Orcling by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 4: A Lesson Learned

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Mélamírë opened her eyes to bright, diffuse light. She had fallen asleep. How long, she was not sure, but now the rising Sun burned off the mists. Nearby, Stralûb, with the cloak still over her shoulders, sat flexing her injured ankle and foot, now considerably less swollen. The orcling crooned, her voice making a string of low warbles and growls. Mélamírë realized she was singing. A short, thick branch lay by Stralûb's side. She did not remember picking that up when she gathered firewood yesterday evening. Stralûb must have found the branch herself, which meant that she could hobble well enough on her own to find it. She could have clubbed Mélamírë over the head with the branch — or a rock — while she slept. Yet the orcling had not attacked her.

 

She scolded herself for falling asleep. That was so stupid, although no more stupid than everything else she had done: hiking up the vale without Father and taking it upon herself to rescue a child of the enemy.

 

Yet Stralûb had not clubbed her nor run away. In fact, she stopped singing when she saw that Mélamírë was awake. "Narrr-en? Radukh, radukh." The orcling waved her hand in the direction from where they heard the second warg last night: to the South.

 

She wants to look for her clan. But I cannot let them find me.

 

The orc-girl pushed herself up from the ground, then walked forward a few steps, using the branch as a crutch. Although she favored her injured foot and ankle, her injury must have healed rapidly overnight, because she put some weight on her wounded foot and moved much more easily. She stopped and twisted around toward Mélamírë, waving her free arm toward the South:

 

"Radukh! Radukh!"

 

I guess she wants to leave. Mélamírë heaved herself off the cold ground. Her head swam, and she leaned against the rock until the dizziness passed. Her hand was even more swollen, and the wound was an angry red color. A chill shook her for a moment, and she wondered if she might have a fever. She adjusted the pack on her back and joined Stralûb.

 

They struggled up the slope of the dell and began their hike toward the Glanduin Vale that lay to the South. Mélamírë decided that she could leave Stralûb there to find her own people while she turned West to return to the campsite, and hopefully find Father. She would tell him of the orcling, and they could decide what to do.

 

Each step brought more weariness. Had she been wounded back in Ost-in-Edhil, she would have been sent to bed, where, like all elf-children, she could practice linking her feä and hröa together until healing became as quick as thought. Instead, hunger and lack of real rest made the wound worse, like that a mortal might suffer.

 

So it was that she was not paying much attention when they entered the Vale and hiked along the Glanduin, whose waters rushed through a deep fissure carved between a hill of huge rocks.  They inched along a ledge above the water.  Mist from the rapids glittered in the morning sun before the narrow path plunged into shadow. It was slow going, as the stony ledge was slick, but they emerged into the sunlight. Stralûb winced and shielded her eyes, but Mélamírë looked ahead over a meadow, shaped like a wide bowl; about a half mile away on either side of the stream, pinewoods grew. Behind Mélamírë was the hill of stone through which the Glanduin tumbled. Then she saw something move in the stream ahead, something brown and furry.

 

She put her hand on the orcling's arm, and held her finger to her lips. They had crept only a little ways forward before they both gasped at the sight of two brown bear cubs rolling about on the bank of the stream.

 

Mélamírë had never seen a bear so close. The little animals played with one another like a pair of kittens. She stood still, entranced by the cubs that were yet unaware of their presence.

 

Stralûb fingered the tooth that hung around her neck. "Murûku narduru," she whispered, and then she frowned, like she was worried about something. "Naan mal kulat murûk kranklob?"

 

Mélamírë hushed her, not wanting to spook the bear cubs that played in the water, but it was too late: the cubs heard them. The little bears squalled in alarm and bolted along the stream. She and Stralûb had only taken a few steps forward when they heard a horrible roar. They turned to see a massive bear on top of the stone hill now about a quarter of a mile or so behind them. The beast reared up on its hind legs. To Mélamírë, it looked like it filled the sky, it was so big. The cubs' mother. It dropped to all fours, lowered its head, and stared at them, huffing and moaning, then launched itself down the slope.

 

Mélamírë could not believe something so large could run so fast. She yanked her knife out of its scabbard, for as little good as that might do. At least it was something.

