There are times, in the midst of battle, when I have looked in mine
enemy’s eyes, and found something so disturbing, that I have almost
lost my way, for the moment, and become prey to it’s wicked blade.
I knew not what it was until today. Today, Elladan and I met a
great force. We had many Rangers with us and a few other Elves that
could keep up with the pace. I say that only because many of the
Firstborn, unlike Fëanor’s sons, do not feel the bloodlust that Elladan
and I feel. Men have no such scruples when it comes to Yrch.
We found ourselves in the midst of a valley not too far from Tharbad.
The river Gwáthlo rushed and silenced our enemies’ step. I laughed when
they supposedly snuck upon us. Their stench was smelt at least a
quarter of an hour before they appeared. We had some of our company,
the Men, for Yrch have contempt for the Secondborn, sit around a fire
with their backs to the oncoming foe.
When the Yrch raised their voices in the battle cry and we swept
forward, my heart sang with such joy. It is a blessing to kill them.
Our father sometimes, I think, despairs of us, Elladan and I, as if
this joy is something to be feared. It is to be relished, I try to
explain, for we would be dead if not for that. We guard Imladris with
that joy. He shakes his head. I believe he prays to the Valar for us. I
am sometimes shamed by his grief, but I would have it no other way.
Yrch must be killed.
I digress. An Orch came at me, it’s foul blade raised and it’s eyes
filled with… that same joy I had. I shudder now to think upon it. Not
that I should not be killed, it is probably my fate, the way I tempt
it. But that the beast should feel the same joy I do? The thought
stopped me and almost cost me my life. Elladan dispatched it quickly
and cuffed my head, shouting to focus. I nodded and returned to the
But again, another Orch came at me and I looked full into its eyes,
searching for the same joy. It was there. But something else. Something
which took the breath from me. I seemed to recognize those eyes. Could
it be possible? I stopped once again; this time, the beast stopped too.
It searched my eyes. Never before have I looked into an Orch’s eyes
with anything but hatred. It could not be… Rumors have told of such
things, but I never believed them. Until now.
My cousin, Inglor, stood before me, misshapen, gross to look upon, but the eyes were Inglor’s. How had it come to this?
He was dead before I could even acknowledge I knew; Halbarad had
been watching my back and crushed the creature’s…. Inglor’s skull. I
knelt in the black blood and wept.
A/N - 'Yrch' is the Sindarin plural form; the singular is 'orch'
I would truly love to know why, in the midst of a busy day, the
Muse just stops me cold and insists that I shiver in horror at the
things that happened in Middle-earth.