A Length Of Ribbon by Himring

Chapter 2

After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Mainly, an orc.

Warning for some orcishness.

Scum feels a whine rise in his throat as he surveys the expanse of churned black earth. Oh, to be sure, he knew all along that if the higher-ups were prepared to let him cross the battlefield alone and un-supervised, all the best pickings would already be gone. But this! Miles and miles of blood-soaked mud mixed with ashes, long dried. Hardly even a bone or a bit of scrap iron. Such a big, big battle, so many dead! Surely there must be something left, something worth finding.

But he won’t have much time to look for it. If he takes too long to arrive at the other end, the punishment he receives will be worse than a beating. It is not as if anyone had actually given him permission to go looking. On the other hand, that means that if he does find something, they may not take it off him right away…

The wind turns a little and a gust from the direction of the Mound reminds him where most of the bones have gone. The stench is enough to make even an orc gag. Still, that would be the place to investigate, of course! But he dare not risk it.

The truth is: he doesn’t understand what the higher-ups are playing at, with that mound. So much work for nothing! Such a waste of good food! He supposes the idea is to intimidate the rest of the filthy rebels. But surely even those arrogant maniacs from Overseas won’t be stupid enough to hang around gawking at the Mound! They’ll all have taken to their heels, the ones that survived, if they know at all what is good for them. Except for the ones in chains of course—but somehow Scum doesn’t think those will need much impressing, down in the mines. Still, it is something to know that high-and-mighty elven lords stink as much as the rest when they are just so much rotten meat.  

Oh well. He’ll just have to keep his eye out as he trots along. Maybe, if he sees a likely spot, just a little bit of digging… He begins to jog—and goes on jogging. Even at orc-speed it is a long way.  And there is nothing: miles of nothing.

He reaches the area where they say the fighting was hardest, on the western side. Here, perhaps? He stops and scratches around a bit, without much hope. It looks as if someone’s been over the ground with a fine tooth comb.

Just as he is about to give up, he catches just a glimpse of… There, there something is glinting in the pale light of a dim sun. Hurriedly, he scrapes away dust and ashes and…

His gorge rises. He starts cursing bitterly. It is only a bit of ribbon, silver and blue. He spits and grinds it under his heel.

Curse them! Curse those dirty, treacherous, murderous bastards and their nasty flaming eyes!  They owed him something, they did! All he asked for was just a little bit of treasure, just a little something to get everyone off his back, something to buy him a bit of space! Just so they’d leave him alone a little, the higher-ups. Oh yes, and maybe enough for a decent meal or two as well. They owed him! And instead, this bit of frippery here. He feels he is being mocked by the fallen Noldor.

He spits again. Then his shoulders sag in defeat as another stunted dream of freedom dies.  He starts to move off, hesitates, turns back and claws the bit of ribbon out of the dirt again. It is worthless, but it is all he has and he’ll just have to try and make something of it.

***

Poor Scum! Like others at the bottom of the pile, he prides himself on his realism. But what he hasn’t admitted to himself is this: if he had managed to find his bit of real treasure, if he had come back with a thumbnail-sized emerald like the one in Azaghal’s combs, the most likely thing it would have earned him is a beating as they took it off him, maybe even a torn-out throat.

***

Azaghal is dead, too, now of course. It is no longer necessary to take account of his sensibilities.

‘Curvo’, says Maedhros to his brother, a little distantly, a little too politely, ‘how much trouble is that leg-wound of yours giving you? Do you think you could you prise the stones and the pearls out of these combs, carefully, without damaging them? I think they will serve us best now if we exchange them one by one for what we need. Thank you very much. Oh, and return the combs themselves to me, please. I would like to keep them for now.’