 

Frantically, she searched for an escape. The trees were too far away to climb, the stream too shallow to dive under water, and there were no heights nearby that the bear could not reach. Her muscles and bones were frozen, and it seemed her mind was, too. Her thoughts and Time itself slowed while her death galloped toward her. A deep shudder ran through her body and coursed down her arms to concentrate as fiery heat at the tips of her fingers. The pain snapped her out of her paralysis, and she called out the Word of Power. It only made the bear slow down a little and shake its head, as if flies were buzzing around it, and it resumed its charge.

 

She struggled to get a good grip the hilt of her knife; something sharp dug into the heel of her hand. Waving her arms about, she yelled at the bear, as loud as she could, trying to sound more angry than afraid. And she was angry. She did not want to die. She did not want to hear the summons of the Dark One from across the Sea.

 

Something flashed out of the corner of her eye, and a rock smacked square on the side of the bear's head. The impact made it stumble, and its tiny eyes were dazed for a moment, but it swung its head in the direction of the rock. Another stone came flying, clipping its left ear. The bear charged toward the source of the rocks: Stralûb, whose aim and strength had improved considerably.

 

The orc-girl shrieked and kept throwing stones while the bear bore down on her. Mélamírë watched in horror, certain that the beast would tear into the orcling, but before it reached her, a chorus of hoots and shouts made the angry animal stop: a band of orcs and several wolfish creatures emerged from over the top of the stone hill and ran toward the bear.

 

A lone orc outran them all and placed itself between Stralûb and the bear, slashing at the beast with a curved, black sword. The orc bared its long fangs, and its angry screams threatened to split stone. Breasts swung beneath the crude leather plate that covered its chest as the orc sliced at the bear with its weapon: Stralûb's protector was a woman.

 

The bear roared and raked the orc-woman across her upper arm, leaving bloody gouges. The orc-woman cried out in pain and rage, but before the bear could take advantage of her stumble, three big orcs bore down on the creature with spears, driving it back. They plunged their spears deep into the animal's body, and the largest orc drove his long knife into its mouth, heedless of the bear's fangs, and up into its skull. The huge bear crumpled to the ground, dead.

 

More orcs swarmed over the dead bear, ripping into the hide and flesh, wresting teeth from its jaws and claws from its feet, while others ran to catch the cubs, quickly slicing their throats and fuzzy bellies to spill blood and guts onto the spring grass. Mélamírë felt awful for the poor cubs, but her attention was drawn rapidly to the orc-woman, who had picked up Stralûb in her arms and was covering her with kisses. "Kran'lob! Kran'lob!" the orc-girl cried, wrapping her arms around the orc-woman's neck. The big orc who had killed the bear went over to the orc-woman's side and touched Stralûb's face with startling tenderness.

 

That is her mother and father. Her family has found her. But they have also found me.

 

Slowly she backed away, hoping that none of the orcs had noticed her, but it was in vain. Stralûb's father saw her. He drew his sword, but before he took a single step forward, Stralûb cried, "Krank! Krank!" and then frantically jabbered a string of harsh words, pointing at Mélamírë. Stralûb's mother laid her hand on his arm and said something, too. He hesitated, but all around him, the clamor of his clan swelled, especially the yells of the male orcs. He shoved Stralûb's mother aside roughly, all gentleness gone.

 

"Azat goluglob! Akrat grishtob! Throquat trûtob!" he shouted. Flanked by the two orc-men, he stalked toward her; they grinned horribly with their yellowed fangs, Stralûb's father the worst of all. The other orcs yammered, and their wargs cackled. Stralûb cried, but her mother stood silent.

 

Rescuing the orc-girl, hunting for her, giving her food and warmth — all of it was for nothing. She had been so stupid to think she could help, that she could actually tame an orc, and now she was going to die for her stupidity and would spend the rest of Time haunting the Halls of the Dark One.

 

I am so sorry, Mama, Papa. I am so sorry...

 

A deep, rumbling growl rolled down the rocks behind her, and the orcs halted, their eyes wide beneath their heavy brow ridges. Slowly, she turned her head, wondering what kind of disaster approached now.

 

A huge black wolf, big as a pony, bounded to her side, its fur bristling and its fangs gleaming in the Sun like swords of ivory. It glanced at her with eyes that were not yellow, like a normal wolf, but red like fire. Her knife dropped from her hand, her knees wobbled, and she sank to the ground, waiting for death.

 

She felt the huge wolf's hot breath against the back of her neck, and hoped its bite would be swift and sure so that it would be over quickly. Instead of jaws clamping viselike on her neck, a cool, wet nose nuzzled her, and she heard Father's calm voice within her thoughts:

 

Stay put, child. I will take care of this.

