DISCLAIMER – I don't own any of Tolkien's characters or Middle Earth place names etc

……Heat. Searing, scorching heat, and a chemical smell in his nostrils.

'I don't believe in an afterlife…' mumbled Ylfronir, as he gradually regained consciousness. 'And if this is Hell, it really isn't fair, I didn't mean to let…'

'This isn't Hell'

Ylfronir opened his eyes. Druluk's face, lit by a flickering red glow bent over him.

'Are you sure?'

'I see your encounter with Jorrig hasn't blunted your razor sharp humour.'

'Jorrig?'

Druluk stood up and gestured behind him. Ylfronir raised himself onto his elbows, the movement sending a nauseating wave of pain through his head, to see the huge orc who had attacked him sitting a couple of yards away. Ylfronir shrank back

'What the hell is going on?'

'Jorrig was guarding the entrance to the tunnel, he was just doing his job…'

'And now…?

'Now we have come to an understanding.'

'Oh. Good.'

Druluk rummaged in his bag and produced a stone bottle

'Have some entwash…'

'You stole entwash?'

'Just drink it…'

'You stole entwash?'

'Ylfronir, we are going to have to have a long discussion about the greater good, and I am going to win.'

Ylfronir tried to scowl but ended up wincing in pain. Druluk held out the bottle.

Finding himself too exhausted to protest further the elf took it. Druluk helped him to sit up, leaning against the wall.

'Where are we, anyway?'

'Home…' said Druluk quietly, then, 'we're deep in the complex of caves and tunnels underneath Isengard. This is actually a dormitory for the Uruk Hai, Jorrig was good enough to let us…'

'Uruk Hai?'

'Yes, Jorrig is …'

'dormitory?'

'If you'd let me finish…

'I'm dead…'

'I thought we covered this…'

'Druluk, I've got to get out of here…'

'We're perfectly safe! I've explained to Jorrig that you mean us no harm. The little…incident earlier was just a misunderstanding…' Druluk turned to Jorrig as if for confirmation, and the Uruk Hai obliged, in a slow monotone

'urr, yer, sorry…', and made as if to come closer

'That's quite alright!' exclaimed Ylfronir quickly, trying to back further into the stone wall.

'Jorrig will tell his friends what's happening when they get back,' said Druluk confidently, 'and it'll be fine. It'll be fine.'

Ylfronir took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He took a long gulp of entwash and felt its revitalising force begin to spread through his body.

'Druluk?'

'Yes?'

'What exactly is happening?'

'Don't you remember?' said Druluk, loudly, glancing at Jorrig 'you're an escaped prisoner from Loth Lorien looking for shelter for a few days.'

'I'm what?'

Druluk's face pleaded with him to play along

'I'm…I'm…on the run from the Golden Wood…' he conceded, glaring at Druluk, who mouthed

'Thanks!'

'What did you do?' Jorrig seemed intrigued

'I, uh, well, I was involved in an underground resistance movement to overthrow the ruling classes…' Ylfronir tried to be as truthful as possible under the circumstances.

'Huh?'

'I am a firm believer in democracy…'

'Dem – o –cra –see?'

'Yes. Democracy is where everybody has a say in choosing the people who are given power to make important decisions. Haven't you ever wondered whether Saruman is really…'

'I think what Ylfronir is trying to say,' cut in Druluk, 'is that due to an unfortunate misunderstanding involving the Lady Galadriel he is no longer welcome in the realm of Lorien and…'

'No, that's not what I was saying…ow…'

'Oh, was that your foot?' Druluk radiated concern, 'I am sorry…. Jorrig, would you mind possibly going to see if there's any food to be had, I'm starving.'

The Uruk rose to his feet and trundled off along the passage

As soon as he was out of sight, Druluk sprang to Ylfronir's side and began talking in an urgent half whisper

'I know you didn't plan to come with me this far, but I couldn't just leave you unconscious on the edge of Fangorn…'

'…no, of course not, not when there was the possibility of ensuring my safety by surrounding me with ten thousand bloodthirsty orcs…'

Druluk drew back sharply.

