LotR Fic -- A World of Dreams
OK, so this is a FIRST Draft, so its gonna be bad, ok? 😉 I appreciate all helpful comments, but, if you're going to be REALLy critical, do you mind PMing me rather than posting it here? Just to save my ego... 😛
A World of Dreams is just the working title, I doubt it will be finished title.
You'll all get to see how it progresses, as I'm gonna be posting it here as I go, and, as I said before, EVERYTHING you have to say will be welcome... 😄
Author’s note – this is movie-verse, for reasons that will become apparent later on. There are spoilers for RotK, but if you haven’t seen it yet, where have you been?
Lord of the Rings and it’s characters belong to Tolkein, and any lines and events from the films belong to Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema. I own very little, except the excuse for a plot 😉
Don’t kill me if the lines or events or actions from the film aren’t right – it’s from memory!
Pippin regarded his too-large armour spread across the bed. ‘Guard of the Citadel’ was his title now, but he still felt too much like Peregrin Took of the Shire. He sighed, and glanced up to see Gandalf standing by the balcony door, gazing into the distance.
As the silence became uncomfortable, Pippin searched for a way to break it.
“So… I imagine this is just a ceremonial position… I mean, they don’t actually expect me to do any fighting… do they?”
Gandalf turned slightly towards the little Hobbit. “You’re in the service of the Steward now.” He gave a half-smile. “You’re going to have to do as you’re told, Peregrin Took, ‘Guard of the Citadel’…”
Pippin swallowed, took another look at his armour, then walked slowly over to the balcony. He could hear every sound – of his feet hitting the slabs, of Gandalf’s soft breathing, the dimmed murmur of the Citadel. “It’s so quiet,” he observed.
Gandalf turned to look once more over Mordor. “It’s the deep breath before the plunge,” he said, his face now grim.
Pippin leaned against the balcony railing, fighting down his fears and panic. “I don’t want to be in a battle,” he admitted, his voice quavering a little, “but being on the edge of one I can’t escape is even worse.”
Gandalf walked over to stand next to him, and Pippin had to tilt his head back to look up at him. “Is there any hope, Gandalf, for Frodo and Sam?”
“There was never much hope… just a fool’s hope.” Gandalf gave a soft, fleeting smile, then cast his worried eyes over the lands surrounding Minas Tirith. “Our Enemy is ready, his full strength gathered. Not only Orcs, but Men as well. Legions of Haradrim from the south,” he explained. “Mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's call.”
He closed his eyes momentarily. “This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer-stroke will fall the hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defence of this city will be gone.”
Pippin smiled, shakily. “But we have the White Wizard, that's got to count for something…” he stopped, confused. “Gandalf?”
“Sauron has yet to release his deadliest servant. The one who will lead Mordor's armies in war.” He looked down at Pippin.
“The one they say no living Man can kill. The Witch-king of Angmar. You've met him before.”
Pippin shook his head, dazed and not understanding.
“He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop,” Gandalf explained. “He is the lord of the Nazgûl, the greatest of the Nine. Minas Morgul is his lair.”
Pippin blinked back tears and returned his eyes to Mordor.
Suddenly, the earth was shaking, the air screaming, and a pillar of light filled the sky.
Pippin leapt back, confused. His eyes searched Gandalf’s face for an answer, any answer, but no answer came. His eyes were dragged back to the pillar of light, and he wondered if Sauron had anything else in his keep…
~
A figure twisted in the dark room, restless in their sleep, lost in the dream.
“We are proud to fight along side men once more.”
A breeze, a scent of flowers, a featherlight kiss.
The sound of screaming. Men and boys, falling to the earth.
Summer trees, laughter, running deer.
An Orc running, an axe raised, a blow about to fall…
“NO!”
A scream, a yell, but this time heard with the ears, not within the mind. Tears, racing breath, and then footsteps…
“My Lady?”
okies, new bit just written today....
A figure twisted in the dark room, restless in their sleep, lost in the dream.
“We are proud to fight along side men once more.”
A breeze, a scent of flowers, a featherlight kiss.
The sound of screaming. Men and boys, falling to the earth.
Summer trees, laughter, running deer.
An Orc running, an axe raised, a blow about to fall…
“NO!”
A scream, a yell, but this time heard with the ears, not within the mind. Tears, racing breath, and then footsteps…
“My Lady?”
