiosity

'There is no word for democracy in elvish,' said Ylfronir sorrowfully.

'So,' said Druluk, 'why exile? Did you use up too much silver making your little brooches? Or perhaps you wrote a particularly radical song. Were those 3 part harmonies what made Mirkwood too hot to hold you?'

Ylfronir looked pained. 'My exile was not, as it happened, directly as a result of my campaigning activities.'

'Oh?'

'Have you ever heard of a creature called Gollum?'

Druluk had heard the name Gollum before – in Saruman's mutterings as he gazed into his Palentir whilst Druluk stood by awaiting orders – but he was not clear in his mind exactly who Gollum was. Also, he was unwilling to explain exactly where he had heard the name, so he replied

'No, never.'

'A most unfortunate creature. I don't know his story fully because I am just an ordinary elf, but I gathered that he was once in possession of an extremely powerful magical object. He lost it, and is now completely consumed by his desire to get it back. He was given into the custody of the elves of Mirkwood because the unelected powers that be deemed it would be dangerous for him to roam Middle Earth in search of this item. I was among those set to guard him.'

'Oh yes?'

'I took my duties seriously, I really did.'

'I'm sure…'

'I mean, he was such a miserable, tortured soul! That tree seemed like the only thing which gave him the slightest bit of happiness!'

'Tree?'

'And he'd climbed it so many times before…'

'Climbed?'

'Yes, he liked to climb a particular tree. And one day I was in charge of those guarding him as he swung about in the branches. For some reason he did not want to come down that day…and we didn't fancy climbing up after him, so we just waited at the bottom for him to get tired. Night fell. And suddenly out of nowhere came a party of gobli…sorry…orcs, and well, um…'

'So basically you were in charge of an important prisoner and because you were too lay to climb a tree he escaped.'

'Now wait a minute! It wasn't like that at all…'

'You hung around waiting until it got dark. That's just asking for trouble! No wonder you were put into exile!' exclaimed Druluk. He regretted it instantly, and bit his lip as Ylfronir sent him a venomous look.

'My exile is in fact self imposed.'

'Huh?'

'My people don't go in for that sort of punishment. But they do have long memories. And I realised that my continued presence was likely to compromise the success of our campaign for democracy.'

'Oh yes, because success was so very likely…'

'It's lucky for you that I have a strict moral code which prohibits me from hitting you…'

All of a sudden Ylfronir darted to the fire and stamped it out, kicking mud over the logs to extinguish the flames.

'What's happening?' asked Druluk, attempting to get up. Ylfronir pushed him roughly to the ground

'Some moral code!' exclaimed the orc

'Quiet!' hissed Ylfronir 'I think I heard something.'

'I didn't,'

'Quiet!'

Ylfronir dropped to the ground, closed his eyes and a look of intense concentration came over his face. Druluk tried to stay as quiet as possible. After a minute or so Ylfronir's eyes snapped open

'Horses. Lots of horses, heading this way.'

'I didn't hear a thing…'

Ylfronir drew his knife

'Hey! Moral code, remember!' Druluk tried to shuffle away

'Keep still you idiot!' Ylfronir caught hold of the orc's arm with one hand and sliced through the bonds around his legs with the other.

'Now, you can run, if you think you can outrun horsemen. You can stay here and hide if you prefer. I am going into Fangorn. You can accompany me, but if you choose to do so you must do exactly as I say.'

Druluk hesitated. The elf strode away from him, towards the trees. Alone he was no worse off than when he had first abandoned his companions…apart from the approaching horsemen of course…He had never been into Fangorn Forest, its dark and tangled, faintly menacing interior had never appealed, but the open and exposed plains of Rohan were equally uninviting. He found his footsteps edging towards the forest border. Ylfronir could have killed him easily, but he hadn't. Instead he had given him food and spoken to him as an equal.

Druluk was at the very border of the forest now. The air smelt earthy. A deep sense of apprehension flooded over him as he tried to see past the first few tree trunks, but then he heard the hoofbeats. Only faint as yet but definitely hoofbeats.

The decision was made. He plunged forward. Dead branches broke underneath his feet. Cursing inwardly he tried to take lighter steps, but panic did not lend itself to this. An unexpected root sent him toppling forward, arms flailing for some support, which was provided by a nearby tree, its bark slimy with wet moss under his hand. His momentum carried him swinging round the trunk and

'Decided to join me then?' Part of the tree miraculously became Ylfronir. 'Or are you planning to get me killed?'

'Excuse me?' gasped Druluk, trying to breathe normally again.

'You made enough noise to wake the trees!'

'The trees?'

'Later.' Ylfronir held up his hand

The sound of hooves was closer, and now men's voices were discernible. Druluk could not make out what they were saying, but Ylfronir's face was tense with concentration.

'I think it's Eomer and his men,' he whispered

'Eomer?'

'Nephew of King Theoden…hey! They found my fire!'

'Damn! Are they coming into the forest?'

'No, I don't think so...one of them just suggested the fire was made by a company of orcs…'

'Maybe they're tracking my company,' said Druluk

'Orcs! Honestly. Would orcs have laid a fire as beautifully as that? Hang on, they're saying something else…I think that they…oh!' Ylfronir drew in his breath sharply,

'What?'

Ylfronir said nothing, but slid his back down the tree trunk to sit leaning against its base.

'What?' Druluk crouched down beside him, hissing the question through clenched teeth.

'They have just come from…doing battle.'

'Doing battle?'

'They came upon a company of Uruk Hai and…orcs.'

Druluk slowly moved to lean against the tree trunk as well.

'I take it they slaughtered them all.'

'Druluk, I…'

'Don't.'

He sensed the elf recoil, before realisation washed into his mind and overflowed his consciousness. All dead. A matter of hours ago he had been marching with them and now they were gone.

'It's not as if we were friends,' he heard himself saying, in a dull, flat voice, 'I barely knew any of their names.' If Ylfronir replied he never heard.