Chapter Two: Brutal Red

"Here they come, " Ornendil, one of the lieutenants of the White Company, announced as he stepped into the clearing illuminated by the large campfire. The three men gathered around the blaze rose, hands on the hilts of their swords. Two more rushed out of the Company's small cabin at the edge of the lighted clearing.

All six waited expectantly, listening intently to the grunts and scuffling not far from where they stood. Ornendil and three others wore the indistinct garb of the rangers of the White Company, meant to blend in to their surroundings and survive years of work and weather. The fifth was a nicely attired though somewhat awkward youth. The sixth was the man whom the boy served, the lord who owned the land beneath their feet.

When the warning came, Faramir, son of Denethor, and his squire Bergil mounted their horses and sped from the manor house to the ranger outpost at the edge of Faramir's lands. Before leaving, Faramir threw a knee length brown cloak over his garments to conceal the two elven knives belted over his fine lawn cote. Generally, he donned the symbol of authority for the independent principality of Ithilien only for official occasions. But this unusual event might require him to mete out justice. So he pressed the golden circlet of the Prince of Ithilien lightly down on his head.

"I'm waiting," Faramir spoke loudly to project his authority into the darkness. The sounds of struggle still continued in the distance. Faramir rested one hand on a knife and cocked his head to the side as a signal. He strode to the edge of the clearing and was nearly bowled over. Three gasping rangers bounced into the clearing, dragging two orcs bound together in what appeared to be a net. They were followed by Legolas Greenleaf, son of the Elven King Thranduil, who strode up to the orc prisoners with a look of self-satisfaction on his smooth, gleaming face.

"I killed four of them," Legolas said, matter-of-factly.

The entrapped orc prisoners grasped at their bindings and then rained angry, incomprehensible words upon their captors. The net that imprisoned them seemed flimsy, scarcely strong enough to hold a school of trout. Yet these two struggled and screamed as though the netting seared their flesh.

"And these two are the ones who have been pilfering your orchards?" Faramir asked.

"We were making camp for the night when we heard their racket, stupid orcs," the ranger Sergeant Larnach explained and directed a kick into the captured orcs. A hand with long jagged nails reached out and tried to grab Larnach's foot. "These two were wounded and making a racket," Larnach growled, leaning over his prisoners. "Prince Legolas was on their trail. We caught 'em easily."

"I'm glad that you brought these two here instead of killing them," Faramir said . He could not see the prisoners that well, bound as they were by the elvish netting. They seemed a tangle of limbs and snarling teeth. They also stank. "Aim your arrows at these two, men," Faramir commanded the White Company rangers. "Legolas, let's have a look at these heroes."

Faramir withdrew one of his knives, a Yuletide gift from the elven friend beside him. The two carefully cut the netting, avoiding the angry, flailing hands of the prisoners. With one swift move, human and elf tore apart the netting, which dropped neatly at the feet of their captives.

Sensing that they were free, the two orcs immediately sprang forward and then halted to avoid the points of Faramir and Legolas' knives at their throats. One of the prisoners lost his balance and fell. The ranger lieutenant Ornendil leaped over him, aiming an arrow at his chest. The second orc straightened up and glared haughtily at Faramir, as though Legolas had some nerve to disrupt his attempt to collect his dinner.

"Rather fond of elven oranges, aren't you," Faramir taunted the arrogant fellow. "Prince Legolas here says half his crop is missing. I never took your lot for fruit eaters."

The defiant bloke remained silent, but Faramir caught a light in his warm brown eyes. Those eyes were an uncanny bit of attractiveness in a pasty white face "enhanced" by metal and bone piercings. Instead of ears on either side of his head like most two-legged beings, the creature had flopping pink ears, poised atop his head just like a pig's. Despite the ears, this particular orc was hardly the most hideous of his kind that Faramir had ever seen. He was tall and muscular, and looked to be well-fed.

"You understand me, don't you," Faramir continued. He withdrew the point of his blade and stepped back a foot or so. Fastening his eyes onto the orc's face, he applied the same intense stare that he used for interrogating human miscreants in the law courts of Minas Tirith. The orc flinched and turned his head, though he maintained his silence. At that moment, Faramir thought he felt a strange insight into the creature's mind. It never occurred to Faramir that orcs thought about anything besides "fight" and "kill."

Suddenly, the orc snarled and revealed something else incongruous, a set of healthy gums and whole teeth. Before he could make a move, however, Legolas's ready arrow appeared but inches from the orc's eye.

"What is your name?" Faramir demanded. He gestured for Legolas to lower his arrow. The insolent orc remained silent. "What's his name, then?" Faramir gestured to the second orc, still sprawled on the ground with Ornendil hovering over him.

The prone orc squeaked.

