Black Speech is in italics

T.A. 2793

Raug spent much of his time hunting for food. The areas to the north were becoming incredibly dangerous, for the war between the Dwarves and the Orcs had just begun. Raug chose to stay neutral in the conflict, but that would not last for long.

…

Raug smelled the scouts before he heard or saw them. It was a familiar, strong musky smell that filled the air. He pulled his head from the pile of gold coins and snorted a few out of his nostrils. Raug had acquired a nice sized cave on the border of the Northern Waste. On the other side of the mountains was Angmar. Gundabad warg scouts frequented the hills and mountains, and many passed down to the Ettenmoors. None knew that a Fire Drake of old sat close to their doorstep. That is, until they needed him.

The trees rustled eerily. Raug sniffed again. These were definitely Gundabadians. Suddenly, three wargs burst out of the bushes. Two stayed behind, while one rode slowly up to the great snout.

He wore a simple, brown tunic and boots. He carried a large javelin. Feathers and bones were tied crudely to the tip. His face had a dark green tint and bright green eyes watched from his head. His faced was very well formed for an Orc. Long black hair was tied behind his head and fell between his shoulders.

"We have come to strike a deal," he spoke quietly, his brown warg deeply growling. Raug's massive black claws grabbed the side of the entrance.

"What dealings would I have with Orcs?" his deep, reptilian voice asked.

"Dwarves," the Orc snarled and grinned. "We heard that you've had dealings with their kind before, eh?" he chuckled. Raug was silent for a long time. Something pulled him to the Orcs. A deep, dark desire. He felt a strange connection to them.

"What do you need?" he asked carefully. The Orc laughed and his guards joined in.

…

Raug flew to where the Orc party had instructed him to go. He glided over Mount Gundabad and to a small valley in between several smaller mountains. At the base of the valley was a small stream. This was the beginning of the Anduin. Raug landed in the valley. There were tents everywhere. He was in an Orc army camp.

Sounds of blacksmiths hammering swords and iron echoed throughout the camp. Raug was massive, and looked upon all of the tents as one looks at ants on a log. Then, he heard a familiar voice at his feet. He looked down and saw the Orc that led him here.

"Where is your leader? I wish to speak with him," Raug asked.

"Our leader is not here at the moment. He went with some scout to that fortress. What is it called?" he paused and looked at the ground. "Ah! Dol Guldur!" Raug heard whispers in the back of his mind and his spine was turned to ice.

"Oh…" Raug muttered. The Orc's eyes showed understanding. He nodded slightly.

Suddenly, a loud horn rang out. Someone yelled loudly in Black Speech. The Orc nodded a farewell to Raug and ran back into the camp. Raug could see small black shapes moving quickly down the mountain adjacent to the camp.

The Orc weaved between soldiers and came to a clearing in the center of the camp. Brown canvas rags were posted on sticks to keep out the sun. The riders rode into the circle. The Orc spread his arms and laughed as a warg approached.

"What news from Moria?" he asked. A great, black-skinned Orc wearing a helmet and breastplate sat upon the warg. He pulled off his helmet to reveal his face, bald head, and pointy ears.

"More soldiers are coming. Many are down in Mirkwood right now," he said, sheathing his massive blade. "Take this to be sharpened." He turned to another Orc. There were about ten in the group. "Here is the contract," the black Orc handed the brown paper to the green-skinned one on the ground.

"Signed?" he asked hopefully. The Orc nodded as he hopped off of the warg and made his way into the camp. The green-skinned Orc carried the contract, eagerly reading and muttering to himself.

Meanwhile, Raug still sat behind the camp, watching the Orcs walk back and forth. The constant hammering of the blacksmith caused Raug to freeze and wince. It reminded him of the torturous pickaxes in Erebor. After much waiting, the green-skinned Orc approached the Fire Drake.

"The name is Farmar," he looked up and told Raug. "But most teasingly call me Calen."