No reply.
"My Lady...? M-my Lord awaits you..."
~
A cape flapping in the wake of a striding, commanding form.
The double doors flung wide, a howling wind streaming through them.
The helmet swept off, a slender shape kneeling...
"Lord Sauron, what do you command?"
You will take your Orcs and ride to Gondor... You will sway the battle...
"My Lord, they are not ready! They-"
You have your orders... My daughter...
~
She walked, as if in a trance, almost floating to the balcony outside her rooms. The dreams... they were coming every night now... so vivid...
She took a deep, shuddering breath. Without knowing how, she knew that he was gone... that dream had been a true one...
And it was her father's doing...
CHAPTER ONE
Author’s note – this is movie-verse, for reasons that will become apparent later on. There are spoilers for RotK, but if you haven’t seen it yet, where have you been?
Lord of the Rings and it’s characters belong to Tolkien, and any lines and events from the films belong to Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema. I own very little, except the excuse for a plot 😉
Don’t kill me if the lines or events or actions from the film aren’t right – it’s from memory!
A World of Dreams : Chapter One
Pippin regarded his too-large armour spread across the bed. ‘Guard of the Citadel’ was his title now, but he still felt too much like Peregrin Took of the Shire. He sighed, and glanced up to see Gandalf standing by the balcony door, gazing into the distance.
As the silence became uncomfortable, Pippin searched for a way to break it.
“So… I imagine this is just a ceremonial position… I mean, they don’t actually expect me to do any fighting… do they?”
Gandalf turned slightly towards the little Hobbit. “You’re in the service of the Steward now.” He gave a half-smile. “You’re going to have to do as you’re told, Peregrin Took, ‘Guard of the Citadel’…”
Pippin swallowed, took another look at his armour, then walked slowly over to the balcony. He could hear every sound – of his feet hitting the slabs, of Gandalf’s soft breathing, the dimmed murmur of the Citadel. “It’s so quiet,” he observed.
Gandalf turned to look once more over Mordor. “It’s the deep breath before the plunge,” he said, his face now grim.
Pippin leaned against the balcony railing, fighting down his fears and panic. “I don’t want to be in a battle,” he admitted, his voice quavering a little, “but being on the edge of one I can’t escape is even worse.”
Gandalf walked over to stand next to him, and Pippin had to tilt his head back to look up at him. “Is there any hope, Gandalf, for Frodo and Sam?”
“There was never much hope… just a fool’s hope.” Gandalf gave a soft, fleeting smile, then cast his worried eyes over the lands surrounding Minas Tirith. “Our Enemy is ready, his full strength gathered. Not only Orcs, but Men as well. Legions of Haradrim from the south,” he explained. “Mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's call.”
He closed his eyes momentarily.
“This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer-stroke will fall the hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defence of this city will be gone.”
Pippin smiled, shakily. “But we have the White Wizard, that's got to count for something…” he stopped, confused. “Gandalf?”
“Sauron has yet to release his deadliest servant. The one who will lead Mordor's armies in war.” He looked down at Pippin.
“The one they say no living Man can kill. The Witch-king of Angmar. You've met him before.”
Pippin shook his head, dazed and not understanding.
“He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop,” Gandalf explained. “He is the lord of the Nazgûl, the greatest of the Nine. Minas Morgul is his lair.”
Pippin blinked back tears and returned his eyes to Mordor.
Suddenly, the earth was shaking, the air screaming, and a pillar of light filled the sky.
Pippin leapt back, confused. His eyes searched Gandalf’s face for an answer, any answer, but no answer came. His eyes were dragged back to the pillar of light, and he wondered if Sauron had anything else in his keep…
~
A figure twisted in the dark room, restless in their sleep, lost in the dream.
“We are proud to fight along side men once more.”
A breeze, a scent of flowers, a featherlight kiss.
The sound of screaming. Men and boys, falling to the earth.
Summer trees, laughter, running deer.
An Orc running, an axe raised, a blow about to fall…
“NO!”
A scream, a yell, but this time heard with the ears, not within the mind. Tears, racing breath, and then footsteps…
“My Lady?”
No reply.
"My Lady...? M-my Lord awaits you..."
~
A cape flapping in the wake of a striding, commanding form.