 

Papa?

 

Astounded, she raised her head to stare at the monstrous wolf and reached out to touch its fur, to make sure it was real, but it was the scent of lightning beneath the wild odor of a predator that assured her this beast really was Father.

 

The wolf growled ferociously, and slowly approached the orc band. The wargs went wild with terror, and two bolted.  The clamor of the orcs changed from hoots of cruel laughter to wails of fear, but Stralûb's father and the other two big males made not one sound as they stood their ground. One of the orcs had a bow, and he fitted an arrow to it, but before he could draw it back, a wizened old orc with one eye and a necklace that clattered with many bear claws smacked aside the arrow with his gnarled wooden staff.

 

The old orc yelled at his tribe, repeating the words "dushatâr" and "naur" while the black wolf snarled at them all. Stralûb's father lowered his sword, his expression uncertain and fearful, then made his decision.

 

"Ukhat," he hollered. "Ukhat!"

 

All the orcs and their wargs turned and withdrew slowly toward the pines to the North while the wolf watched. As the band departed, Stralûb, walking alongside her mother, raised her hand and waved at Mélamírë before the orc-woman jerked her daughter's arm, yanking her into the shadows of the pine woods and leaving the mangled carcasses of the bear and her cubs behind.

 

The wolf waited until the last of the orcs had vanished before he gave a flip of his bushy tail and trotted toward Mélamírë. He sniffed her, ran his red tongue over her face, and wagged his tail, just like a happy dog. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugged him, and forced herself not to cry.

 

My dearest, you nearly turned my hair white with worry. I ought to be furious with you for disobeying me...

She cringed.  He was right.  He had every right to be angry, and she wondered what sort of punishment her foolishness would merit.

But I am far more relieved than angry.  You were very difficult to track, even for me. Now let's return to camp, shall we?

 

She stood up, dazed. She did not think she could walk all the way back to camp.

 

"Father, I can't..."

 

I will carry you, but first, do something about your hands. I don't fancy those things digging into my skin.

 

She raised her hands, and to her astonishment, discovered why she had been unable to grip her knife well: her flat nails were now long and sharp, like claws or talons. When she become so frightened, she Changed without even thinking about it.

 

Impressive. You've never been able to Change both hands. Until now.

 

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on the churning substances within the tissues of her hands, commanding the twisting chains to unwind and form new chains of a different kind. Then she bent and folded the sheets woven from them. Her hands burned. When she opened her eyes again, her nails were short and flat, and the swelling of her right hand was gone although the bite marks were still a little pink.

 

Now go find your pack, and we'll be off.

 

Her pack? She had not even noticed that she cast it aside. There it lay, near a cluster of snow rose shrubs. The wolf lay down on the ground while she climbed onto his back. When he rose to his feet and trotted a few steps, she almost slipped off. This was nothing like riding a horse or a pony. He halted.

 

Flatten yourself against me and hang on tight.

 

Then he bounded off over the land, following the stream. The ride was wild and exhilarating. She clutched his thick fur in her fists so she would not fall off.

 

Now that she was safe, she allowed her thoughts to drift. As the wolf's — Father's — muscles bunched and stretched beneath her, she remembered one of the tales that Lord Celeborn told her this past winter when she had sneaked off to the Sindarin quarter, as she had for the past four years, to visit him in his garden. The Sindarin prince spun tales that were not told in her household, where Mother favored the epic tragedies of her and Tyelpo's family, or those of Father, who preferred stories of the natural world or the wondrous fables of the Eastern lands where he wandered many, many years ago during one of his sojourns in Middle-earth, long before he came to Ost-in-Edhil.

 

As the world flashed by, Mélamírë thought about Celeborn's story of Lúthien, the daughter of Melian the Fay and King Thingol of the Sindar, and Huan of Oromë's House, who took the form of a great wolfhound. Was Lúthien's ride like this? Did the hound's gait feel like a wolf's? She remembered the part of the tale when the powerful sorcerer, Thû, Changed into a huge wolf to do battle with Huan, and how Huan and Lúthien had defeated him, forcing him to give up his fortress.

