17. Elven Arrows
"I don't get it." The two orcs sauntered towards the wall, searching for
a place to eat. They finally settled into the last bit of shade.
"Don't get what, Breg?"
"You." Breg began eating. "I mean, you been here at Minas Morgul for, what, three years?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, Gursh, they never seem to come around when you're on watch."
"Who d'ya mean, they?" Gursh swallowed a chunk of raw meat.
"You know, them."
"You mean the Nazgul?" Gursh started gnawing a bone.
"Don't say that! They'll hear you."
"Ha!" Gursh began sucking marrow. "I got a charm against 'em."
"The hell you do."
"I do. You wanna see?"
"Maybe." Breg gulped some ale. "An' maybe you ain't nothin' but a liar."
"You're the one who said you didn't get it." Gursh threw the finished bone away.
"Awwright." Breg cracked open a bone. "I guess I do wanna see."
Gursh wiped his hands on his breeches, then began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly, dramatically, he peeled it away from his skin. There, sewn neatly next to the row of buttons, was an elven arrow.
"Where the hell did you get that?"
Gursh refastened his shirt. "My brother, Grank. He got it on patrol. Killed a whole mess of elves, they did."
"Grank is dead!"
"Yeah, but not because of no Nazgul. He got inna fight with his old lady, and she brained him."
Breg froze.
"What?"
"We're gonna see right now if that arrow of yours works." Gursh turned. There, slowly coming along the wall, was a Nazgul. The other orcs shrank as he passed, cowering away from the black-robed figure. Slowly, steadily, the Nazgul drew closer. He stopped a dozen paces away, fingering his sword as he studied the orcs at his feet. For a few moments neither Gursh nor Breg moved. Then as silently as he came, the Nazgul turned and walked away.
"Gursh?"
"Yeah?"
"You got another one of them arrows?"
finis
****
--Khazar
a place to eat. They finally settled into the last bit of shade.
"Don't get what, Breg?"
"You." Breg began eating. "I mean, you been here at Minas Morgul for, what, three years?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, Gursh, they never seem to come around when you're on watch."
"Who d'ya mean, they?" Gursh swallowed a chunk of raw meat.
"You know, them."
"You mean the Nazgul?" Gursh started gnawing a bone.
"Don't say that! They'll hear you."
"Ha!" Gursh began sucking marrow. "I got a charm against 'em."
"The hell you do."
"I do. You wanna see?"
"Maybe." Breg gulped some ale. "An' maybe you ain't nothin' but a liar."
"You're the one who said you didn't get it." Gursh threw the finished bone away.
"Awwright." Breg cracked open a bone. "I guess I do wanna see."
Gursh wiped his hands on his breeches, then began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly, dramatically, he peeled it away from his skin. There, sewn neatly next to the row of buttons, was an elven arrow.
"Where the hell did you get that?"
Gursh refastened his shirt. "My brother, Grank. He got it on patrol. Killed a whole mess of elves, they did."
"Grank is dead!"
"Yeah, but not because of no Nazgul. He got inna fight with his old lady, and she brained him."
Breg froze.
"What?"
"We're gonna see right now if that arrow of yours works." Gursh turned. There, slowly coming along the wall, was a Nazgul. The other orcs shrank as he passed, cowering away from the black-robed figure. Slowly, steadily, the Nazgul drew closer. He stopped a dozen paces away, fingering his sword as he studied the orcs at his feet. For a few moments neither Gursh nor Breg moved. Then as silently as he came, the Nazgul turned and walked away.
"Gursh?"
"Yeah?"
"You got another one of them arrows?"
finis
****
--Khazar
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