The double doors flung wide, a howling wind streaming through them.
The helmet swept off, a slender shape kneeling...
"Lord Sauron, what do you command?"
You will take your Orcs and ride to Gondor... You will sway the battle...
"My Lord, they are not ready! They-"
You have your orders... My daughter...
~
She walked, as if in a trance, almost floating to the balcony outside her rooms. The dreams... they were coming every night now... so vivid...
She took a deep, shuddering breath. Without knowing how, she knew that he was gone... that dream had been a true one...
And it was her father's doing...
~
CHAPTER TWO
Author’s note – this is movie-verse, for reasons that will become apparent later on. There are spoilers for RotK, but if you haven’t seen it yet, where have you been?
Lord of the Rings and it’s characters belong to Tolkien, and any lines and events from the films belong to Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema. I own very little, except the excuse for a plot 😉
Don’t kill me if the lines or events or actions from the film aren’t right – it’s from memory!
A World of Dreams : Chapter Two
Faramir, Captain of Gondor, closed his eyes and opened his ears to the world. Breathing slowly and deeply, in then out. In. Out. He calmed his mind, banishing thoughts of fear and dread. He concentrated only on breathing… and listening.
Separating out the quiet voices of the men around him, he quickly dismissed their murmurings and extended further into his range. He had an inkling, a thought. Would the Orcs attack tonight?
There! His eyes flickered open momentarily, and he lost his concentration. Slipping swiftly back in, he searched for the sound once more… and found it.
A splashing of water, a clumsy oar.
He stood, swiftly. “To the river. Quick!” he commanded in a whisper.
They ran for the shore, as silent as the footsteps of Elves, grasping spears, hiding behind walls, keeping out of sight of the boats. Men groggy with fatigue, grasping their last strands of strength, desperate not to fall.
Sword drawn, Faramir sheltered briefly against a wall, gathering his calm once more, readying for battle. He heard the scrapings of the first boat hit the shore, an Orcish voice commanding his followers to ‘Draw swords!’
He heard the clank as the ramps dropped, the first footstep of an Orc treading on Osgiliath soil. Faramir leaned closer to the wall as the Orcs passed, holding onto these last precious moments before the bloodshed began. He exchanged glances with his men, took a last, deep breath…
And they charged.
~
Can you ever understand? Understand what it is to be always hated, always feared. To have no one able to look upon your face without recoiling from the perversion that you are. To be even as a tiny child, yet be treated as the greatest evil. The greatest beast. The greatest sorrow.
To walk amongst your own kind, who are not your own kind. To be treated with aloof kindness. To be whispered of, denied friendship, compassion, love.
To know love, and have it taken from you. To have seen the Lady of the Light, then be robbed of her, betrayed by her, banished by her.
To be forsaken, forgotten, failed. To be only the Shadow, and never the Light.
No more will they try. No more will the Light overcome the Shadow. The Shadow will devour the Light.
Should she be abandoned? Because the Shadow burns in her?
Yes.
Because it may take her, she must be lost. The cost is too much, should she fall. We cannot help her.
Should we not try?
There can be no try. She cannot be saved. She is already lost.
No. There is one yet who can save her.
But he is gone. He deceived her long ago.
He deceived only himself. His love has never died. It never will. He is the Light that will shine in the darkness.
~
‘She is already lost.’
The words still cut into her, though it was a hundred generations of Men since she had heard that voice. That deep, musical voice. That cruel, slicing voice of Celeborn. She had turned after those words. She had already strayed too long at the Mirror of Galadriel.
And on that night, she had fled Lothlorien, and had retreated into Shadow. The embracing, forgiving, forgetful Shadow. And now she was Shadow’s servant.
Shadow’s servant sent to fight alongside Gothmog. That worm. That vile, disgusting worm. If she could but grasp him in her hands, feel the life streaming through her fingers…
But Shadow had sent her, and she must obey.
~
CHAPTER THREE - INCOMPLETE
Author’s note – this is movie-verse, for reasons that will become apparent later on. There are spoilers for RotK, but if you haven’t seen it yet, where have you been?
Lord of the Rings and it’s characters belong to Tolkien, and any lines and events from the films belong to Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema. I own very little, except the excuse for a plot 😉
Don’t kill me if the lines or events or actions from the film aren’t right – it’s from memory!
