One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

"Here, now," I told the Orc firmly. "If you will do nothing else, at least take water as you did yestereve. Surely you thirst most terribly." Raising the cup once more to his mouth, I gave him my most encouraging look. The Orc's brow furrowed and as he'd done minutes earlier, he firmed his lips in a tight line.

"You waste your time," Oswin groused from the doorway. "Let him suffer, if it's his desire to do so."

"Perhaps you can bear to see it, but I cannot," I replied irritably. "Forgive me, Oswin, but if you will insist upon offering so little..."

"I have better things to do with my time and energy, miss," he retorted, "than to wait hand and foot on an ungrateful lout like this Orc. If he refuses to accept our help, so be it. Let him rot where he hangs. I'm done with him."

"Latzaug-ishi? Zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi?" the Orc snarled. Though he barely had the wherewithal to do so, he straightened and pulled his legs under him, standing as best he could. "Lat ikh-izish akrat matum-izub, agh zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi? Ur lat golmub-izish nûkhud? Piil krum-ishi, shapat hosh-ishi, gaiumu agh bûrzum...!"

He might have said more, but his ragged throat was too dry, his body too weak to sustain his bluster. His words were cut off by a fit of coughing and choking. Thinking he might now take water, I offered the cup again, but he jerked his head to the side.

"Paashnar-izg," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Naryonk."

"Please," I begged quietly. "Do not let yourself die, good Orc." He narrowed his eyes and glared at me askance. I was close enough to hear his labored breathing. Close enough to see into the depths of his yellow eyes.

"Sharlob âmbal," the Orc breathed. He tried to moisten his lips, but his pale tongue was inadequate to the task. "Lat ûs lat paash golmat-izish kulûk agh ta norkub-izg."

"Drink," I urged again. "A mouthful? That is not so much."

He frowned then, and narrowed his eyes. "Hon-izg narzûr hontu-latub-ishiz," he murmured, seemingly in confusion. "Lat ûs lat golm ghûlum-izish."

The probing look he gave me as he spoke in his grotesque tongue made me terribly nervous, and I swallowed with difficulty. I also found myself retreating a step, and feeling ashamed for it. He could do me no harm, such as he was. Truly, in his condition, I was in little danger from him were he free to walk about his cell. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward again, my resolve firm once more.

"A drink only," I told him sternly. "If you please." Without giving him an option, or indeed a warning, I pressed the cup to his mouth and tipped it. The cool water at first ran over his tightly pressed lips, but I did not stop. After a moment, the contents were running down his chin and over his chest. Undaunted, I refilled the cup and repeated the gesture.

A slight smile was on his face when I returned after the second failure, and this time he let some water trickle past his lips. As though his defenses were once again unmade by the very thing his body so desperately needed, he gave in to his thirst and drank deeply.

Feeling profound relief, I withdrew and gazed at the neatly cut pieces of meat I'd brought, as well as the half-loaf of bread. I had little confidence that he would accept food, when it was such a struggle coaxing him to drink. Glancing at him, I saw his head was back against the wall, and he gasped as though he'd struggled against a mighty force for a long while. I was not entirely certain he was not within a heartbeat of weeping.

"Orc," I said gently, "what is your name?"

He slowly turned his head to look at me with the oddest expression on his face, as though mine was the last question he ever thought to be asked.

"Ur lat nargzab bugud-izub-sha?" he muttered, half smiling again. "Lat dushub ta-sha, shatraug? Ushdub ta kau-izish? Falub-izish kulat snaga-lab?" His words seemed to amuse him, for he grunted a brief laugh. "Lat nar nargzab bugud-izub. Kul-izg snaga-lab rad. Naan shumnar kû-ûr." The smile faded from his face as he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Very well," I conceded. "I will go unanswered today. But I will ask again. I hope in time you will trust me enough to know it." Tearing off a small piece of bread from the soft inside of the crusty loaf, I approached him. He didn't raise his head until I held the morsel under his nose. Then he jerked up and stared at what I held. "It is a small thing," I said softly. "Barely a mouthful. Just a taste is all I ask that you take. Just a taste."

Again, a smile played upon his lips, and this time it was accompanied by a truly appalling leer. "Lat golmub-izish shiipog lat-ob? Paash-izg ushkat latub kambu-riz?"