'Well, if that's the way you see it…'

'Druluk, don't do this. Look, you've saved my life, and I'm grateful...but orcs and elves are not allies. It's an ugly fact but it's a fact and this...' Ylfronir dabbed at the gash on the side of his head with a finger 'rather proves the point.'

'Oh. That proves the point does it?' Druluk's voice was steely with repressed anger. 'So what does this prove?' He plucked at the blankets on which Ylfronir lay, and gestured around the cave like chamber they were in.

'Jorrig has taken you into his home…welcomed you into his home, even given you his bed…'

Ylfronir tried desperately to look more grateful than he was feeling for this particular sacrifice

'And now he's gone off to look for food for us, without complaint, despite the fact that he's tired after a long day…'

'…beating up elves?'

'When are you going to let that go?'

'When my head stops feeling like it's been used as an anvil.'

Druluk got up wordlessly and went to sit on the opposite side of the cave. He rested his chin on his knees. There was something in his stance, in the fierce determination with which he glared at the floor that, despite the pain and anger he felt, Ylfronir was intrigued. A thought which had been niggling at the back of his mind surfaced…

'You deserted your company. Why come back here?'

'That's none of your concern.'

'Well, however indirectly, it's led to me being here and…

'You can go any time. Stay until you've regained your strength then be on your way.'

'Fine.'

Ylfronir rested the crown of his head on the wall of the cave and stared into the darkness above. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care what happened to Druluk, that his priority was getting out of this dank hole and as far away from Isengard as possible. But every train of thought kept looping back to speculate on what Druluk had planned. So intent was he on working out the possibilities that he barely heard Druluk speak,

'I'm going to kill Saruman.'

'What?' Ylfronir jerked his head to stare at him, ignoring the pain

'I am going to kill Saruman,' said the orc, enunciating each word with deliberate clarity.

'Druluk, he's a wizard. He's the most powerful wizard in Middle Earth. You haven't got a hope.'

'I don't believe in magic, Ylfronir…'

'You don't have to believe in something for it to have power…'

'Don't you?'

'What?'

'Saruman's only power stems from belief. Belief that we orcs have to do his bidding, belief that our endless suffering, our unfulfilled dreams, even our very lives are as nothing compared to his desires, belief that there can be no hope, belief that…'

'…he will kill you if you disobey him?'

'No!' exclaimed Druluk, in anguished tones, 'he won't! Some brainwashed minion who believes all the wrong things will kill me when I try. But I am going to try.'

Ylfronir held Druluk's stare and saw grim determination in his eyes. He saw something else as well. Something he recognised. A gleam of hope, tempered by the knowledge that it was a ludicrous hope, but burning nonetheless.

'What if,' said Ylfronir slowly, 'there was another way of going about it…'

'Oh, you mean you've thought of an anti Saruman song? Or a catchy yet bitingly sarcastic slogan? Sorry, Ylfronir, I know you mean well but that's not going to cut it here.'

'And a lone assassination attempt is?'

'At least I'd be doing something.'

'Risking your life for something you believe in?'

'Precisely!'

'And the difference between your beliefs and the beliefs of the orc who shoots you down….?'

'My beliefs are right…'

Once again they stared at one another, locked in a tangle of indignation, ideology and instinct.

Druluk looked away first. He got up, walked over to the cave entrance and stuck his head out into the passageway. Ylfronir watched him.…and felt the glimmerings of an idea stir in the back of his mind.

'Druluk?'

The orc didn't turn round as he answered

'Nothing you can say will stop me.'

'I know. I was just wondering when you were planning to, um, put your plan into action?'

'As soon as possible.'

'Could you perhaps wait until I'm gone? I mean, without you I don't stand much chance of getting out of here, and let's face it, you aren't going to survive…'

'Fine.'