A World of Dreams : Chapter Three
Grimly, Théoden surveyed his troops. He turned to his men beside him.
“Grimbold, how many?”
“I bring five hundred Men from the Westfold, my Lord,” was the reply.
Casting his gaze to the next face, he raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, encouraging the man to speak.
“We have three hundred more, Théoden King.”
Théoden frowned. Had no more come?
“Where are the riders from Snowbourn?” he demanded.
“None have come, my Lord.”
~
Above, on the cliff top, Aragorn stood, calculating the troops. As Théoden joined him, he turned to the King with a question in his eyes.
Théoden sighed.
“Six thousand spears, less than half of what I'd hoped for…”
Aragorn frowned.
“Six thousand will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor!”
“More will come,” Théoden answered, but refusing to meet Aragorn’s intense gaze.
“Every hour lost hastens Gondor's defeat,” Aragorn insisted. “We have till dawn, then we must ride.”
Théoden nodded, resigned.
~
A horse was neighing, thrashing, screaming to be released.
Legolas raised his golden head and gazed into the darkness.
“The horses are restless and the Men are quiet…”
Éomer, hearing the Elf’s voice, followed his gaze.
“They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain.”
Gimli looked at the two fair heads above him and frowned.
“That road there… where does that lead?”
Legolas bent gracefully to the level of the Drawf.
“It is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain.”
“None who venture there ever return,” intoned Éomer, ominously.
~
Behind the three figures, Aragorn, his face worried, contemplated the Dimholt road. Was it his imagination, or was the smoke forming faces… spectral faces… grimacing, sneering, deceiving…
“Aragorn!”
Aragorn jumped, guiltily, and turned to face the Dwarf.
“Let’s find some food!” cried the Dwarf, beckoning.
Aragorn glanced back at the Road, pensive. He shuddered as though a cold wind blew down his cloak. His breath quickened, his heart raced, his panic rising…
“ARAGORN!” roared the Dwarf, impatient.
Aragorn dragged his gaze away from the possessive presence of the Dimholt, reluctantly following the Dwarf, his head heavy, feet sticking, his heart troubled.
~
As the Men struggled to sleep, Legolas sat, legs crossed, hands laid lightly in his lap, meditating to regain his strength for the battle ahead.
He relaxed his control on his mind, allowing it to spread, to reach, to explore…
He gasped, his eyes slamming open a moment. A queer presence had abused his senses, a confusing, contradicting presence…
He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing once more. Tentatively, slower than before, he stretched out tendrils of his perception. He could almost taste it, it was so strong… The Shadow was overwhelming, but still, there was that spark of Light…
But what could it be…? The Dimholt? The upcoming battle? It was alien, yet somehow familiar, both reassuring and disturbing.
And he had sensed it before…
~
“Haldir? Gwador? Dangweth nin!”
A voice above him. He paid little heed, yet answered, as protocol demanded.
“Im gerin ú I innas…”
“Ha no an le, gwador… Dangweth!”
He peered through the leaves as he sat at the base of the mallorn.
“Why do you hurt her so?”
“Ned Sindarin, gwador!”
“If you will not permit her to address you in Elvish, I do not see why I should be any different.”
“Le no ned I Eldar, gwador.”
“So is she!”
“Ú. He no I ylf ned Sauron…”
He stood, suddenly gripped with fury.
“Which is not her fault!”
His accuser dropped lightly from the branches to stand and face him.
“Nor is it an Orcs fault it is an Orc,” the slender Elf answered, speaking for the first time in the Common Tongue. “Would you be the lover of one?”
Around them, laughter rang from the treetops, no longer the sweet beautiful laughter from his childhood, but of a deeper, crueller sort.
“He no aglonn…” his attacker remarked. “Aglonner! That shall be her name!” He cast sorrowful eyes to his prey. “It is for your own good, gwador…”
“I am not your brother!” he exploded, and strode away.
~
“Do not be so impatient. Battle will come soon enough.”
She sat, sliding a whetstone down the length of her sword, amused by Gothmog’s frustration. Her servant sat nearby, oiling her bowstring and counting her arrows, shooting nervous glances at Gothmog. As he passed by her again, he aimed a brutal kick at her servant, sending him and her arrows flying. “Snaga!” he bellowed at the young Orc, before a newly sharpened sword was pressed to his throat.
