A/N:I have a lot of ideas about stories set in the same universe as To Find Our Long-Forgotten Gold. This is just the first one that came out. Fair warning, guys, this particular little story is really quite unpleasant. Content warnings for violence, death and cannibalism (though not very graphic). Next one will hopefully be a lot more fluffy.
Oliphaunt
Skin is burning.
Sun is startling bright in sky. No clouds, nothing to hide its fiery face. High now, close to midday. No shade. He sits pressed against rock. Skin is slick with sweat. Bright, hard light burns cheeks, neck, shoulders. He tries to cover with hair. Burns anyway.
Orcs are in cave. Cave is dim, cool, though not damp like caves in north. Nothing here is damp. Ground is sand, not soil. Sticks to his raw feet, scrapes against marks of whip. Should not have taken punishment for new snaga. New snaga will be dead soon enough. Before whip marks have healed, most likely. Before skin has cooled from burn. Should not have taken punishment.
Orcs are sleeping. Cave is close, few steps away. Could slip inside. Shelter from sun, few hours. Slip out before orcs wake. Will orcs notice?
Yes. Orcs will notice.
Three days now since feet were whipped. Too soon to transgress again. Cannot take second punishment. (Should not have taken first punishment.) Needs to be able to walk. Other choice is death.
(Could choose death.)
Sun burns and burns. Never so hard, so bright. Punishment is his. He will survive. (He will not choose death.)
New snaga has been with orcs less than month. New snaga will not last week.
New snaga is man. Most snaga are men or orcs. Elves too strong. This one is not quite full-grown. Skinny. Learns slowly. He tries to help new snaga. Show him how to sit. How not to look at orcs. How to watch without being seen. How to keep quiet.
New snaga does not understand him. Speech is without weight, like twittering of birds. Now almost month, new snaga has not learnt how not to look. Has not learnt how to be silent, not seen. Too young, too much spirit.
Will not last week.
March in evening. Night is cool, cold. Shivers are welcome. Moon is bright overhead, stars high, cold, pinpricks. Stars do not burn.
New snaga grows weak. Cannot carry what orcs give. He takes extra. Pack scrapes burned neck, burned shoulders. Sand scrapes whip marks on feet.
Should eat, he tells new snaga. Eat, stay strong. No use to orcs if weak. Orcs not keep if no use.
New snaga does not understand. Twitters in bird language. Cries.
No crying, he tells new snaga. Keep water in body. Tongue is dry as sand. No water until march is done. No crying. Crying is weak.
New snaga cries. Will die soon.
March all night. Not bad march if not dry tongue and burned skin, whipped feet. Sand grows cool, stars grow bright. So many stars. What is it like among stars?
Better than here.
New snaga stumbles, falls. Once, twice, too many times. Makes noise. Orcs notice.
He steps away. Puts head down. Orcs do not look at him. Look only at new snaga.
Orcs laugh. New snaga is young. Is tender. Still have meat from new snaga's village. Salted. Orcs want fresh meat.
Soon, big orc says. Very soon. New snaga grows thin. Thin is no good. Kill before too thin.
Eat, he tells new snaga. Eat, eat. Eat or die.
New snaga twitters angrily. Casts salted meat to ground. Tries to steal his food, cast that away, too. New snaga too weak. Fight is over before begins. Before orcs notice.
New snaga sobs like child. he puts hand over new snaga's mouth, ignores sharp press of teeth in his palm. Quiet, he says. Quiet. It is only meat.
New snaga does not eat.
No sport, orcs say. No sport, no sport. New snaga cries out when struck. Makes noise, painful, sharp. No sport.
Keep silent, he says. Keep silent as long as can. Orcs like to break. Like challenge.
New snaga cries out when struck. No challenge at all.
Third day in desert, find green place. Sand in all directions, only here trees and water. He sleeps in shade of trees. Punishment is over now.
Men come in day. Come across sand, great noise. First just men, clothes all black, faces covered.
Then comes beast.
Beast is bigger than horse, bigger than warg. Bigger than mountain. Great grey lumbering, knives like trees in face. Nose is like great serpent. Cry so loud, he covers ears.
Mûmak, orcs say. Mûmak. Even orcs are scared of beast. Scared, but pleased. Want beast. Mûmak can kill armies, orcs say. Want see what mûmak can do. Excited.
Big orc talks with big man. He does not understand language. New snaga understands. Cowers. Eyes big, face pale.
Big man smiles sharp smile. Big orc laughs. Points at new snaga. Big man steps forward, reaches for new snaga.
New snaga screams. Cries. Struggles. Points at him, shouts in bird language.
Big orc laughs. Man-cub thinks khozd shrakhun should die instead, big orc says. What does khozd shrakhun think?
He does not speak. Keeps head low. Watches without being seen. Big orc nods.
Khozd shrakhun is strong, big orc says. Khozd shrakhun is good sport. Man-cub is weak. He laughs, spits at new snaga, kicks him in stomach. Speaks to him in bird language. New snaga weeps.
Big man takes new snaga by arm, drags him towards mûmak. Big orc grabs his hair, pulls his head up. Watch, he says. Watch.
He watches.
Big man drops new snaga before mûmak. Jabs mûmak with spear. Mûmak roars, sound is loud, loudest. Wraps serpent-nose around new snaga. Lifts him. Smashes him to ground.
New snaga cries out. Bones crunch. Blood stains sand.
Mûmak lifts new snaga again. Smashes again. Cries, crunch, blood.
Third time, no more cries.
Mûmak smashes, over and over. New snaga is nothing but bloody pulp and splintered bones. Orcs laugh. Big orc kicks him in back. He makes no sound.
Fresh meat tonight, big orc says. Orcs cheer.
Bone splinters make meat hard to eat.
Four months in desert. Whip marks heal. Big orc talks, always talks to men. No more mûmakil. Stars bright every night. Days burn, nights shiver.
Hopes not to see mûmak again.
He sees one in a picture, years later. He doesn't understand why Hobbit wants him to have the picture. He can't throw it away. It is his. Hobbit wanted him to have it.
He can't throw it away, but he can try not to look at it.
The next time - the last time - Kili saw an oliphaunt was many years later, by the banks of the River Anduin, before the great city of Minas Tirith. They were many, far too many, and fearsome, just as he remembered. But he had survived, and he would survive, and when the battle was over, one beast was felled by an arrow in the eye, and Kili's bow thrummed with revenge.
The battle was won.