The Guest
"I can't decide what's worse... this or torture!" Gimli grumbled, as two orcs busied themselves washing him in a large basin of warm water.
"You're dirtier than a warg!" an orc woman snapped impatiently, vigorously scrubbing the dwarf with a massive brush. "When was the last time you bathed?"
"A dwarf knows only two baths in his lifetime," Gimli retorted. "At birth and at death! In both cases, he needn't remember the horrid experience."
"Disgusting..." the orc woman grimaced.
"I agree with Gimli on one point," Legolas chimed in, his hands protecting his modesty as another orc poured a bucket of water over his head. "Baths can indeed resemble torture!"
Guttural laughter filled the air as the orcs continued their strenuous task. All the Rohirrim were ensnared in this predicament, surrounded by these creatures both brutal and determined in their mission. The basins of hot water were swiftly emptied and refilled, while brushes and sponges were wielded with surprising vigor.
Aragorn cast a sidelong glance at Legolas, his eyes sparkling with amusement despite the unenviable situation they found themselves in. "Well, I suppose our exploits won't be lacking in grandeur in the annals of our respective peoples," he quipped.
Legolas offered a resigned smile, shaking his head lightly to disperse the water dripping from his long hair. "Indeed... I never imagined our quest would lead us to such a trial."
Finally, after a seemingly eternal cleaning session, Aragorn and his companions were released, standing naked and drenched but visibly cleaner than before. The orc who had overseen the operation approached them, sporting a satisfied grin.
"You are now worthy to appear before Lord Loki," she declared. "Perhaps even our esteemed guests won't drive away the birds and beasts of the moor with their foul stench."
"Whose fault is that!" Gimli grumbled. "For five days, you've had us digging trenches like dogs under the blazing sun!"
"Ah, the dwarves and their love for the earth," the orc chuckled, tossing a towel to Gimli.
Once they were all appropriately dressed, a squad of orcs came to escort them through the camp. After a short journey, they found themselves before a large tent, much more imposing than its neighbors. Aragorn hadn't had the opportunity to take in the details of the shelter during his first encounter with Loki. The flaps of the entrance were drawn to the side, revealing a lavishly decorated interior. Colorful rugs covered the floor, and tapestries adorned with intricate patterns hung from the walls. A veritable feast awaited them, generously laid out on woven grass mats. There was enough to satiate the seven Rohirrim of their group, as well as an elf and a dwarf.
Hungry stomachs rumbled at the sight of such delectable fare, and the company's eyes feasted on the delights that spread before them. Succulent dishes emitted gentle steam, releasing intoxicating aromas that tickled their nostrils. Perfectly roasted meats, vibrant and fresh vegetables, golden-brown breads – all were arranged with a rustic elegance that contrasted with the surrounding orc camp. Laughter and joyful whispers from outside the tent mingled with the soft melody of the wind, creating an atmosphere of camaraderie and celebration.
However, amid this abundance of food, another sight captivated everyone's attention. Loki's body was adorned with skillfully arranged gemstones, shimmering like stars in the night sky. Each gem seemed to have been carefully chosen, creating a glittering mosaic that adorned his bluish skin. Iridescent reflections danced upon his flesh, evoking the mystical hues of an aurora borealis. Even Legolas, accustomed to the splendor of Elvish lands, observed the Jotun with fascination at such beauty and exoticism. It was as if the magic of the night had manifested in this elegant and enigmatic figure.
Seated majestically at the far end of the sumptuous tent, Loki embodied the master of this feast. His keen gaze swept over the newcomers, and with a graceful wave of his hand, he signaled for them to sit.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted in a melodious voice. "I bid you be my guests and indulge in this festive evening to your heart's content."
Aragorn and his companions exchanged uncertain glances before taking their places on the soft mats arranged on the floor. The embroidered cushions seemed to welcome them with tenderness, while the sumptuous dishes displayed before them emitted intoxicating fragrances that tantalized their senses.
Finally giving in to their hunger, the guests carefully served themselves, savoring each bite with evident delight. Flavors exploded in their mouths, a subtle blend of exotic spices and carefully chosen ingredients.
Suddenly, a sound of a fall resonated behind the curtains, capturing the attention of all occupants in the tent.