 

Then something strange occurred to her, a chilling thought like cold winter air that seeps around the cracks of a door. Father, a Fay like Thû, ran beneath her in the form of a huge wolf. Thû had been the Lord of Werewolves. A terrible question formed from that thought: had Father once served Thû, back in the time of legends?

 

She untangled the threads that threatened to weave themselves into an awful — and surely wrong — conclusion. It could not be, for Father lived in Aman and served Aulë during that time. He had returned to Middle-earth after the War of Wrath in another guise, that of a Man of the Eastern tribes, then returned once more to Aman before he came back here as one of the Eldar. So he could not have served Thû. It was impossible. Besides, Father was a good man: Istyar Aulendil, the respected and admired teacher.

 

He is loved, she thought. Mother loves him, Tyelpo loves him, and I love him, and he loves me. He would never serve evil.

 

She relaxed, the terrible thought vanquished, and buried her face into the wolf's black fur, inhaling the comforting scent of lightning.

 

It was almost midday when they reached their camp. After she slid off Father's back, he lay down on a soft patch of grass and stretched out. Then, he Changed.

 

She watched with horror and fascination as his legs lengthened and straightened while his sinews and bones popped and cracked. His forelimbs became arms, his muzzle retracted, the fanged jaws diminished to become a human face, and fur disappeared to reveal the pale, naked skin of a man.

 

He lay there in the Sun for a long while with his eyes squeezed shut. At last, he sat up and shook his head, rubbing his hands over his face, and then massaged the scars on his neck — old wounds from an accident in Aulë's forges — that were now inflamed.

 

"It has been a long time since I've done that." He sounded extremely tired. "Be a good girl and fetch my clothing, would you? In the cave..."

 

She hurried into the cave to find his shirt, tunic, and trousers neatly folded by his boots, his wool stockings rolled and tucked inside them. He thanked her when she brought them. He could not stand, so he awkwardly thrust his long legs into his trousers, wriggled the shirt and tunic over his head, and with her help, pulled his black hair out from under the fabric. He closed his eyes and again rubbed his face and neck where the scars had now turned white and were barely visible. Then he opened his arms to her.

 

She fell into his strong, warm hug, and could no longer hold back her tears. Her face crumpled against his shoulder. "Oh, Papa..."

 

He held her tight while all the fear poured out of her. "You are safe, my little love, you are safe. I will never let anything or anyone hurt you."

 

Her tears subsided, and he wiped her face with the hem of his shirt. "There now. All better?"

 

She nodded.

 

"We will talk more about your adventures later, but for now, I must rest. That took a lot out of me, and I am not feeling well."

 

She felt badly that her nearly disastrous adventure had compelled him to Change and now to feel ill because of it. "Shall I get you anything, Father? Do you want me to keep watch?"

 

"Yes, water, please, and plenty of it. I am dreadfully thirsty. You may keep watch, if you wish, though I doubt anything shall disturb us. And do not go wandering off!"

 

"Yes, Father." She fetched water for him, and he gulped down three full waterskins before he rose and walked unsteadily back to the cave with her help. He lay down on his bedroll, pulled up a blanket, and promptly fell asleep.

 

She left him there and occupied herself for a while by feeding apples to Birdie and Mori and petting them. The horses basked in the attention, swishing their tails and nickering at her. For the remainder of the afternoon, she sat on the ledge, just above the cave, that overlooked their camp.

 

She yawned, wishing she could sleep, too, but the sight and sound of Father's limbs lengthening and his face crumpling troubled her.  She kept seeing them again and again in her head. A few years ago, when they were out fishing together, he had played the game of shapes for her as he so often did. She especially loved the way he could shift from fox to mouse to frog so swiftly, and how those creatures danced and pranced about, singing silly songs to make her laugh, but they were all illusions, tricks of sight and mind, and not actual Change. Once, and by accident, one of his illusions had taken the guise of a large black wolf, and it had frightened her. Nightmares haunted her for months afterwards.

 

This time, the wolf was real, but she was not so frightened, because she was older now and understood. She wondered if she would ever be able to fully Change her form like Father. She doubted it. She was only half-Fay, and after watching his body warp and twist, she was pretty sure she did not want to.

 

She examined her hands. When she deliberately tried to Change, she could only affect her left hand, turning the nails into claws. Father tried to understand that her talents were not as great as his, but she sensed his disappointment. But this morning, claws — longer and sharper that ever before, and more like a bird of prey's rending talons than the claws of a cat — had sprouted on both her hands without her even thinking about it. Why, she did not know. A yawn stretched her mouth again, and this time, she allowed herself to slip into a waking dream so she could at least have a catnap.

