An Orc By Any Other Name…|
Rating – K
Summary – Some tales say that orcs were once elves, taken and twisted to do the dark lords bidding…
There he stands, fair and light like others of his kind. Free to walk over the land where’er he will yet I must cower in the shadows. I remember once, when I was just like he and loved to run and sing under the trees. How I loved the feel of sunlight on my skin, the gentle breath of summers winds, the playful water of the clear cascades. These things are lost to me now. The sunlight burns, tormenting weakened eyes and roughened skin. I hear the wind yet feel it not as in this twisted frame all sense of touch has disappeared and all I dare allow in contact with my form turns foul and tainted, even clearest stream becomes a midden should I stray within its banks.
I watch the golden hair that lifts and waves about his head as if it dances to an unheard song and find my thickened fingers reach to stroke the few lank tresses still left sprouting from my own misshapen skull. He smiles. And suddenly the world becomes a brighter place and I must turn away lest in his light I burn. A growl begins to boil within my chest. How is this right? That he and I should be so far apart that once shared kin. I feel my hackles rise as in his grace and elegance he walks across the clearing, moving past the sleeping dwarf and closer to the unkempt man with eyes like gimlets, leans and whispers in his ear. I am deaf to his words. Once I would hear the faintest sound without a thought, as he would hear the sighing of a butterfly at end of day. Yet now, with ears no longer finely shaped and leaf like as his own but bluntly maimed and flattened, sounds come in distorted as their outer form. I can no longer listen to the songs that in my youth brought gladness to my heart but labour under noises, so discordant as to set my fëa on edge if it still dwelled within this malformed and corrupted shell.
He turns his face up to the stars above and oh, how smooth and beautiful the skin that shines beneath their light, how rich and plump those cherry lips that curve in softest smile. Perfection. My blood begins to heat. The scent of grass and trees and living things blows on the air and overrides the acid tang of sweat and filth that clings to my misshapen frame. I have him now, his scent is in my mind and in my core and it will not let me rest until I claim it for my own. My heart begins to race and though I fight it I know that my masters will, will soon prevail. This creature that I am become is slowly taking over and soon memories of past will fade once more to sink beneath a sea of want and need and lust. Yet now as I cling on to all that I have left of reason with each ounce of courage I do yet possess I realise that there is another way.
My claws extend, my mouth begins to drool. If I do not act soon whilst still my mind is clear and I have some kind of control all will be lost. A deep breath in and as my stubby fingers clench tight round the coarsely beaten blade I carry now a sudden memory of a brightly shining, long and slender sword with ornate hilt invades my mind. ‘Twas once a gift. A gift of friendship and of love. I sigh, and hold on tightly to that thought as from the shadows now I venture forth alone.
His aim is true. The arrow pierces thickened flesh with ease and though I see disgust writ large upon his face I finally feel peace. The song begins. And as I hear again what I have for too long since been denied my twisted features try to smile. He closes in. A slender blade now rests across my willing throat. His eyes meet mine and suddenly they widen in surprise as now he finds the story of the orcs is true. I try to speak, but so long has it been I can not find the words and only croak a roughened sound and raise my sunken chin in silent plea. He understands. And as the tears fall from his eyes he pushes hard and fast to minimise the pain. He sets me free. This golden prince with whom I dwelled in Eryn Galen as a child.