"You should be in bed, Anthony..." grumbled Loki, his features displaying a slightly annoyed affection.
As the curtains parted, a small horned head appeared, eliciting surprised exclamations from Legolas, Gimli, and the Rohirrim.
"Oh please, Mom! You promised I could see the human before bedtime!" pleaded the child, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
The orc chieftain massaged his temples, his posture reflecting palpable weariness.
"Five minutes... Then it's bedtime without discussion!"
"I'm not a baby anymore! I'm a big boy!" retorted the child, eagerly settling onto Aragorn's lap.
Loki gave a apologetic glance to the ranger, who welcomed the gesture with a kind smile.
"So, your name is Anthony?" Aragorn inquired amiably, leaning slightly toward the child.
"Yes, just like my father!" the little creature replied with overflowing enthusiasm. "And like his father before him!" he added, his voice filled with pride.
"How old are you, my boy?" Gimli asked, intrigued by the small creature.
"I'll be two hundred years old by the next moon," the child absentmindedly replied as he snagged a piece of meat from the ranger's plate.
The guests exchanged surprised looks, and Gimli let out a whistle of admiration, astonished by the young boy's response.
"Two hundred years, that's a venerable age for such a young face," Aragorn commented.
The child nodded modestly, his face illuminated by the glow of oil lamps.
"I suppose that's how it is among my kind. The years don't pass the same way as they do among men."
"Among your kind?" Legolas inquired, intrigued.
"Yes, among those who live in the stars," the child answered, a hint of mystery in his words. "We live by different rhythms, and our ties to time are woven in a unique way."
The guests listened with fascination, captivated by the words of the small creature.
"Are you a Valaar?" the elf finally asked in a voice tinged with respect.
"No longer," Loki declared with a melancholic smile. "The realm of the gods has fallen, and I had to flee my homeland with my son..."
"Ewe would not have tolerated such a thing!" exclaimed Legolas, surprise coloring his voice.
"Believe me, elf, I saw my father die before my eyes. There are forces above your heads that you cannot measure the power of..."
The orc chieftain's words hung in the air, creating an atmosphere charged with almost palpable tension.
Eventually, Loki broke the silence with a soft voice. "It's time for Anthony to rest..."
The child let out a small sigh of disappointment, but nevertheless detached from Aragorn's lap, turning his gaze to his parent with touching resignation.
"You won't forget to sing me a song before I fall asleep, right?"
A tender smile stretched across Loki's lips. "Of course, my treasure. Come into my arms."
The child snuggled against Loki with a sigh of contentment, his eyes slowly closing as his parent began to sing.
The other guests were hanging on the singer's lips, captivated by his enchanting voice. The melody defied all elvish musical norms, seeming to emerge from a distant realm. The child, cradled in Loki's arms, had long surrendered to sleep, lulled by the melody.
"The orcs call you Adar, which means Father in Elvish. Why did they choose such a title?" Legolas finally questioned, his curiosity piqued.
For over two hundred years, I have traversed Middle-earth. I found myself on wild lands where a band of orcs struggled to survive. These beings were tormented, more akin to beasts than men. I guided them through this existence, much like a father would for his children. In just fifty short years, they managed to master the hatred that consumed them. Some of them gradually developed gentler and more feminine traits. The first children were born, creating a new lineage. We learned to raise livestock and lead a nomadic life. That's how the descendants of those first orcs have been calling me Father ever since.
"What exactly do you expect from us?" Gimli grew impatient. "It's been more than five days that you've had us working like beasts of burden, and now you invite us to a feast. What is the meaning of all this?"
Loki's gaze fell upon the dwarf, his expression remaining impassive despite the palpable agitation in the tent.
"I regret that it has come to this. My hope was that your initial weariness would make you more inclined to listen to me. As you have seen, my people do not seek war, even though they are armed to defend themselves if necessary."
"Why would a being like you choose to live among orcs?" Legolas questioned skeptically. "Are you a servant of Morgoth's will?"
Loki fixed the elf with his deep red eyes. "Unless my memory deceives me, weren't orcs once elves, captured by Morgoth? All I have done is offer these broken beings a home, a different path than one of hatred. I consider them all my children, and I see nothing degrading in sharing their company."
