*Author's Note*
This story isn't meant to strictly follow the canon of Middle Earth/Tolkien. It's a casual piece that I'm just writing for fun. If breaking canon isn't your thing, you probably won't care for this story.
1
"I want to hear about the other side of the gate!" a bubbly child with a wild mess of fiery-red hair jumped up and down on a straw palette while her mother and father turned to look upon the little girl with surprise. In the dim light of a couple candles, their cavern abode was chilly, but warmed by thick furs lining as much of the floor and walls as they could manage. No moon or star light could reach this deep into the caves, but that was what made it so safe.
"Alae, you're supposed to be asleep!" the girl's father stood up from their small family table with a stern look.
"You an' mama talk too loud," She bounced, reaching her arms up for him to lift her. She glanced past his shoulder, seeing her mother take a deep breath, before joining the pair on the palette. The little girl was the spitting image of her mother, albeit with much less worry graying her hair and less reddening of her verdant, green eyes.
Her father tickled her chin, causing the girl to squeal and writhe in his arms, "Too loud, eh, little bug? I smell a stinker!"
"No no! Stoooooop!" She giggled, trying to push his hands away, while admitting, "I'm no' sleepy. I heard you an' mama say som'thin 'bout the gate!"
"Ah, the gate, eh?" her mother smiled and gave her a peck on the forehead. The little girl blinked as she thought she felt a droplet fall onto her cheek, but didn't think much of it; the cave leaked sometimes, after all. When her mother pulled away, both parents wrangled the child back into laying on the palette and bundling her under a pile of pelt blankets. "If I tell you about the other side, will you promise to go to sleep, little stinker?" Her mother bargained.
The little girl pursed her lips thoughtfully, only to get a tickling under her ribs again by her father who warned, "Alaesia…"
"Yes, yes! I promise!"
"Good," her mother nodded, while resting her head upon her husband's shoulder, "On the other side of the Black Gate, there is a beautiful land greener than you can imagine. There are forests full of elves who create beautiful trinkets of magic, even their clothing sparkles. There are mighty dwarves, who build the grandest cities deep in the mountains and just as tall. And there are men, who farm great golden fields of never-ending grains-"
Alaesia sat bolt upright, fighting her parents' restraint, "If I had never-ending grain, I'd have bread e'ry day!"
"Yes, of course you would. Lay down." her father pushed a finger on her forehead until she relented.
Her mother continued, "As I was saying, the other side of the gate is rich with all kinds of things-"
"Wha'bou porrid-"
"Hush and listen!"
"Don't they like porridge on the other side?"
"I'm sure they do. Are you going to let me finish or not?"
"Fine," Alaesia pursed her lips again in a huff and settled back into her blankets.
"Uh… right, the other side of the gate has many riches, but if it weren't for the brave soldiers guarding the gate, the darkness on this side of the gate would swallow up all the wonderful things there. So, they keep the gate closed so nothing bad, no monsters, can get through."
"Are we bad?" Alaesia's brow furrowed, "They don't let us through the gate. Does that mean we are bad? Are we monsters?"
Her parents exchanged a glance, and her father spoke, "Not at all, sweetheart. We're just... outcast here-"
"The soldiers of Gondor who protect the gate are gallant men, Alae," her mother interjected, "They just… have to make difficult decisions sometimes. If they opened the gate for us, the darkness would try to get through at the same time, so it must be kept closed."
"Oh," the little girl frowned, "Maybe someday?"
"Maybe someday. Then you will have as much bread-"
"And porridge."
"- and porridge as you want."
Alaesia cackled mischievously as her parents leaned in, to smoosh the child between themselves in a warm comforting embrace.
Strange, Alaesia thought, I haven't thought about them in so long. She sat up and tried to shake the memory from her mind; a grown woman having wistful dreams of the past was a sure fire way to get herself killed. All it would take is one wrong move, one moment of distraction, one tiny mistake, and she could easily find herself with a blade across her gut or a spear through her chest. That was all it took for her father to go missing on a hunting excursion. They only found his smashed breastplate, the insignia of Gondor vandalized with splashes of blood. And her mother used herself to lure a gaggle of orcs away from their home, never to be seen again. Mordor was unforgiving, just as Alaesia's master was.
Ku'Gohn the Gourmet was a long, bone-thin orc, whose appetite was insatiable. He had been parading the valleys of Udun when he had come across the hideouts of the outcasts. Many outcasts in the vicinity were slaughtered and eaten, others were tortured to death for entertainment, and an unlucky few were taken as slaves, Alaesia among the latter. When Ku'Gohn came calling, it was never a good sign.
Alaesia scrambled to her shackled feet at Ku'Gohn's approach, only to have him throw a large form at her. He twisted his thin lips in a half-cocked sneer as the weight of the thing bowled Alaesia backwards, "You've been promoted, little tarkling! Isn't that nice?"
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the urge to wretch. The thing laying on top of Alaesia was the mangled corpse of the slave previously assigned as 'Ku'Gohn's personal chef.' The dead slave's head was twisted in a full circle, eyes bulging, and limbs bent in all sorts of unnatural directions. Ku'Gohn leaned over Alaesia, "I'm quite famished, and I think this terrible chef of mine would make a fine meal, don't you?" He crowed in amusement. "You better get to work now, tarkling, unless you want to be dessert!"
