Relics of the Third Age: A Lord of the Rings Quest

The Sword​

Whatever else might be going on here, there was a sword embedded in the rock in front of me, and I was completely unarmed while facing an Orc that seemed to be quite determined to kill me. Whatever oddness was going on with the sword and its resting place wouldn't matter if I died on an Orc blade in the next five minutes.

I gripped the sword's hilt and tried to pull it free from the stone, but the rock refused to release its grip. I planted my feet and pulled harder, but all that accomplished was making my already much-abused body complain even more about how poorly I had been treating it.

In hindsight, it should've been obvious that the sword would be properly stuck inside the rock. Otherwise some wandering Orc would've claimed the blade a long time ago. It was a finely wrought double-edged longsword, much better than the crude hunks of sharpened steel most Orcs used. The hilt was made for human hands and in the style of old Numenor. Most likely the sword had belonged to one of my people fighting for Lord Sauron. No doubt they would be pleased to know that a daughter Numenor would be taking up their fallen blade.

Or at least that was what I fervently wished to do. The sword itself was proving to be less than cooperative. I climbed properly onto the stone and planted my feet on both sides of the blade, throwing all my strength into the effort to free it. The blade refused to budge. If the Orc found me standing about like a fool trying to free a trapped blade I might die of shame before he had a chance to gut me.

I shifted my grip to try again, this time slipping a finger into the guard to try and get a bit more leverage. Much to my surprise, this time the sword came free as easily as if I'd drawn the blade from a sheath, sending me stumbling backward and falling onto my rump with an undignified squawk of surprise at the lack of resistance. Worse, I heard the sharp, high-pitched ring of breaking metal as I fell.

A quick inspection of the sword confirmed that I hadn't damaged the blade in my efforts to free it. All I'd done was break off the finger guard I'd used to get a better grip. Or actually…

I peered a bit closer at the object on my finger. Not a guard at all, but a ring. It must have been attached to the hilt by rust and grime, and all my yanking the sword around had broken it off.

No matter, I had far more important matters to deal with than the new piece of jewelry I'd just acquired. The Uruk pursuing me had doubtlessly heard all the noise I'd caused freeing the sword and would be heading straight for me.

I twirled the blade in my hand, giving it a few experimental swings to get a feel for its balance. Despite the patina of grime covering it and the hints of rust on the blade it was a fine, well-balanced longsword. All it needed was a few cosmetic touches like a new grip and a bit of cleaning up to be a weapon worthy of a noble daughter of ancient Numenor. Considering I would have been content with even an Orcish blade under the circumstances, I could count myself as blessed by the fates.

I grinned and turned to face the incoming Orc. Yes, this would do quite nicely.


The Orc, already battered and bleeding from our first round of battle, came barreling out of the woods with a feral roar, my former sword held high in one hand and my father's knife in the other. I met his charge halfway, baiting him into a clumsy overhead strike I easily sidestepped. As my old, damaged blade sank into the dirt I quickly reversed the sword in my hands, gripping the blade itself while I brought the pommel down on the damaged part of his blade. Just as I'd hoped it would, the blow snapped his blade clean in half.

While the Orc stared dumbly at his ruined sword, I flipped my new weapon to put the hilt back in my hands and used the momentum from that to carry into a sweeping upstrike that caught the Uruk's hand holding my father's dagger. My blade cut cleanly through the Orc's wrist, severing his hand and freeing the weapon from his grasp. I caught the severed hand as it flew free from the Orc's arm and retrieved my father's knife before throwing the limb aside. I certainly wasn't going to let one of the few real family heirlooms I had left become a trophy for some Orcish bandit.
I turned back to the beaten Orc, now disarmed in both the figurative sense and at least halfway in a very literal sense. The Orc dropped the hilt of his ruined blade and held up his one remaining hand, letting out a pathetic whimper. "Durbagu..." The Orc fell to his knees before me. "Durbagu."

He called me his master, now? Did he really think that if he started bowing, scraping, and promising me his obedience I would forget that mere moments ago he had been trying to kill me? Though I suppose that wasn't entirely out of line with how my people mastered Orcs in the past. My mother always said that if Orcs started causing problems, all you had to do was beat down the biggest and strongest of the lot, make it acknowledge you as master, and all the rest would fall into line.

Krimpatul.

"What?" My head jerked up and I looked around the clearing for the source of that voice. I couldn't see anyone else, just me and the Orc, but I could swear I'd just heard...

Krimpatul.


"Bind them?" I repeated out loud, trying to make any sense of the words. "Bind the Orcs?"

Krimpatul.

Bind the Orcs. Yes, of course. Now that I'd beaten their master, the rest of the bandits would fall in line behind me. What better way to handle the Orcish incursions against Nurn than with my own force? Gondorians would always serve King Elessar, and they were helping Nurn to advance their lord's agenda. These Orcs would be loyal to me—to Nurn. They would guard and protect the people or Nurn, under my command.

They could just be the first of many, too. Orcs had always fallen in line behind the true descendants of Numenor, they would do so once again with the proper incentive. The bandits plaguing Nurn could be broken and turned into a new army defending it. The Orcs were only stealing from Nurn's people because the Gondorians had driven them out of their lands and made them desperate. Why should we be enemies? The people of Nurn would offer them food, and in exchange my Orcs would protect them. It was a perfectly fair arrangement. Perhaps with time, we could even reclaim Minas Morgul and some of the other fortresses in Gondorian hands. The garrison there was pathetic and easily overcome.

Though before that I would need to deal with the rangers. Tirndis and her platoon would obviously oppose making any sort of common cause with the Orcs so I would need to get them out of the way before I could—

I blinked and shook my head. Why was I considering turning on Tirndis and Gondorians? I had no love for them, but they had agreed to come to Nurn and fight to defend its people and asked for nothing in return. Yes, their mere presence would spread Gondor's influence, but Faramir could've easily demanded that the people or Nurn bend the knee as a condition of receiving any help from Gondor. Turning against them join forces with the very Orcs they had come to help protect my people from was an act of base treachery. Surely I couldn't be considering...

Krimpatul

But I didn't owe Gondor any loyalty, did I? I was loyal to Nurn. Gondor wasn't helping us out of charity, they just wanted us to willingly submit to their rule instead of forcing the issue. If I could help Nurn cultivate its own strength independent of Gondor, surely that was the right thing to do? Tirndis might weave a tale of duty and honor, but if Faramir ordered her to put Nurn's people back in chains wouldn't that same sense of duty compel her to obey him? The Orcs under my command would never make Nurn's people into slaves again. Though I suppose we could always put any survivors from Tirndis's company to work helping—

Enslave the Gondorians? That wasn't—

Krimpatul!

Didn't they deserve it for what they'd done to Minas Morgul and Umbar?

No, nobody deserved to be enslaved.

KRIMPATUL!

I made my decision.

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[ ] Bind the Orcs, Betray Tirndis

[ ] Kill the Orcs, Continue Working with Gondor