“I should have your head for that.”
Gothmog glowered, not easily cowed.
“That is what he is and all he shall ever be! Why should I not call him so?!”
The sword bit deeper, drawing a rivulet of blood.
Translations
Sindarin
Gwador? Dangweth nin! - Brother? Answer me!
Im gerin ú I innas… - I will not
Ha no an le, gwador… Dangweth! - It is for your own good, brother... Answer!
Ned Sindarin, gwador! - In Sindarin, brother!
Le no ned I Eldar, gwador. - You are Elvenkind, brother.
Ú. He no I ylf ned Sauron… - No. She is the brand of Sauron.
He no aglonn… - She is defiled...
Aglonner! - defiled one!
gwador... - brother...
Black Speech
Snaga! - difficult to translate. basically means 'slave', but is only used by high-status Orcs (especially Uruk-Hai) for low-stats, non-warrior Orcs.
What do you think? It has been suggested that perhaps using long excerpts from the movie is not a good idea (and I will certainly not be using them in my later chapters) Should I change these chapters? What are your opinions?
Is the language easy to follow? I dislike stories which put the translation actually in the story, which is why it has posted seperately. I hope it still makes some sort of sense by itself, without the translation...
😊 I really enjoyed reading your story. It's quite different from most of the stuff you can usually read online and has totally new ideas. Do you have more? I'd love to read how it continues 🙂
It's true that you used long passages from the movie which might cause some readers that know the film by heart to read these parts a little inattentively which would be sad because the descriptions of the characters' feelings are great and a lot deeper than what is seen in the movie.
I also liked the parts in elvish, especially because it was "real" Tolkien elvish and not one of those weird ff-languages. Also supports the athmosphere of the dialog.
bout the grammar
Gwador? Dangweth nin! - dangweth is a noun; using the verb, it would be "Dambedo nín!"
Im gerin ú I innas… - I'd change the word order a little: ú-erin innas; you could also just repeat the verb of the sentence this is the answer to and use the future form of it (like ú-dhembedithon - "I will not answer"😉
Ha no an le, gwador… Dangweth! I'd leave out the "no" - it's only very rarely used. Maybe iuith for "good"? - Ha na(n) iuith lín, muindor... dambedo!
[gwador for "brother" is rather political]
Ned Sindarin, gwador! 😂
Interestingly, the word "Sindarin" isn't even Sindarin. The Sindar maybe only called their language "Edhellen" ("elvish"😉 or "lam" ("language"😉 🙂
Le no ned I Eldar, gwador. - Eldar is also a Quenya word. Maybe "Le edhellen"? "Le edhel"? "Le uin edhil"? "Le uin edhelrim"?
Ú. He no I ylf ned Sauron… - ú is mostly used before verbs, so better "Law"; ylf is a very literal translation, but I think a good word here (as long as it's not mixed up with the same word, ylf, meaning "drinking vessel" 😛 ); in front of names, you usually don't use "of" - hence "Law; (H)e en-ylf Sauron"
He no aglonn… 😂 "aglonn" means defile in the sense of a pass between high mountains 😛 "defiled" could be translated as "mael" or "gwaen" - "E 'waen" 🙂
Defiled one - Gwaen / Gwaenon
hope that helped 🙂
CHAPTER THREE - COMPLETE
Author’s note – this is movie-verse, for reasons that will become apparent later on. There are spoilers for RotK, but if you haven’t seen it yet, where have you been?
Lord of the Rings and it’s characters belong to Tolkien, and any lines and events from the films belong to Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema. I own very little, except the excuse for a plot 😉
Don’t kill me if the lines or events or actions from the film aren’t right – it’s from memory!
A World of Dreams : Chapter Three
Grimly, Théoden surveyed his troops. He turned to his men beside him.
“Grimbold, how many?”
“I bring five hundred Men from the Westfold, my Lord,” was the reply.
Casting his gaze to the next face, he raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, encouraging the man to speak.
“We have three hundred more, Théoden King.”
Théoden frowned. Had no more come?
“Where are the riders from Snowbourn?” he demanded.
“None have come, my Lord.”
~
Above, on the cliff top, Aragorn stood, calculating the troops. As Théoden joined him, he turned to the King with a question in his eyes.