"Elvish," Raug grumbled and bent closer to the ground. Calen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Don't get me started!" he said. Raug chuckled deeply.

"Anyway, I brought you here for the little game we and the Dwarves are playing," he spat the enemy's name. "We could use a big one like you." Raug looked amused. "This camp is moving out at dawn to a Dwarf camp up the hill. The smithies made an armor suit for you already. This battle is gonna be huge."

Calen had very broad shoulders. His nose was slightly pointy along with his green-toned ears. His hair was out of its tail now, and hung at his shoulders. A small, dark scar went straight down his right cheek. He wore black, metal bands on both wrists. His tunic had no sleeves, and thinner arms were crossed over his chest. A huge blade rested in its scabbard on his leather belt. Raug thought that he looked more Man-like than Orcish.

"Tell me, who were your parents?" Raug asked delicately. Emerald eyes shot to the amber ones above.

"I don't talk about that," Calen said bluntly and snarled. His gaze became fixed on the ground. Raug turned his head sideways and examined him. He noticed that his face was sculpted handsomely and human-like. He did not quite look like an Orc except for his ears, skin, and dress. A necklace of warg fangs hung around his neck.

Calen seemed very distracted. He was staring off into space. Raug opened his mouth to speak, but he saw a huge Orc run out of the camp and up to them. He jumped at the sight of Raug. Calen chuckled as he turned around.

"Did he scare y-," Calen laughed.

"The Dwarves! They're marching down the mountain!" he screamed hysterically. Calen's face immediately lost all expression.

"Get my armor. Now!" he yelled as the Orc ran back into the camp. "Ay!" The Orc turned around. "Bring his too! Quickly now!" Calen gestured to the Fire Drake behind him. Raug could see a massive line of silver slinking down a distant mountain towards the camp.

"Listen…" Calen turned to Raug and gestured upward.

"Raug."

"Listen, Raug. These Dwarves are feisty. They have advanced weapons. Including black arrows. Have you heard of them?" Calen asked. Raug squinted and bared his teeth. A low rumble echoed from his throat. He put a claw near the hole in his chest. Calen's jaw dropped. He walked forward and stretched as tall as he could to reach it and examine it.

"How are you still alive?" he asked, shocked. He stepped back and gestured for Raug to lean closer.

"The leaders, they want you for slavery. You could heat the forges, you're a formidable foe. After this battle, they are going to chain you up. I'm not going to let them. It'll probably be the last thing I do. I know, Raug. You just want to be free. You don't have a 'side'. I'm gonna do everything I can to help you," he whispered in his ear. The Orc returned, panting and sweating. He dragged a cart with huge, silver plates and smaller Orc armor.

"Thank you," Calen said and the Orc ran back to the camp.

…

Calen tightened the last strap of armor on Raug's back.

"You're good now. Get ready for battle," Calen said as he leapt off of Raug's scaly back. Raug wore a sort of helmet that covered all but his mouth and eyes. There were three, sharp metal horns at the tip of the snout. His tail armor was covered in spikes. A plate of armor covered his stomach and was tied with leather straps to one on his back. The armored Orcs were already forming a huge march. Raug stomped in the back as they exited the camp. Dark clouds had formed over their heads and it began to rain steadily. Calen ran into the front of the line somewhere and Raug could not tell who was who. There were probably about five hundred soldiers marching and one hundred on wargs. The Dwarf army had halted at the base of the distant mountain. Raug was struck with an icy blade as he saw them form two front lines of archers. The force seemed smaller than the one that Raug had seen over the trees earlier. Finally, the Orc army halted on a plain. It was thick with dirt and boulders, but made good fighting ground.

Without warning, the Orc army charged at the Dwarves. Raug had to run quickly to keep up. The ground shook beneath his weight. Their swords were drawn and the wargs galloped ahead of the army. Suddenly, the arrows were released. Orcs were hit left and right and were trampled under the boots of others. The massive black arrows shattered breastplates and severed arteries. Black liquid sprayed everywhere in the air. One hit Raug in the neck but fell off with his stomping. The warg riders yelled commands to the troops.