When the orc had retreated back into his tent, Alaesia freed herself from the weight of her fellow slave, trying to picture anything but the bruised and aghast face of the corpse. He was not the first of Ku'Gohn's slaves to meet their fate as a meal for their master. The orc delighted, revelled even, in making each of his chef's serve their predecessor as his next meal. She had seen countless others fall victim to the orc's hunger and vile treatment. Only now, the role of personal chef had finally fallen to her.
The last slave she had seen refuse Ku'Gohn's assignment was flayed, their skin cooked down to oil, then while the poor victim was still painfully conscious, they were fried alive. Alaesia knew exactly just what sorts of cruel punishments Ku'Gohn could cook up should she refuse. But the idea of butchering another human made the woman blanch. She stumbled away from the corpse, letting the faint drizzle of the night's clouds trickle down her face as she tried to avert her mind from the task at hand.
She turned towards one of the supply carts, hoping that she could buy herself just a little extra time. Maybe I can pick the locks and make a break for it, she wanted to hope. There was a collection of blades, rusted and chipped, available to her for processing Ku'Gohn's 'food.' They likely wouldn't prove much use for getting the shackles off her feet and hands; she definitely didn't want to put such dull blades anywhere near the iron collar around her throat either.
She picked one up, glancing back at the body, but her hands trembled uncontrollably until she set the blade back down. Whether the trembling was from the horror of her task, or the heavy shackles weighing her wrists down, Alaesia couldn't tell. She just couldn't bring herself to do it; she couldn't be the kind of monster who would do that to another, and for her weakness, Ku'Gohn would undoubtedly kill her.
Alaesia hurriedly rifled through the supply cart, trying to form a plan of any sort, any way she might placate the orc, just to buy herself a little extra time. If she was going to die, she wanted to at least feel the rain one last time. As she flung empty crates out of the way, a rising stench burst into her face. Amongst the trash in the supply cart, she found a partly rotting haunch, of what looked like a caragor leg.
It'll have to do, Alaesia thought. She put as much effort as Ku'Gohn's limited patience would allow into carving and preparing a platter of meat, before hobbling with chained feet into his tent.
The orc stared her down as she proffered the platter to him; Alaesia's nose wrinkled, smelling the piss and grog that wreathed the air of the enclosed area. When Ku'gohn saw the caragor flesh, his mood instantly flashed to fury, "Do you take me for a fool, you stupid tark?! How dare you come in here and try to feed me this crow food when I expressly told you to make a meal of that other idiot snaga!"
He slapped the platter out of Alaesia's hands, and used a foot to pull her face to the floor by stepping on the chains that hung from her collar, "You know what happens to snaga that don't do as they are told!"
He hefted an axe from the nearby table, and raised it over her head as Alaesia cried out, "Please! I only meant this to be the first dish!"
A tense moment of silence filled the air, before Ku'Gohn put his axe blade under her throat. He leaned down, and growled quietly, "Explain yourself."
Alaesia felt the razor's edge of the axe press against her skin, daring her to spin a convincing reason to him. "The rain… It makes it hard to light a fire, but I didn't want to keep you waiting. An orc like yourself deserves a proper feast. Multiple dishes. Fit for a warchief-"
"An overlord!" Ku'Gohn hissed, pressing ever so slightly harder with his axe.
"Yes, of course! A feast fit for an overlord!" Alaesia winced. "And a feast needs a proper roast for the main course." Her own words made Alaesia sick to her stomach, but the idea of more food had caught The Gourmet's attention.
He tickled the blade under Alaesia's throat as if trying to decide if he believed her or not, "If yer little scheme doesn't leave me satisfied, I'll have yer head for dessert. How's that sound, little tarkling?" Without waiting for a response, he grabbed her by the collar, dragged her to the tent opening, where he unceremoniously threw her out into the mud. His face was contorted with eager contempt; he couldn't help but fantasize and he mused aloud, "I suppose brain pudding wouldn't make for a half bad treat!"
As Alaesia reoriented herself, she felt the increasing strength of the rain pouring across her skin. That was all she wanted, just to feel the rain one last time. She almost felt a cruel sense of relief as the water washed the mud from her limbs. It would be over soon, and she had come to terms with her fate. At least she wouldn't cave into dehumanizing herself into playing Ku'Gohn's disturbed games, just to save her own life.
Ku'Gohn was in the middle of uttering a final threat, when out of the darkness of the night, something was launched from the shadows directly at the skinny orc. A splatter of gore was flung in all directions as a bolt of solid iron, as tall as a man, impaled The Gourmet right through the skull.
*Translations*
Tark (tarkling) - Human, Diminutive
Snaga - Slave
*Story Definitions*
Orc - the result/descendent of corrupted elves as created by Morgoth
Uruk - hybrid orc (typically hybridized with elves or humans) as created by Sauron within Mordor
Uruk-Hai - specifically any Uruk as created by Saruman at Isengard
Olog (or olog-hai) - hybrid troll (typically hybridized via magic) as created by Sauron
Goblin - A wildish variant of orcs, descended from Morgoth's orcs that escaped into Middle Earth eventually bred into a smaller, deep-cave-adapted people.