Lashka

"I'm sorry, boy - it had to be this way..."

Ori glared at the stalwart, and lunged at him through lattice of the wardrobe they had shoved him into. His hand throbbed, but he paid it no mind. So you say, Silver-Chain. When he focused his hatred of these humans, he almost felt as if uruk blood flowed through his veins.

Almost.

He pounded his good fist against the side of his own head. Stupid soft-headed fool! It had almost worked, the poor beggar act.

They had wrapped him up in warm blankets - horse blankets, actually - but they had felt so warm. And then one of the soldiers had suggested brandy to ward off the chill, and well by the time he had finished that, he felt fit to boil.

The warmth had made his eyelids heavy, and the next bit was still a bit fuzzy, but he remembered one of the soldiers tucking the blanket more tightly around him. It had reminded him of so much of nights spent bracing with Vhaki and Gruggi against the wind that he had instinctively murmured, "Uruk shagga vhok, Vhak'na  Grugg'" which might have translated into Common as "Sweet Dreams, Vhaki and Gruggi," if human dreams had routinely involved decapitating one's enemies.   

***

He was startled to find himself hauled swiftly to his feet by Tom Sullery, of all people. "What did you say?" When Ori didn't answer immediately, Tom nodded darkly. "That's what I thought." He propped Ori on a stool while the other men moved to form a circle around him.

Tom reached into the fire with a pair of metal tongs until he found an ember that still glowed red. "Now, you can either tell me why you can speak the Black Tongue," he walked slowly towards Ori, brandishing the ember, "or I can burn it out of you."

"Easy, Tom," the stalwart said.

Tom laughed. "Easy?  My sons died in that field - Jon and Avery. They were sixteen. Remember them, Robin? What about Hollis, and Dobrey and Flynn? Did they have it easy? The crows certainly did. They never got a proper burial, just left in a field to rot..."

Robin nodded. "Aye, and burning the lad silent won’t bring them back."

Tom shook his head, "I'm not sure the boy is what he says. Part of me thinks he's some sort of demon that just looks like a boy."

“Orcs know magic, and have assassins…” a freckled-faced boy barely older than Ori muttered.

"Shut up, Rody,"  Robin said through clenched teeth. He moved slowly, as if to not spook Tom.  "Tom..." Robin said softly. "Tom, look at me. Killing this boy won't bring them back. In your heart, you know that..." Robin glanced at the boy.

 In those eyes Ori saw something akin to regret in the seconds before they hardened. "Besides, if you burn his tongue, he can’t confess."

"Aye," Tom said softly, "There is that." A look of understanding passed between the men. "But a price needs to be paid."

Ori felt his shoulders relax. He almost laughed in relief. A blood-price? Is that all? Such things were common among orcs too. He might lose the tip of a finger for spying, but compared to losing his tongue, anything was preferable.

"Stick out your hand," Tom commanded, and he surprised them all by complying without protest. But his calm gave way to confusion as they turned his hand palm-up.  

"What are you..." he started to say, and then there was only pain, blinding pain as the hot ember was dropped into his outstretched hand.  He dimly heard Tom say "Grip it," and almost shrieked as they forced his hand into a fist with the ember as its beating heart.

Ori's vision began to go black at the edges.

"Enough," Robin said. "Bring the pail over here," he commanded.

Ori fell to his knees when they released him, cradling his injured hand to his chest. His breath came in quick, heaving sobs and the stench of burned flesh hung in the air.

He heard the door of the barracks slam quickly open, heard the great commotion of people moving outside, and then the door slammed shut and the wooden beam was lowered again against the door.

"Here," Robin said, gripping his wrist, "Put it here." The stalwart plunged his fingers into the pail, which he had filled with snowmelt, as the boy collapsed, sobbing, against his shoulder.

"The boy has been purged of his sin," Tom intoned, "His iniquity has been burned away from the hand he would raise against his own people..."

"He is forgiven," the soldiers replied in unison, "By the Blessed Light of Our Lady."

"He must serve his penance," Tom said, gesturing to two of the other soldiers, who had brought forth the lattice-box.

"Put him in."

 ***

Ori growled at Tom as he leaned forward to peer into the box. "He doesn't look very repentant," one of the soldiers said, and the others laughed. All except Tom and Robin, who stared at each other over opposite sides of the box.

Finally, Tom sighed. "Pete, Harry...load him on the wagons."

Harry made a noise of protest, but cut off when he saw Robin's face. "Aye," he said sullenly, giving the box a kick.

Pete grinned at Ori. "Just you wait, boy...you think we're bad? Just you wait till ol' Emmit gets his hands on you..." The other soldiers laughed.

"Just you wait..."

Orcs had two views of trouble - one where one sought it out to challenge one's self, the other where it found you.

This, Ori thought, this is most definitely the second kind.

True, sitting in a sealed barracks with his enemies wasn't the worst situation he had ever put himself into - there was that time had had tried to run away, and ended up falling into that snake pit - but it came close.

"You. Boy," one of the soldiers growled. "Be a good lad, and bring me another pint." Ori moved quickly to comply. "Ah, there, that's a mate...gets harder and harder to keep the chill off the bones without a bit o' spiced mead. I keep telling Ellinora we ought to move on south, but..."

"That's enough of you, Tom Sullery," a burly stalwart said, knocking Sullery's feet off the table. "You'd wear a saint's patience thin with all yer flapping. Give the lad some peace..."

"Tom Foolery, more like," one of the other officers offered, and they all roared with laughter as Tom grumbled good-naturedly.

The stalwart reached back and handed Ori a crust of bread. "Here you are, there’s a bit of mash in the pot yet…" When Ori hesitated, the stalwart nudged him with a gauntleted finger. "Git goin'...it’ll be solid soon enough."

Ori stumbled over to the fire. He carefully spooned some of the marm barley and potato soup over the round of bread, careful not to spill a drop. He sniffed at it carefully, then took a careful bite. He groaned in appreciation at the wonderful taste, and without thinking, dropped down to a crouch next to the warm hearth stone.

Gradually, he became aware that the room had fallen silent; the entire room of soldiers were looking at him queerly. He realized too late that that light of the fire gave them a full, honest look of him – all skin and bones and clothes that hung in tattered rags. The filth was plain to see under his nails and in dirty streaks that traveled up both arms.

Ori looked around the room wildly. There was nowhere to run.

The stalwart looked at him. There was an expression there that Ori had never seen before.   “Here now, lad, you seem to be in a right ruinous state…” the stalwart said gently, "I’ve never seen a child of the Lady look so ill-used before. Who are your parents?"

On instinct, Ori decided against lying. "Don’t know. They died before I was born. Took care of myself, mostly." That part too was true; orcs were not known for treating their slaves well.

Especially Vhaki; especially after the viper pit. He trembled slightly.

"Easy lad, we won’t hurt you…" The stalwart reached a hand out to him. "A wildling," one of the older men said, nodding sagely. "That explains why we found him outside; must have wandered in from the cold," the soldier that had grabbed him off the street said.

"Most likely his parents were traders who ran afoul of those accursed orcs," another offered.

"Blankets,” the stalwart said, “and hot tea."

Ori smiled. That was easy enough to do, because he was happy. Happy to be warm, and surrounded by these foolishly giving people. He had had some trouble, but now it was the first kind: a challenge.

 I haven’t failed yet, Vhaki.

Not yet.