"Get the Drake in the front!" a random voice yelled. Raug looked down at him in disgust. A black arrow whizzed through the air and impacted with his arm, tearing it off right from the bone. He screamed and fell to his knees, left to die. Raug pitied him. He looked back but only saw a distant pool of black blood. Those who were injured were trampled under the feet of others, if not Raug himself.

Finally, the archers ran out of arrows. The army was relieved and charged faster to kill the Dwarves before them. That was when the rest of the army flew out of the trees and slaughtered the Orcs. The short soldiers ambushed the taller ones with spears and javelins and war cries. Raug burned a large section of their forces. The Orcs were strong, but they had acted too quickly. The army broke into random groups, and those who were abandoned were killed quickly. The archers began running to the massacre with knives.

In all of the confusion, Raug realized that his armor was being cut off. A smaller Orc was whittling away at his straps. When all of the armor was off of his body, the Orc screamed.

"Fly!" he yelled. Raug flapped his wings and burned more Dwarves as they killed the only remaining Orcs. Raug was overcome with fear. The Orc upon him reached for others below. He grabbed one and pulled him up onto the scaly body. A javelin penetrated his back. The Orc cried out in fear and dropped him.

"Kill the beast!" a Dwarf yelled. Javelins bounced off of Raug's natural armor as he tried to get into the air. Several Dwarves jumped onto his wings, but the Orc cut them down as they came. The last living Orc reached his armored hand. The Orc dove for it and missed as Raug began to gain altitude. The Orc below screamed terribly, and chills went down Raug's spine.

"Fly down and get him!" the Orc upon his back cried. Raug continued to fly away. If they went back, they would both die. The Orc pulled off his helmet and sat upon the beast's back. He tossed it into the air. The Dwarves mercilessly stabbed his friend. A final scream echoed above the trees, and was gone.

A small tear ran down the green Orc's cheek. His black hair fluttered in the wind. Raug continued his course to Mount Gundabad. It was not far.

…

The Dragon flapped his wings quickly and touched his feet to the grassy hill. The twilight cast a blue and pink glow that faded away to bright stars. A cool breeze rippled the yellow and green grass across the hills. Raug reached his claws up and grabbed the body on his back. He rested it against a boulder. Calen was awake, but he did not speak. He pulled off his armor and was back in his simple tunic. Raug hunched over, letting his body get warm. He watched Calen blink slowly and look around. Mount Gundabad loomed a little bit into the distance. There was snow on its peak. Raug jumped slightly when Calen got up from his seat and kicked his breastplate over the side of the hill. He screamed loudly and stood with his back to the Dragon, watching the last lights fall into the horizon. Calen kneeled on one knee and rested his elbow on the other.

A small, black plume of smoke rose to the east.

"I knew they would burn the camp," Calen said quietly, almost to himself. He picked strands of grass and flicked them away. "Our leader is strong. His revenge will come." Raug closed his eyes. "You asked about my parents," Calen said, his voice closer to Raug than before. Raug's eyelid shot open.

Calen had been crying. There were clean streaks through the dirt on his face.

"My father was an Orc. My mother was an Elf," he said quietly. Raug lifted his head from the ground and turned it sideways, looking down at him like a bird.

"That is very…odd," Raug said gently. Calen nodded.

"Somehow, they fell in love. My father met her in the wild. He brought her in secret to Gundabad, and she was killed after I was born," Calen's voice cracked as he told the story. "My father went mad and killed himself soon after." Raug did not know what to say.

"I'm sorry," he said carefully. Calen smiled slightly.

"My mother only left me one gift," he said a bit more cheerfully. "I inherited her long life." Raug was shocked. He turned and lowered his head to Calen's level.

"How old are you?" Raug asked.

"One hundred and nine," Calen said. "I am still very young." Raug grumbled in delight. Calen sat down on the grass and began to ask Raug about his past life. Raug told him everything, about Thorin, Smaug, Lagra, and all that had come to pass since the day his family was killed. They talked about their contempt for the Dwarves until the moon rose over a distant hill. It was a full moon.