 

The Sun was sliding down into the haze that covered the Western lowlands when Father at last emerged from the cave. After her nap, she had managed to spear a couple of trout and brought them back to the fire to spit and roast, but he took the fish from her.

 

"Sit. I have lazed about long enough." He cleaned the fish and set them above the embers, turning them so they would cook just right. The sun had set by the time they ate their supper.

 

"Now," he said, picking a bone out of his teeth, "tell me about your little adventure."

 

So she did, omitting nothing. He nodded and made a remark now and then to encourage her.

 

When she finished her tale, he asked, "What have you learned from this?"

 

She thought for a moment then answered, "That orcs are people like us."

 

She did not think his eyebrows could rise much higher. "It is best not to think of them as people," he said.

 

"But they speak and they sing! They may be ugly and nasty, but they have something, I don't know...something a little good in them."

 

"I said, it is best not to think of them as people. I should not have to tell you that again."

 

"Yes, Father."

 

"What else did you learn?"

 

"That I should not wander off alone into the Wild."

 

"And what else?"

 

"That I should listen to you."  She readied herself for his judgment of her answer, expecting to hear him announce that she would not be allowed to set off on her own for at least a yén, but that was not what he said.

 

"That's my girl.  The danger you put yourself in is punishment enough, I think, for your disobedience, but there is something you must do. Do you know what that is?"

 

"I think so."

 

"I think you do, too." He gently cupped her face with his hands and looked deep into her eyes. "You must tell no one — absolutely no one — about my Change into the wolf. Do you know why?"

 

"Because they will know you are a Fay, and they will think you are a monster."

 

"And?"

 

"They will think I am a monster, too."

 

"That's right, and that is why we must keep this a secret."

 

Father had told her this from the very beginning, when she first became aware she had abilities that other children did not — she must guard his secret as well as hers, for not all folk looked upon the Fays favorably. A few years ago, not long after Lord Celeborn had told her a few stories of his life in Doriath, she asked Father if Melian was a monster, and he answered emphatically that yes, many considered her to be so. The next time she visited Lord Celeborn, she asked him the same question: was Melian a monster? He seemed startled at first, but then became thoughtful and had responded, "Yes, I am afraid that some did see her as a monster — a beautiful monster, but a monster all the same."

 

She looked into Father's silver-grey eyes. "But Mother knows you are a Fay." She also wondered about Tyelpo. He and Father were such close friends that she could not see how her cousin had not guessed.

 

"Yes, and only you and she know. We must keep it that way."

 

"Then why can't I tell her about the wolf?"

 

"Because it will worry her too much. You say you want a little sister or brother to join our household, do you not?"

 

"Yes..." It was no secret that she envied her friends who had brothers and sisters.

 

"If your mother worries too much, she and I will not be able to make a baby, so you must not worry her, which means you must not tell her about my Change into the wolf."

 

"I will not tell. I promise. But what about the orcling? May I tell Mother about the orcling?"

 

"Stars' blood, no, you may not! She will throttle me if she finds out I let you wander away like that."

 

"May I tell my friends?"

 

"Certainly not!"

 

That deeply disappointed her. It was bad enough that she could not tell Mother about the orc-girl, but even worse, now she could not tell her tale to her friends. It would have been an excellent scary story to tell around the autumn bonfires, and a true one, too.

 

"May I tell Mother and my friends about my fossil?" She hoped she could at least share that small part of her adventure, even if it was not as exciting as the rest.

 

"Yes, of course, you may tell them about your fossil. Speaking of your treasure, may I see it?"

 

She dug around in the bottom of her pack and pulled out the stone, handing it to him. He examined it carefully in the firelight.

 

"This is a splendid specimen. You say you found it at the shale outcrop?"

 

"Yes. What kind of animal is it? It looks like a big bug."

 

Father grinned. "You're close. It is an extinct sea creature without a spine and skeleton, but with a hard shell to protect it and give it structure, like a lobster or a crab, but more ancient. This creature and its kin swam in the sea that once covered what became the Misty Mountains when they rose out of the water, from the time when Melkor was the only one of the Ainur who dwelled here…when he was the Sentinel."

 

"Does it have a name?"