…………………………

Druluk leant his elbows on the stone balustrade and looked down into the cavernous factory hall. Smoke from the many furnaces blew into his face and currents of hot air washed over him. The clamour of a thousand hammers and the hissing and spitting of molten metal filled his ears. He watched the throng of orcs working below, looking for patterns in the chaos – purpose in the seemingly random movements. It was almost hypnotic. For a moment, staring at the swirling crowd, he forgot the thought which had been on his mind since the moment in the forest on the banks of the Anduin when Rashgrul had died in his arms…

'Druluk!'

Ylfronir's voice brought everything back. He spun round on his heel, irritably

'What? Are you ready to go yet?'

3 days had passed since he and Jorrig had dragged the elf's unconscious body down into the relative safety of the caves. In those 3 days he had had plenty of time to regret that act of…what? Friendship? Rash stupidity it seemed now. He and Ylfronir had barely spoken since he had revealed his plan.

'I am ready to go as it happens.'

'Alright,' Druluk tried to keep his voice emotionless, though his pulse had started to race. Finally his plans could be put into action! It must be the anticipation of achieving his goal that was making his legs tremble…

'But before I go, I'd like to say goodbye to Jorrig.'

Druluk forced himself to focus on the present moment

'OK…I think he's working in the main armoury…'

'Then we'll go there.'

'Are you sure? I mean, there'll be loads of, what was your phrase, bloodthirsty orcs there….?'

'Lead the way.'

As they walked down the stone passage, Druluk became increasingly aware that something was wrong. He couldn't quite figure out what, but as they reached the thick wooden door which opened onto armoury it struck him.

'Why is it so quiet?'

'Is it?' asked Ylfronir innocently

'The armoury isn't just a store room, it's where weapons are sharpened…there's a dozen whetstones in there and they make a hell of a noise…'

'Maybe they're having a break?'

Druluk looked at Ylfronir with suspicion. The elf's demeanour was too calm, his smile too assured.

'What have you done?'

'Me?'

'Whatever it is, it's not going to make a scrap of difference.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'You realise that it could be quiet because Saruman is taking a tour of inspection? Are you sure you want me to open this door?'

'I think I'm willing to take that risk.'

That settled it; the elf was up to something. But Druluk wasn't about to play guessing games. He thrust open the door, strode into the room and stopped dead.

Faces. Hundreds upon hundreds of orcs stood before him expectantly, in semicircular rows radiating out from the door. He stood, rooted to the ground in shock, staring at the sea which stretched away into the furthermost corners of the room. He dimly registered the fact that Jorrig was sitting in the front row…

'Greetings, brothers!'

Ylfronir? The elf had followed him, and now addressed the assembled crowd.

'For despite appearances we – that is to say orcs and elves, and of course the Uruk Hai as well – share ties of blood!'

The faces in the first few rows of the crowd were starting to look distinctly nonplussed.

'Ties of blood indeed, which, ah, mean that we, ah, well, anyway, you don't know me, but trust me when I say that today we stand united by a common foe!'

Deathly silence filled the cavern, broken only by a sneeze from somewhere in the back.

'I said, today we stand united by a common foe!' repeated Ylfronir, gesturing rather ineffectually with a clenched fist. Again, no response, apart from general foot shuffling. Druluk couldn't help admiring the elf's persistence, as he continued:

'And who, you are wondering, might this foe be? Brothers, it is…'

Ylfronir paused dramatically, drew a deep breath and…Druluk suddenly had a premonition of the next few seconds. Granted the elf had managed to organise all this behind his back, but from the expressions of those orcs he could see in the dim light, Ylfronir had few friends in this room. He knew that he couldn't let Ylfronir say what he was about to, and it was almost reflexive to step forward and say it for him:

'Saruman.'

A gasp, then a hiss of whispered exclamation which crescendoed to a hostile roar within moments. Druluk stepped in front of Ylfronir and shouted for quiet.