"Whatever wickedness has crossed your mind," I warned him, my face hot, "had best leave it. I am here to see to your healing, not... other things."

Now he smiled broadly, and his laugh was deep and genuine. I confess, though I knew nothing of what he'd said, or had been saying, I found myself joining in his mirth. He'd shown nothing but anger for days; I was quite pleased to see him so amused.

I also popped that bit of bread into his mouth, since he'd left it open. Smirking daringly at him, I gave him an expectant look. To my surprise, he only hesitated a moment before he began to chew ever so slowly. How it must have pained him to appear casual and indulgent of his tormenter when instinct should have turned him into a ravening beast.

"Would you like more?" I asked gently. The Orc looked terribly undecided; he ground his jaw and furrowed his brow. "I will not give up, you know," I told him matter-of-factly. "I will see to your welfare on behalf of milady, and for your own sake. It is up to you whether my efforts will be met with cooperation or belligerance. Know this: I will not be thwarted from my task. You will recover your health, and I will see to it that you have a place here, just as Master Ghrudur does."

The Orc frowned, and stared at me for a long moment. Finally he spoke, and my heart nearly stopped, for he spoke the common tongue!

"You call an Orc 'master,'" he growled hoarsely.

Taking a deep breath, and endeavoring to appear unaffected by his inexplicable decision to be understood, I replied, "Yes. I serve him, as I do his lady."

He seemed to mull this notion over in his mind, and did not speak again for several minutes. So desperately did I want him to continue to speak, I found myself burbling to fill the silence. "He is quite an accomplished smith, I've been told. Very skillful. His blades have no equal. The King himself carries one of Ghrudur's swords. I've heard he has been asked to make a special sword for the king of Gondor as well. As a gift."

The Orc said nothing; he simply stared at me and shook his head in denial of my words.

"It is all true," I told him gently. "Had milady not found him in the wilds, he surely would have died. Now he forges blades for kings. His presence here has changed many hearts." Knowing this was not the full truth, I sighed and felt compelled to add, "Though not all. There are some who expect to see a beast when they look upon him, and so that is what they see. But he gives no one cause to treat him as one."

Smiling warmly, I went on, "He has lamented his past deeds, you see. For this reason, many look on him with kinder eyes. Many accept him, for he does not gloat or brag of evil he has done. He has begged forgiveness, and it has been granted. So you see, there is hope for you if you do the same."

Curling his lip, the Orc sneered. "Why should I?" he snarled. "I'm not sorry. Your people deserved everything I did to them." I was struck speechless and faltered. It seemed to be enough for him, as was the conversation, for he snorted derisively and said, "Nar hasub-izg hinash kulûk-ûr. Nork lab 'gotlum' agh ikh ta sûr lab pugh. Ashbazg matuz-izg nargotlûrz snû slaiat parkulunkambu-iru."

"Wow," Lynn breathed when I told her all that had happened in the cell. "Well, what did I tell you? He speaks it just fine." She smiled wanly and rubbed her belly absently. I sat on the edge of her bed, nervously twisting a cloth in my hands. "At least you got some more water into him. That's the most crucial thing."

"Oh, I also rather tricked him into eating a bite of bread," I added.

"You scamp," she laughed. "Don't give up, Dagga."

"I shan't, milady." Yet I continued to wring the cloth, though it was quite dry. "Milady..."

"Lynn," she said sternly.

"Lynn," I sighed, "tell me, please. How is it... Ghrudur seems so... remorseful of his past, yet this Orc is defiant. I am certain they have both done their fair share of... mischief."

She nodded agreement. "I'm sure he has. I'm sure he's done things that would curl your toes and set your hair on end. So has Ghrudur." She shrugged rather helplessly. "It's a matter of perspective, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," I replied hesitantly.

"Well, look at it this way," Lynn explained. "Would you ever in a million years call a Rider out for killing Orcs during the war? Would you criticize him or tell him he committed terrible sins engaging the servants of the Enemy in battle?"

"Of course not!" I cried, putting my hand to my heart. "It was war, milady. The Westfold was a bloody battlefield for years. Many lost their homes and families. I would never condemn a man for defending his kin, or his holdings."