"Speak up!" Ornendil threatened.

The prone orc sputtered with effort, "Don't tell 'em, Shak."

The standing orc groaned, "Looks like you already did, fool. That fool's name is Murn. What do you think you can do to us?"

"That's for me to decide," Faramir said as he gestured to the rangers. "Get that one up."

Ornendil stepped aside, still aiming his arrow while the men hauled the prone orc Murn to his feet. This one had huge shoulders in proportion to his head and outsized arms with hands dangling to his knees. His skin was the color of pea soup. The orc's ears were oversized and pointy, but at least they were in the proper place on his head, unlike his companion.

With knife positioned close to the white-skinned orc's throat, Faramir said, "This is Legolas, who charges you and your gang with stealing and destroying his orchards."

"Over the course of months," Legolas added.

"My name is Faramir, son of Denethor. I'm prince of these lands, and I carry out the King's Law."

The tall orc, evidently named Shak, still feigned disinterest, though Faramir sensed the creature's unease ever since his name was revealed. "Joke of a prince," Shak declared insolently. "We all know who you are, Brutal Red. Sneaking up on orc kind and killing us in our sleep." He spat at Faramir's boots.

Faramir didn't know whether to slug the orc or laugh out loud. Instead, he fingered the leather casing at the base of his neck that held in place the long, red-gold hair by which the orcs evidently identified him. How did one treat with such creatures? He had interrogated orcs in the past, but few seemed to know enough words of Westron to understand him. That these two understood him set them apart from the ranks of Sauron's minions that used to terrorize Ithilien in the years of the Ring War.

As if reading Faramir's thoughts, Legolas whispered, "The green one's not from Mordor."

Faramir nodded his head, but he directed his words to Shak: "The Morgul road has been closed for years. Yet our lands have been harassed by your kind the past few months. Where do you live?"

The tall orc's eyes blazed. "Everywhere. Nowhere. And here," he growled softly. "Right in your home lands, Brutal Red." He spoke the last name as though they were the height of insult.

"These lands are closed to orc folk, " Faramir said. "Count yourself lucky that I stand in judgement of you here in Ithilien. If I shipped you off to Minas Tirith, the king would not deal with you so gently.

Then Faramir said in a deceptively easier tone, "You seem a thoughtful orc, Shak. Surely you must know that Gondor signed a peace treaty with Near Harad three years ago. Now homeless orcs found wandering in Gondorian lands can have refuge in Near Harad, providing that they work in the fields or mines and not cause trouble. Larnach, have your men escort these blokes to the southern marches."

Larnach, Ornendil, and the other rangers stared at Faramir in shock.

"As I have ordered," Faramir continued. "Bind them again, and turn them over to the Haradrim border guards. The King's Laws apply to everyone in Gondor these days, even vagrant orcs. I can't imprison these two for stealing fruits and vegetables."

"Aye, my Lord Prince," Larnach nodded slightly in deference to Faramir and then conferred with the other rangers. Faramir then stood guard while Legolas gathered the torn netting . The two orcs huddled together without struggling as they were bound again. Nonetheless, Faramir could see the pain on their faces as the rope was tightened about their oddly-colored skin.

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After the rangers of the White Company departed, Faramir and Bergil rode home slowly, accompanied by Legolas on his dapple grey gelding.

"So when do we set out after them," Legolas asked.

"Let's give them until tomorrow morning," Faramir chuckled, pleased that the elf had once more sensed his plan. "Then I'll have them followed. Can you lend me a few good trackers?"

"I was going to follow them myself," Legolas offered.

"Don't," Faramir cautioned. "We don't know where these characters came from or if there are more of them. We both need to be here in case the kin of the blokes you killed decide to take revenge. The White Company has long known there are groups of orcs hiding in Ithilien. I want to find out where they come from and how they came here."

"That green one is a goblin-orc," Legolas continued. "I saw many of his kind in the Mines of Moria. When my folk first came to Ithilien, they reported large groups of goblin orcs on the move. My father's people were worn out from battle and didn't pursue them. Some may have travelled here."

"Begging your pardon, my lords," Bergil interrupted, "but the big white orc has got to be from Mordor. I saw a few with pig ears like him when the great gate was breached." The youth shuddered a second. Bergil was but a boy at the time. He had managed to evade the great charge of orcs on the first level of Minas Tirith by hiding on the roof of one of the buildings still left standing. "Those pig eared orcs seemed to be ordering the others around."

"Aye, the pig ears were the leaders," Faramir agreed, remembering his own horrific encounters with orcs. "That orc Shak wore a vambrace with the emblem of the White Tree of the Stewards. Did you notice that, Legolas? He must have retrieved it from a body on a battlefield. How could he have come by that and still live? Most of his kind are long dead and burned from our existance."