"And when your 'children,' as you call them, spread across the lands of men? Should we fear that our fields will be ravaged and our homes pillaged?" one of the Rohirrim asked, his sharp gaze locked onto Loki's.
The creature remained composed in the face of the man's direct question. "My intention is to negotiate with you for a territory where my people can settle. Nomadic life has its charm, but we will soon be too numerous to maintain temporary camps throughout the Dark Lands. My goal is not to invade, but to coexist in harmony with other peoples. To establish clear boundaries and respect any agreements we might reach."
"How can we be sure that you're not trying to deceive our vigilance?"
"It's not up to me to prove their sincerity, but up to them."
With that, Loki rose, his magnificent midnight blue tunic stretching along his slender figure.
"Please follow me, gentlemen. The Eclipse Festival is about to begin."
The members of the Fellowship exchanged intrigued glances and then rose, following Loki outside the tent.
The night was shrouded in thick darkness, dotted with sparkling starlight as a lunar eclipse unfolded in all its majesty. The typically tumultuous orc camp was filled with a feverish calm. Giant torches were arranged in a circle, casting dancing shadows on the gathered orcs' faces, adorned in elaborately crafted tribal ornaments.
Suddenly, the sound of drums reverberated through the air, pulsating like the beating of wild hearts. The drums were hewn from massive tree trunks and covered in stretched hides, emitting a deep and primal sound with each struck beat. The musicians pounded their instruments with frenzied energy, creating a hypnotic rhythm.
Chants then rose from throats, strange and entrancing.
Raise your horns into the air
There is plenty ale to share
All are welcome, take a chair
And sing a song loud and strong
All raised thick horns filled with a dark brew, lifting them high above their heads in a gesture of celebration. Soon, the horns made their way to Aragorn and his companions, who were in turn invited to partake in this festive ritual.
Men of war and men of care
Maidens fierce and maidens fair
Raise your horns into the air
And sing a song loud and proud and strong
The orcs formed groups, their cavernous voices intermingling in a discordant and intoxicating symphony. The words, in a long-forgotten language, seemed to draw from the depths of the earth and the stars, evoking epic tales of ancient battles.
SKÅL!
Sing loud and strong
SKÅL!
A toast and a thundering song
At the heart of the celebration, displays of strength were unfolding. Two massive orcs engaged in a fierce struggle, their muscles taut and their unrestrained energy filling the air with growls and defiant cries. Nearby, a group of younger orcs performed daring acrobatics, leaping over bonfires and executing impressive feats that defied gravity.
Suddenly, a troupe of dancers made their entrance. Their steps were wild and energetic, punctuated by drumbeats. The dancers twirled and spun, their movements reminiscent of battle. Their bodies seemed to merge with the darkness of the night.
Then, skilled orcs launched into impressive displays of dexterity, twirling flaming torches, knives, and fireballs with surprising agility. The flames seemed to dance to the rhythm of the music, creating luminous trails in the darkness, and the audience was captivated by these daring feats.
As the lunar eclipse reached its zenith, a solemn silence descended upon the crowd. The drums gradually slowed until they faded, and the chants dwindled into a soothing murmur. The orcs raised their eyes to the obscured sky, their faces bathed in the mystical glow of the eclipsed moon.
"Brave souls," proclaimed Lord Loki in a voice imbued with solemnity, "two hundred years have passed since I crossed paths with the first among you. An orc, filled with hatred and bound by allegiance to the Lord of Darkness. I tended to his wounds and healed his wounded soul. Gradually, other survivors joined us, laying the foundations for what would become a great family. We found refuge in distant lands, far from the malevolent influence of Morgoth. Your bodies healed, transformed into fully-fledged men and women, constituting a proud and majestic race. My sons, my daughters, proudly wear your identity, that of brave orcs ready to tread the lands of Middle-earth with nobility and dignity. In honor of the day you broke the chains of oppression, let us celebrate the courage and determination of your ancestors. Let us remember those tortured elves who, despite suffering, grasped the fragile thread of life. Facing this eclipse, let the lunar light bathe our faces once haunted by darkness. In this solemn hour, may this eclipse seal our triumph over the shadows, illuminating our path toward a radiant future."
Loki's speech concluded in respectful silence, the words still resonating in the minds of all.