It required a monumental effort not to make a bolt for the door, and with part of his consciousness he was willing Ylfronir to do just that. This was about to turn nasty…

'Quiet!' boomed a deep voice. Who had spoken? The tumult continued, Druluk looked around, bewildererd…

'QUIET!' came the voice again, even louder than before, and this time the raised voices started to diminish.

'Go on, Druluk,' With a start, Druluk recognised the speaker. It was Jorrig. But he had no time to come to terms with this new development. As the voices died down the silence grew, and demanded to be filled. Druluk felt his mouth opening almost involuntarily. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he said it anyway

'Thank you!'

A pause, just long enough for his brain to start catching up, and

'Please hear me out, I shall be brief.'

Once again a pause, the pause of one about to dive into a pool of unknown depth…but then wasn't he already in free fall?

'Saruman is indeed our enemy.'

This time the statement met only expectant silence, and he pressed on

'We owe him nothing, he owes us everything. We give him our all, he gives us the barest minimum. Our labour, our sacrifice brings him great strength yet he treats us as though we are worthless.'

Druluk scanned those faces which he could see. The stares gave no indication how his speech was being received.

'He tells us a war is coming. So we sharpen our swords, we beat the dents out of our shields and we prepare to lay down our lives…for what? I can't tell you. And he won't tell you. A great and glorious kingdom? A noble and idealistic principle? A better life for us and our children? Does anyone here believe that that is what we are going to die for? Maybe you're right. But maybe I'm right, and maybe the only thing we'll be dying for is one man's lust for power.' Druluk paused, his mouth dry. A lone voice called from out of the darkness:

'Traitor! Saruman is our friend!. When have elves done anything but drive us from the woods? When have men welcomed us into their towns and cities? Saruman is the only one who has ever been on our side!'

Druluk thought he heard whispering beginning in the far corners of the room. He knew how quickly this could cascade into chaos. With a final glance at Ylfronir, intended to combine 'get the hell out of here' with 'look what a mess you've got me into', he plunged on

'To Saruman we are nothing more than trained dogs. Trained, even bred,' he spat. 'I have read of our history. I have read Saruman's own history, his own treatise on the matter of orc subjugation. And his notes on the breeding of Uruk Hai.' A murmer flickered round the room at this. Druluk was beginning to feel light headed. But he didn't have that much left to say. If he could just finish conveying his message before they fell on him then at least he would have died for something.

'Do you know how many died in his…experiments? How many of our brothers suffered untold agonies as he sought to discover the limitations of our very bodies and choose the strongest, the most resilient to forge his new breed? And when he had his Uruk Hai, do you know how many he slaughtered when they had barely drawn breath because they did not meet his exacting standards?'

Druluk felt his throat constrict. At last the horrific discovery he had made those weeks ago in the Tower of Orthanc had an outlet, but his very voice was betraying him now. The image of that battlefield swam again before his eyes. The trees a hazy background, the screaming muted in his memory, but the weight of Rashgrul solid and real against his legs. The thought of the orcs who died by Saruman's own hand appalled him, but he could not conceive fully that horror. The horror of Rashgrul's death and that of the rest of his company was real, and made worse by his certainty that to Saruman those deaths were trivial. He swayed slightly on his feet, and it took a monumental effort to bring his mind back to the present. But someone else was talking:

'It's true.' The rumbling monotone of Jorrig had broken the silence, and all heads turned towards him. 'My first memory is of Saruman standing over me, sword in hand. And he struck the Uruk Hai beside me down.'

'Attack! Attack! The Tower of Orthanc is under attack!' Someone was running down the corridor outside the armoury, shouting as he came. A moment later the door burst open to reveal an orc, clad in full battle gear with the insignia denoting the rank of captain on his helmet.

'Come on!' he roared, 'we need all the weapons we have! Arm yourselves and bring the rest to the main hall!'

Nobody moved. The crowd had looked to Druluk for their response, and he had stood stock still.