"What about after the war?" she probed. "After Saruman was knocked down a notch and Sauron was trounced like a narc at a biker rally. Were we justified in hunting down the Orcs then?"

"Well, they were still attacking us," I reasoned awkwardly, for my understanding of these matters was from hearsay only. "Farms just rebuilding were assailed by raiding groups, weren't they? The kings – Éomer and Elessar – engaged Men to protect them."

She smiled slightly. "What everyone forgets is that the Orcs were under orders. Their leaders told them where and when to strike. Just as the leaders of Men did. You weren't there after Helm's Deep, but I was. Théoden pardoned the Dunlendings who fought under Saruman's banner. He forgave them, because they were Men. No quarter was given to the Orcs. None ever has been."

Leaning back against her pillows, Lynn's gaze drifted and her voice quieted. "I'm still surprised that Ghrudur feels anything like... shame for what he used to do. I don't demand it of him. I don't think he should feel ashamed for all of it, just... some things. But I don't think he needs to apologize to anyone. There was a war going on. He made the weapons that were used in it. He sometimes used them himself in the field. But he didn't give the orders, he didn't think up the strategies or make up the rules of engagement. He was a foot soldier; nothing more."

Looking at me with a wry expression on her face, she added, "Ask Oswin how many Orc heads he's put on pikes as an 'example.' Ask him how many times his patrol has found a migrating family and slain them to the last infant at its mother's breast. Ask him how many times he ran down a pregnant female and trampled her with his horse. Then ask yourself if this Orc has more to apologize for than Men."

Milady gave me much to think on as I descended once more at mid-day to attend the Orc. I found myself glancing frequently at Oswin by my side, wondering how much of Lynn's suggestions were, indeed, true of him. I recalled that when she found Ghrudur, she was engaged in hunting Orcs herself, and so had likely seen Men committing such terrible acts as she described. How could we call ourselves their betters, when we treated Orcs so cruelly? Had we become the Enemy we so despised, as we strove to rid the world of its stain?

My thoughts were in turmoil as Oswin unlocked the cell door and stood aside for me to enter. As before, the Orc hung from his wrist bindings, his weak legs bent beneath him. Only the small movement of his ribs told me he still lived. Setting the tray down, I rushed to the Orc and, forgetting myself, lifted his head, his chin cupped in my hands.

"Orc!" I called desperately. "Speak, if you are able."

His eyelids fluttered briefly, but did not fully open. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, too shallow to fill his lungs. His face was blazing hot to the touch. What little of his eyes I could see seemed unfocused; I was certain he did not recognize me. Glancing over my shoulder, I called out to Oswin, "Please, fetch Marshall Gamling. As quickly as you can."

"I'm not leaving you unguarded with...," he began, and I cut him off brusquely.

"Do as I ask!" I snapped. "Go now, and hurry!" Thankfully, Oswin grasped the urgency in my voice, and departed swiftly.

"There, there," I soothed, letting the Orc's chin rest upon his chest once more. "One moment." I fetched the cup and filled it. Lifting his head by pressing my hand to his forehead, I carefully trickled water between his slack lips. "Drink, good Orc. Please."

He choked weakly for a moment, then turned away. "Please," I breathed desperately. "You simply must drink. Please tell me you will. I beg you, good Orc."

"Mumma," he whispered, his voice ragged. "Mumma?"

I stood frozen, unsure what to do. Had he just called for his mother? The war was not so long ago, and my assistance to Erna at many a deathbed not so poorly recalled, that I did not take his plea for one made on the point of death. A sob escaped me unexpectedly. "Good Orc, please!"

"Béma's balls," the Marshall growled from the doorway. I hadn't heard the men's approach, so aggrieved was I by the Orc's plight. Rounding on Oswin, Marshall Gamling snapped, "Why did no one tell me he was in this condition?" Without waiting on an answer, Marshall Gamling strode forward and pulled a set of keys from his belt. I hastily withdrew a fair distance, for Oswin came to ease the Orc down from the wall once the shackles were unlocked.

"Remove these filthy rags," Gamling ordered, and Oswin leaned the nearly unconscious Orc upon his shoulder as he peeled away the homespun vest. I thought I had seen the worst in his belly wound, until his thin back was revealed.