…

Calen watched the moonlight twinkle the Mithril specks in Raug's scar. The Orc was wrapped in a small fur blanket that he had brought with him. It was very peaceful at night on the northern borders of Rhovanion. The great Anduin snaked through valleys to the south. Calen looked up to the bright stars. There was not a cloud in the sky.

Suddenly, he heard thumping. It sounded far off but gradually came closer. He looked to Raug, who was curled up and fast asleep. Calen picked up a rock and threw it at his side. Raug opened one of his eyes.

"Raug, there is something coming," Calen whispered. Raug did not seem to care and went back to sleep. Calen crouched against the boulder. The thumping stopped, but he could hear panting at the bottom of the hill. He slowly pulled a dagger out of his blanket. He watched Raug's body rhythmically moving up and down.

Then, he realized that the panting stopped.

Calen could feel its presence on top of the boulder. He pulled himself under the blanket and held his dagger tightly. His hands were sweating. Suddenly, a huge piece of metal fell onto his head. He whipped the blanket off and saw his helmet laying there, the one that he had thrown off of Raug. He looked up and began laughing. A huge warg jumped off of the boulder and landed next to him. It began to lick Calen's face as he laughed with glee. Raug sat up and looked at the warg below him.

"Who is this?" Raug asked, leaning closer to the warg. It had short, dark brown fur. Raug touched it with his claw. It immediately turned around and started snapping at his claws.

"His name is Furtun. He must have escaped the camp. I've raised him since he was a pup," Calen told the Dragon. Raug pushed it away from his leg with his wing.

"I need you to take me to Gundabad. There's something I must attend to," Calen said. Raug nodded and seemed indifferent, but he eyed the Orc suspiciously. "There is an old friend there that I need to speak to. About the war." Raug grumbled and curled up once more.

Soon after, the group was asleep once more.

…

Raug flew swiftly towards the great peak. Below him, a warg thundered over the hills. Furtun was extremely fast. The sun had barely risen, stretching its orange arms into the sky. Although Raug had begun to trust his new companion, he was suspicious of his intentions at Gundabad. Raug had thought that they would go separate ways. He would try to be careful.

Once the sun had fully risen over the horizon, they reached the front gate. It was very similar to Erebor, Raug thought. A great stone gateway led into the mountain. Runes were carved decoratively into patterns and shapes. The snow was far above, near the peak, but it would spread to the ground when winter came. Raug stayed behind a stone wall, and out of sight of the many guards marching back and forth on the door. Calen pulled a rope out of a small sack to tie up Furtun, but he thought better of it.

"Stay here. If you see a flame fly from the wall, I need you to leave," Calen whispered into the Dragon's ear.

"What exactly are you doing?" Raug asked the Orc. Calen looked into Raug's eyes.

"Nothing," Calen said, and hopped upon his warg. Before Raug could stop him, he galloped up the dark, stony hill and up to the gate. Raug stayed where he was and watched. Calen talked with a guard. They seemed to be whispering to each other. Then, Raug pulled a sack from his belt and handed it to the Orc. The gate was opened and Calen rode inside. With a loud crash, it closed behind him. Raug scowled in suspicion. Something was amiss.

…

Calen tied Furtun to a post inside.

"Sit," he told the warg. Immediately, it sank down and rested. Calen looked up.

The city was just as he remembered it. It was in the mountain, much like Erebor, only much older. Giant, stone Dwarves guarded the entrance hall, but their heads were gone and replaced with rusty iron cages filled with bones. Orcish graffiti was etched all over them in Black Speech.

Calen leaned down and examined an etching that appeared to have been there for a while.