 

"Yes, Ulmo named them trilobites." This new Valarin word grated against her ears, but she tucked it away in her memory. He gave the fossil back to her. "By all means, show this to your mother. She will be very interested in it. Now come, it's time for you to go to bed. You must be exhausted."

 

"May I sleep out here by the fire? By you?"

 

"Of course. Get your bedroll."

 

She was so tired that she stumbled on her way to the cave. After arranging the bedroll on the ground, she curled up beneath her blanket, and rested her head on Father's lap while he stroked her hair. The vault of the sky was filled with Varda's stars. The sounds of the rushing stream and chirping crickets blended to make a pleasant nighttime melody. Father then sang softly. It was her favorite lullaby, the song of the wine-dark sea and the violet sky full of stars. He had sung this lullaby to her since she was a baby, as his own mother had sung it to him in an unimaginably distant time and place.

 

Her eyelids drooped and soon closed. Her last thought before she plunged into the soothing waters of deep sleep was if Stralûb, too, lay on the verge of sleep while her mother sang to her.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Orc vocabulary; from the fanon version of the Black Speech created by The Land of Shadow (plus a few words from Tolkien himself).

 Golug (n) - elf, elves

dâgalûr (n)- demon

narnûlubat - Orkish way of expressing thanks ("I will not hurt you")

akh - yes

ash, krul, gakh (n) - one, two, three

kul throquûrz – I am hungry

stral (n) - flint

lûb (n) - daughter

rak - class noun family, clan

murûk (n) bear

-lob feminine word ending

nar - 1. not; 2. expression of contempt

bugud (n) name

lorz (adj) - stupid

znûg (v) I regret

narghaash (adj) - cold

ghaash (n) - fire

vargr (n) - Old Norse word for wolf, also has a connotation of evil.

krank (n) - father

-izub – mine

[literally warg father-mine = My father's warg!]

rad - now, immediately

ukh- (v) - go

[Radukh - Let's go now!]

Murûku narduru - little bears

Naan mal kulat murûk kranklob? - But where is bear mother?

"Kran'lob" – probably Mama or Mommy (my invention)

"Azat goluglob! Akrat grishtob! Throquat trûtob!" - Kill (the) female elf! Drink her blood! Devour her brain! 

dushatâr - sorcerer

naur - werewolf

Self-Important Bloviating.

Although I used the Bechdel Test Challenge as an excuse to write this story, it was been rattling around in some form or another for a few years now, in part as a response to the following excerpt from History of Middle-earth, vol. X, "Morgoth's Ring," in which Tolkien discusses the nature and origin of orcs:

In  summary:  I  think  it must  be assumed  that 'talking'  is not necessarily the sign of the possession of a 'rational soul' or fea. The   Orcs   were  beasts   of   humanized   shape   (to   mock  Men and  Elves)  deliberately perverted  I converted  into a  more close  resemblance  to  Men.   Their 'talking'   was  really   reeling  off  'records'  set  in  them  by Melkor.  Even their rebellious critical words  -  he  knew  about  them.  Melkor   taught them speech and as they bred they inherited  this;  and they had just as much independence as have,  say,  dogs  or   horses of theirhuman masters. This talking was  largely  echoic  (cf. parrots).  In The Lord  of the  Rings Sauron is said to have devised a  language for them.                                                            

To my mind, the assertion that the orcs are "beasts of humanized shape" and that their speech was largely "echoic" are cop-outs of the first order, a blatant attempt to turn the orcs into mindless "cannon-fodder" or "sword-fodder" in the case of Middle-earth.  Hence, killing these beings "without souls" becomes less morally problematic, quite unlike the scenarios in which the orcs were closely related to Elves or Men, that is to say, human.  Orcling asserts that orcs are human with their own traditions, beliefs, and culture, however strange and repugnant these might seem to Men and Elves. 

In the Pande!verse, which takes inspiration from Darwinian evolution (with demiurgic interference) as opposed to Tolkien's apparent penchant for Lamarckism, orcs are derived from a hominid species ancestral to mortal Men (Homo sapiens sapiens) and Elves (Homo sapiens eldarensis), probably similar to Homo heidelbergensis, but "Melkorized."  My recent self-indugence — Saltation — touches upon the concept of orcs being derived from an eariler Homo species.

The lullaby that Sauron sings and the origins of the Maiar, which (in the Pandë!verse) are organic rather than angelic, are referenced in Light Over the Mountain.