When I beheld Ghudur's whip marks, they were old and long healed. This Orc's welts were a mix of old and fresh. There were maggots crawling in the wounds, with a blackened crust over many. I felt quite faint, and unable to register even modest shock when Oswin loosened and removed the Orc's soiled loincloth.

I was startled when the Marshall pushed the tray into my surprised hands so that Oswin could lay the Orc down. A blanket was draped over the Orc's wasted form, and Gamling rubbed his face as he stared. The Orc didn't speak, nor did his eyes open. The sound of his struggling breaths told me he lived, but only just.

"Wymond's report said nothing of this," the Marshall muttered, shaking his head. "He said 'thin,' not wasted. What else has he kept quiet?"

"If you please, sir," I ventured timidly, my voice sounding hollow in the silent cell as I fought to overcome the shock of the Orc's condition and rally to his side, "one of the Men told milady he was the only one in such dire straits, yet Oswin learned a different tale. Didn't you, Oswin?" I turned to the guard and implored him with my eyes. Surely he wouldn't speak a falsehood to the Marshall of the Mark!

"Well?" Gamling prompted when Oswin stood speechless for too long. "I've not known Dagga to tell lies. What did you learn?"

"Apologies," Oswin said quietly. "What I told Miss Lynn and Miss Dagga... I learned last evening... I was in error. Only this Orc, of the four, was as you see him. Clearly the least of the four, and given very little. Not even a weapon, when they were attacked."

"That is not what you told us!" I cried indignantly. I appealed to Marshall Gamling. "He told us three of the four were in this condition. How could the Men have been so mistaken?"

"They simply were," Oswin hissed, glaring at me. "That is all that can be said." His eyes seemed to plead, but I knew not for what.

"We shall see," Gamling growled angrily. "See to this Orc, Oswin. If he is not well enough to answer questions in two days' time, it will be on your head." Turning briefly to me, the Marshall nodded shortly, then turned on his heel and left.

"You should have held your tongue, Dagga," Oswin muttered when we were alone.

"How could I?" I demanded hotly. "What is being hidden? Was the Orcs' defeat not so heroic as they claimed?"

"I can't speak of what I was told," he snapped. "You would do well to forget what I said before."

Frowning, I said, "I can't. I don't understand why I must."

"There are reasons," he told me uncomfortably. "Reasons I've been... that I cannot speak of."

Translations:

Latzaug-ishi? Zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi? Lat ikh-izish akrat matum-izub, agh zaug-izg kulat latzaug-ishi? Ur lat golmub-izish nûkhud? Piil krum-ishi, shapat hosh-ishi, gaiumu agh bûrzum...! = Grateful? I should be grateful? You make me drink my death, and I should be grateful? What will you give me next? An arrow in the back, a sword in the gut, chains and darkness...!

Paashnar-izg. Naryonk. = I cannot. No more.

Sharlob âmbal. Lat ûs lat paash golmat-izish kulûk agh ta norkub-izg. = Pretty woman. You think you can give me anything and I will take it.

Hon-izg narzûr hontu-latub-ishiz. Lat ûs lat golm ghûlum-izish. = I see no cunning in your eyes. You think you are being kind to me. (literally 'giving help')

Ur lat nargzab bugud-izub-sha? Lat dushub ta-sha, shatraug? Ushdub ta kau-izish? Falub-izish kulat snaga-lab? Lat nar nargzab bugud-izub. Kul-izg snaga-lab rad. Naan shumnar kû-ûr. = What do you want with my name? Will you work your magic with it, witch? Use it against me? Charm me to be your slave? You don't need my name. I'm already your slave. But not for much longer.

Lat golmub-izish shiipog lat-ob? Paash-izg ushkat latub kambu-ri? = Will you offer me a taste of you? May I feast between your legs?

Nar hasub-izg hinash kulûk-ûr. Nork lab 'gotlum' agh ikh ta sûr lab pugh. Ashbazg matuz-izg nargotlûrz snû slaiat parkulunkambu-iru. = I will not beg anyone for anything. Take your 'forgiveness' and shove it up your ass. I would rather die unforgiven than live on my knees [literally 'bent leg'].