Théoden sighed.
“Six thousand spears, less than half of what I'd hoped for…”
Aragorn frowned.
“Six thousand will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor!”
“More will come,” Théoden answered, but refusing to meet Aragorn’s intense gaze.
“Every hour lost hastens Gondor's defeat,” Aragorn insisted. “We have till dawn, then we must ride.”
Théoden nodded, resigned.
~
A horse was neighing, thrashing, screaming to be released.
Legolas raised his golden head and gazed into the darkness.
“The horses are restless and the Men are quiet…”
Éomer, hearing the Elf’s voice, followed his gaze.
“They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain.”
Gimli looked at the two fair heads above him and frowned.
“That road there… where does that lead?”
Legolas bent gracefully to the level of the Drawf.
“It is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain.”
“None who venture there ever return,” intoned Éomer, ominously.
~
Behind the three figures, Aragorn, his face worried, contemplated the Dimholt road. Was it his imagination, or was the smoke forming faces… spectral faces… grimacing, sneering, deceiving…
“Aragorn!”
Aragorn jumped, guiltily, and turned to face the Dwarf.
“Let’s find some food!” cried the Dwarf, beckoning.
Aragorn glanced back at the Road, pensive. He shuddered as though a cold wind blew down his cloak. His breath quickened, his heart raced, his panic rising…
“ARAGORN!” roared the Dwarf, impatient.
Aragorn dragged his gaze away from the possessive presence of the Dimholt, reluctantly following the Dwarf, his head heavy, feet sticking, his heart troubled.
~
As the Men struggled to sleep, Legolas sat, legs crossed, hands laid lightly in his lap, meditating to regain his strength for the battle ahead.
He relaxed his control on his mind, allowing it to spread, to reach, to explore…
He gasped, his eyes slamming open a moment. A queer presence had abused his senses, a confusing, contradicting presence…
He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing once more. Tentatively, slower than before, he stretched out tendrils of his perception. He could almost taste it, it was so strong… The Shadow was overwhelming, but still, there was that spark of Light…
But what could it be…? The Dimholt? The upcoming battle? It was alien, yet somehow familiar, both reassuring and disturbing.
And he had sensed it before…
~
“Haldir? Gwador? Dangweth nin!”
A voice above him. He paid little heed, yet answered, as protocol demanded.
“Im gerin ú I innas…”
“Ha no an le, gwador… Dangweth!”
He peered through the leaves as he sat at the base of the mallorn.
“Why do you hurt her so?”
“Ned Sindarin, gwador!”
“If you will not permit her to address you in Elvish, I do not see why I should be any different.”
“Le no ned I Eldar, gwador.”
“So is she!”
“Ú. He no I ylf ned Sauron…”
He stood, suddenly gripped with fury.
“Which is not her fault!”
His accuser dropped lightly from the branches to stand and face him.
“Nor is it an Orcs fault it is an Orc,” the slender Elf answered, speaking for the first time in the Common Tongue. “Would you be the lover of one?”
Around them, laughter rang from the treetops, no longer the sweet beautiful laughter from his childhood, but of a deeper, crueller sort.
“He no aglonn…” his attacker remarked. “Aglonner! That shall be her name!” He cast sorrowful eyes to his prey. “It is for your own good, gwador…”
“I am not your brother!” he exploded, and strode away.
~
“Do not be so impatient. Battle will come soon enough.”
She sat, sliding a whetstone down the length of her sword, amused by Gothmog’s frustration. Her servant sat nearby, oiling her bowstring and counting her arrows, shooting nervous glances at Gothmog. As he passed by her again, he aimed a brutal kick at her servant, sending him and her arrows flying. “Snaga!” he bellowed at the young Orc, before a newly sharpened sword was pressed to his throat.
“I should have your head for that.”
Gothmog glowered, not easily cowed.
“That is what he is and all he shall ever be! Why should I not call him so?!”
The sword bit deeper, drawing a rivulet of blood.
“Never touch him again. Understand?”
He growled.
“Are you really so stupid as to disobey not only your Lord’s daughter and your Commander, but also the b*tch with the sword at your throat?”
Hatred afire in his eyes, he took a step backward and bowed his head.
“I yield… my Lady,” he sneered, and turned away.
~