'What is going on?' demanded the Captain. Ylfronir stepped forward, righteous anger radiating from every pore

'These orcs are choosing to express their discontentment with their , their enslavement , by peacefully withholding their labour until such a time as …'

Druluk laid a restraining hand on Ylfronir's arm, and said, in tones of cool authority:

'We're on strike.'

The captain was staring at the elf in bewilderment. Unsure whether he had even heard, Druluk repeated:

'We aren't going to fight.'

At last the captain found something he knew how to respond to:

'Then you must die…'

Druluk turned away, apparently unconcerned, though his heart was beating like a fly's wings buzzing desperately against a window pane, and addressed the throng:

'You see! Saruman has us just where he wants us, ready to raise our hands against each other before we raise them against him!'

The crowd was on his side now, and they nodded their agreement. One voice shouted

'Death to Saruman!' and others took up the chant. The captain looked horrified.

Druluk smiled, then raised his arms for silence. The chanting died down.

'Brothers, I have realised something. If we kill Saruman then we are fulfilling his decree that we should be killers. Fighting machines, good for nothing but violence. I say we should not sink to that level. I say we are more than that. We can bring Saruman down simply by not obeying him. Without us he is powerless.'

'Apart from the magic' muttered Ylfronir

'Without us, he is powerless!' repeated Druluk, jabbing Ylfronir in the ribs with an elbow.

This new idea was not greeted with enthusiasm, but a certain grudging acceptance emerged. Jorrig's fierce glare may have had something to do with that. The captain, astonished and still fuming at having been disobeyed, marched out of the room, no doubt to fetch his superior. Then Jorrig rose to his feet and came over to Druluk and Ylfronir

'Um, Druluk,' he said quietly,

'Yes?' hissed Druluk out of the side of his mouth, as he kept his attention focussed on the crowd.

'If the Tower's under attack, we're not going to be very safe down here. Shouldn't we think about manning the defences, if only for ourselves?'

Druluk didn't reply straight away. He looked at the rows of orcs ranged before him. They looked like an army. They always looked like an army. They wore breastplates and helmets as a matter of course, even when working in the foundry. And they were sitting in the armoury, swords, pikes, battleaxes hanging from racks on the walls. And it made him feel sick.

'No.' he replied, simply, 'This is not our war. Let Orthanc fall.'

Jorrig nodded slowly. 'What are your orders?'

Druluk flinched, but this was not the time to raise the question of leadership. Even Ylfronir would understand that, wouldn't he? Druluk glanced across at the elf, and saw that he was staring at him, an undefineable expression on his face. Jorrig raised his eyebrows as if to say 'well?'

'We should leave here. Right now. You will lead the main party out by one of the tunnels. I'll take a smaller party and stay, see if I can persuade any more to join us…'

'You won't find that many more,' Jorrig replied, 'Saruman's mobilised most of the army to move against the men of the Riddermark at Helm's Deep. And these,' he gestured at the assembled throng 'were the only ones of those remaining who I could persuade to come to this little talk. The others didn't want to know.'

'Point taken,' said Druluk, 'but I'd still like to stay behind a while. You take the others and wait for me when you get a safe distance away.'

'Where should we go?'

'Stay away from Fangorn whatever happens. Head for….head for the Gap of Rohan, Ylfronir knows the way.' The elf started, then shook his head

'I'm staying with you.'

'Ylfronir, we haven't got time…'

'…to argue, and I'm not going to be persuaded.'

Druluk sighed, and grudgingly nodded his consent. Then he turned back to his audience.

'We're leaving,' he bellowed, over the conversations which had sprung up everywhere. 'Follow Jorrig!'

The orcs began to shuffle towards the door, some of them picking up weapons from the storage racks as they went.

'Leave them!' heads turned to him questioningly.

'Leave the weapons!'

'But…' began Ylfronir and Jorrig in unison

'No weapons!' Druluk felt his voice cracking under the strain. 'Leave them,' he repeated hoarsely. There was a moment, a split second when there was tangible indecision in the room. Then the sound of metal dropped on stone rang out, and the crowd surged out of the door, Jorrig with them.