"Perhaps we'll find their nests this time," Legolas said. "Their ignorance should trip them up eventually."

"I don't know about that," Faramir grinned. "I wonder if the orcs scare their new recruits with terror stories of Brutal Red. My father would have been impressed, if he had heard my orc nickname."

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"Brutal Red!" Faramir exclaimed with glee and sprawled out in his great bed. "I never imagined that I brought terror into the hearts of all orcs. Me, of all people. Next time someone mistakes me for a gentle heart, I will remind him of my reputation among the orcs."

His devoted but not terribly patient wife Eowyn Eomund's daughter chortled and then laughed so hard tears streamed from her eyes. "Brutal Red. A perfect name for you. I will call you that from now on."

"In addition to "'Mir" and "Husband" and "He Whom I Must Obey?" Faramir teased.

She poked an elbow into his ribs, and then leaned over his body. One hand ran slowly along the wisping red hairs of his chest. Faramir's eyes closed, enjoying it.

"Gentleness is not a trait to belittle," Eowyn murmured. "My whole life I had longed to be gentle. Only now have I learned how, thanks to my child and my humble servant Brutal Red. "

He chuckled and then rolled his torso to the side, facing her. "I saw into that orc's mind, 'Wyn. For just a second. That I could do so was just as amazing as finding out my orcish nickname."

"What could an orc possibly have on its mind?" Eowyn wondered.

"It's difficult to say," Faramir lay back on the bed, pale blue eyes soft in concentration. "I did get the idea that this Shak was a rebel of some sort and did not participate in the War of the Ring. But he's a Mordor orc, that's certain. I've fought his kind time and again. I think, though, that he's lived outside that land for many years. He looks too healthy. My guess is he hasn't been eating Mordor food or other orcs."

She shuddered and then said, "Where could he have lived?"

"Possibly among the Haradrim. Possibly right here in Ithilien. That's why I'm having those two tailed. I want to know where they go after Larnach hands them to the Haradrim."

The fact that orcs were found on their property gave Eowyn unease, mostly for their son Elboron. "There have been no unexplained deaths in the area?"

"Right," Faramir said, "but people go missing for years, and bodies keep turning up in lands the rangers used to patrol. You know that."

She nestled against his shoulder and thought for a moment. "Yes. But why do you not think some orcs might be sneaking out of Mordor."

"Because the Morgul road has been closed for years," Faramir said. "It took us a good year after Aragorn's coronation to send a contingent of the White Company down that road. You would still have been in Rohan, 'Wyn. My men traveled less than a mile past Minas Morgul and had to stop. Huge landslides blocked their way. That must have happened during the earthquakes when the Dark Lord fell."

"Could the orcs or whoever is left in Mordor have cleared the road?"

"It's closed, covered," Faramir whispered in her ear. The experiences of four years of marriage told Eowyn that her husband would not be awake much longer. "I make sure to watch Cirith Ungol and the destroyed plateau every month, in the palantir. I have seen orcs or other orc-like creatures in the past, but it has been awhile." His voice trailed off.

Eowyn was not ready to go to sleep. She had never thought of Mordor as anything other than a land of hate and fear. But now that Sauron was long gone, the Nazgul just a horrible memory, and their minions defeated, Eowyn wondered what was left. On the vague maps of Minas Tirith, Mordor was depicted as a vast ill-defined land, dominated in the north by Orodruin. That volcano had blown itself up, when its own molten lava dissolved the One Ring.

"I would like to see it," Eowyn said.

"Uh?" Faramir mumbled and opened one eye.

"Mordor," Eowyn continued eagerly. "I'd like to visit it. I've never seen a real volcano. I suppose it is safe to go there now. Remember Frodo and Samwise's story? They saw the volcano collapse. I never thought I would wonder or care what Mordor looked like, or what terrors and beauties it once held. But now I do. I wonder if anyone else would want to make such a journey, now that peace has come?"

Faramir, of course, had fallen asleep. Eowyn tried to do the same, but her mind kept wandering back to thoughts of Mordor. Could it ever be a place where every day people might want to go, just to see the historic sights?

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AUTHOR'S NOTES

This chapter introduces my interpretations of some of my favorite Tolkien characters. However, as you probably noticed, Faramir, Eowyn, and Legolas bear more than a passing resemblance to the actors that played them in the LOTR films. By now, if you've seen the films, you also probably suspected that the pig-faced orc general in "Return of the King" might have some relatives who make appearances in "Mordor Vacationland." This is entirely intentional. What I call, with tongue in cheek, "the Steffverse" uses Jackson's actors to portray scenes in the Tolkien canon that were never filmed. Or, in this case, stories of my own creation that are inspired by the Tolkien canon and sometimes even fanon.