'Dwarf scum' it read. Calen chuckled and raised himself back to his feet. As he walked down the dark hallway, a murmur gradually began to rise into a huge ceilinged cavern. Bridges connected pillars and balconies. Stairs led to huge rooms and abandoned mines. All of the architecture was clearly Dwarvish, but crude wooden paths and huts were scattered all over the walls and walk ways like bats on a cave wall. Calen's breath was taken away at the sight of the massive Orcish colony.

"Such a shame…" Calen whispered. Orcs wandered everywhere, and their voices echoed throughout the cave. Calen looked over the bridge and saw that the tiny lights delved down into a deep black pit below. He needed to find the Supreme Commander of the Orcs quickly. His task had to be fulfilled. Calen needed Orcish liquor for a key part of his plan. He looked around at the different Orcs running about. Then, he saw him.

An Orc whose small stature was remarkably similar to Calen's was sitting in a chair and writing in his la with a cheap quill. A large bottle was strapped to his leg. Calen targeted his prey and made his way through the crowds. Gundabad was an extremely dim place, and torches were seldom on the walls.

Before he made his move, Calen thought about what he was about to do. He nervously twisted one of the metal bands on his arms. If he deserted his task, he would be killed. With tears in his eyes, Calen pulled the dagger from inside his tunic. He ran through the crowd and grabbed the young Orc, covering his mouth and dragging him behind a hut. Calen rested the blade on his throat and in a split second, the knife was dripping with black blood and the Orc lying on his face. Calen gulped and held up his bloody hand. He cleaned his hand and he dagger and pulled the bottle from the dead body. He continued walking to the other room, blending in with the bodies around him.

There was usually a supreme Orc that ran the colony in Gundabad. Calen had heard rumors that a previous commander had moved his leadership to Moria. Calen pushed Orcs out of the way and brushed against bodies as he walked over the bridge.

He paused. For a moment, he felt as if someone was watching him. He turned his head slowly to the side and looked out of the corner of his eye. A shadowy figure sat in a chair, watching him from afar. His gaze was repeatedly broken by the crowds waling past. He was not an Orc, that was certain. It was wrapped in a large cloak, and only two, bright blue eyes watched him, unblinking. Calen turned and continued walking, a sweat braking on his brow.

After some walking, Calen reached a door. It was very close to the edge of the abyss, and a guard stood in front. He was wearing full, silver armor and held a spear with its tip in the air. Calen walked up to him.

"I must speak with him," Calen said.

"Leave, filth," the guard answered. Calen looked around and saw that hardly any Orcs were walking in this area. Then, he grabbed the spear. Calen saw the guard reach for it and stabbed him in his armpit, the only weak spot in his armor. The tip went very deep and he grunted. Calen bit his bottom hip and twisted the spear. The Orc let out his last breath. Calen shoved him and he plummeted into the darkness below.

He reached up and grabbed a huge handle on the door before him. It was extremely heavy, and he pulled as hard as he could. He slipped inside and put his hand behind him, making sure that no one could hear the door close. A short hallway led to a circular room. There were many torches on the walls. A long, dirty and torn rug led up the three small stairs to the circular room. Calen crouched and snuck up the stairs. In the room, there was a large stone chair in the middle. Tables of books and maps and papers were scattered all about the room. An older Orc sat at the throne, flipping through worn parchment and maps, repeatedly marking certain areas with his quill. Calen walked up slowly. The Orc looked up.

His hair was white and stringy, only a few strands hanging down to his upper arms. His face was dark gray, and very wrinkly. His eyes were light brown. He wore a simple brown robe and leather boots.

"Who are you?" he asked, jumping at the sight of the young Orc before him.

"My business does not concern you," Calen said as he began pacing with his hands behind his back. The Orc dropped his quill in the bottle of ink. A small clink echoed in the room.

"I am the leader of this colony! Have you no respect for your elders?" he asked. Calen chuckled.

"I know who you are. Your lordship will end soon. There are stronger ones rising. Look to Moria. It is prosperous, unlike this smelly cavern," Calen spat.

"Azog is strong, but he has dealings with the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. That is somewhere that I do not wish to go," he said, setting his papers in his lap. Calen stopped and looked at the lord of Gundabad.

"And why should you neglect our true master?" Calen asked bluntly.

"I send aid to Dol Guldur, but if true war is to come then I will not! I will not expose our people to his wrath!" he said angrily. Calen walked closer to the Orc and laughed. In an instant, his knife was embedded in his chest. The Orc clutched his chest and looked up at Calen.

"Your mother lives, young Farmar. I expected better of you…" his voice trailed off as he slumped forward, dead. Calen stepped back. A steady flow of salty tears flooded down his green cheeks and splattered onto the floor. He fell to his knees on the cobblestone. He covered his eyes with his hands and doubled over, weeping loudly. Black, inky blood trickled over the papers in the lap of the corpse. Calen's cries carried through the cool air. Pain became fear. A quiet whisper echoed through his head. Calen began shaking and stood up. His eyes were wide and red. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and pulled the knife out of the Orcs chest.

Calen ran through the crowds once more, until he reached a stone staircase. He ran up, two steps at a time, until he reached the top. The air became much colder. Calen turned to his right and squinted. It was the catwalk above the gate of Gundabad. Calen hesitated.

"I must finish the task," he whispered. Calen pulled the dirty liquor bottle from his leg. A torch rested on the wall. Calen grabbed it. Quickly, he smashed the neck of the bottle on the wall. Calen set the bottle on the ground and pulled a thick, leather glove over his hand. He rested the flame of the torch on top of the drink. Instantly, the liquid set fire. A steady and bright flame rose from the top. Calen dropped the torch and lifted the bottle with his gloved hand.

Calen sprinted over the wall, running past guards. When he reached the middle, he stopped and lifted the flame into the air. A huge cheer rang out, catching the attention of the guards. Calen threw the bottle off of the wall, letting it soar through the air and land in the snow.

A massive army of Dwarves, greater than Raug had ever seen charged the gate.

"Traitor!" Raug roared. He stomped to the gate as quickly as he could. Raug made eye contact with the green-skinned Orc standing exactly at his height. Raug was taller than the entire gate. He bellowed loudly. Calen began to run down the catwalk. Raug clawed and whipped his tail, crushing stone and sending boulders flying into the air. Calen escaped to the inside. Raug tore the giant, Dwarvish gate open and plummeted inside, his body barely fitting in the dark hallway. Orcs screamed and ran for the gate as the Dragon thundered after the small Orc who was running as fast as his legs could carry him. Then, the Dwarves entered. The escaping Orcs were killed instantly. The brutal weapons of the small soldiers were deadly to the unarmed civilians. The Dwarves pushed farther and farther into the cavern. Raug continued after his goal.

Amid all the fighting, a single archer stood upon a staircase. He held a bow which was much too large for him.

"Take the beast down!" a voice yelled over the fighting. The Dwarf nodded and pulled a newly sharp black arrow from his quiver on his back. His long black hair and beard waved slightly. He pulled the arrow back and aimed at the Dragon, still running into the darkness.

"Thorin! Take it down!" the Dwarf yelled once more. The prince took aim.

"Erebor will be avenged," Thorin muttered. The arrow soared through the cave.

Calen tripped and fell on his face. He turned over and looked at Raug. The giant Dragon gathered fire in his chest. Suddenly, he sputtered smoke and a sharp pain hit his back. The arrow went deep. Everything went completely silent. He looked into Calen's eyes and bent over, his massive eyes watching Calen's eyes flutter about in confusion. He held his gloved hand out.

"Why must the world fall into darkness. Why are we slaves to him," Raug asked himself.

Raug saw his vision become clouded. He stumbled about on the cliff. Then, he plummeted into the darkness below. Calen screamed as he lay on the ground. Tears once again fell from his eyes. He curled up on the floor and wept loudly and violently as the army ran past, killing Orcs everywhere.

"Who am I, mother?" Calen whispered as he cried. "Who am I." A hand began to gently stroke his cheek.