Author's Note: Hello. I've just been smacked by a lovely Orc shaped muse. I do not own nor profit from Lord of the Rings or any related subject. Bemia, Ulfr, Trantil, and Farnim are all my creations. Any likeness to real world happenings or people is completely unintentional. This is a short back story that will allow me to form a more rounded character.

The giant Urk pulled back from a disturbingly still woman, his thighs and buttocks pleasantly sore. The small Orc next to him gave a cruel laugh. "She was a fighter in the beginning, but gave up quick enough, didn't she?" The Urk gave a stiff nod and quickly cleaned his neither regions before pulling his pants up and walking back to the living quarters. His brethren gave a roar of welcome and jealousy. "Really. No idea how Master picks your ilk to be breedin'. Look at ya. Barely Urk-hai at all," one of the taller Urk said as he clapped his friend on the back.

And it was true. This fellow was a bit different from the others. He was just as tall, just a broad. But one only need to look to its face to see the mark of man. The flattened face common to his kin was replaced by a large curved nose and gently sloping brow. Eyes much darker than urine yellow peeked out from his sockets. But the most damning thing were his teeth. They were not beautifully sharp, oral claws, but the dull squarish things of men. Even the snaga that pulled him from the Earth had found this amusing and strange. His curiosity led to the loss of a finger.

Murzok, for that is what he was named, was also just a bit smarter than most. He supposed that is why Master chose for breeding. Murzok tried not to think about breeding too often. The screams and tears of the captured females rang loud in his dreams, and often he woke with a start as their faces morphed to someone else. He did not remember ever taking this female, and there was no other he could ask without having to explain himself. Murzok had learned long ago that although Master liked intelligence, he would not suffer fools.

-Perspective Shift-

There are days where all alive feel that nothing is out of the ordinary and the peace isn't suffocating. On these days, famers sew their crops in mild weather while their wives walk leisurely to the nearest creek and do the washing. The children run happily and the elders smoke their pipes without the chatter of the hard won battles and easily won women of their youth.

This is the setting of Bemia's memories. The little village on the edge of Rohan where sadness was always overcome by joy. But it is only a memory now. There is naught but ash and wild horses there now. Because an unexpected event, like most unexpected events do, happened when no one was ready for it.

As a cloud passed across the sun and the wind gave a pleasant breeze, the clatter of armor grew from the distance. All able-bodied people of Trantil craned their necks to see the Riders of the Mark that surely must have gotten lost to be so far west. But they were not met with tired smiles of confused Rohirric. Cries of terror rent the air like great daggers as the first flat faced creature marched over the hills.

The pitch colored beasts took great pleasure in the up roar of fear. Their foot fall was the sound of lightening as it strikes the ground. A battle cry came forth from the mouths of men and women alike as they took up arms. All the while a cart filled with little ones was quickly making its way south. Many small faces peered out from the top of the fleeing vessel, but one in particular wished more than anything that it had been left behind.

"We are Eorlingas! Will we not stand and fight with our families? Why do we run like the frightened doe?" asked a high voice. A trill of agreement went up, and was quickly silenced by the much older driver. "You were trained to fight horse thieves and Dunlending and any other force of man. But those were not men," the smooth voice of the man replied.

The children not already weeping gave a fearful look back and few dared to even think about the relatives left behind to fight. "What will become of us, Ulfr?" the child asked as the sun slipped past the hills. "Worry not, little Bemia. As you said, we are a village of Éo-marc. The creatures may already be slain by your Ma and Da. We will ride further south till we reach Farnim and alert the people of the attack. They will send forces to aid our village," Ulfr said. Bemia scrunched up her little nose. Farnim always smelt of goat and mead. She hated both.

-Six Years Later-

The pint of mead sloshed about as it was merrily thumped down. Peals of laughter filled the air as its owner swayed drunkenly in her seat. A burly, bearded man placed his hand upon her shoulder, "Yeh ready to warm me bed yet, Bemia?" The young woman gave a laugh. "I'll never be that drunk, Durek." The rest of the pub's patrons gave a loud laugh as the rejected man shook his head. "Never hurts te try," he said as he plopped down on the nearest stool.

"I 'eard tell that yeh be feelin' a mite low 'round this time a year. I'd gotten it into me 'ead that you could use a bit eh cheer. But now I'm seein' yeh need an ear teh speak inteh. I'm no high councilor, mind yeh, but I can listen just as good as tha next Stoolie," Durek said as the barman passed him a pint of very fragrant, and very strong, mead.

"I'd rather not talk about it Durek. I'm trying to drink myself into a stupor if you haven't noticed. Some things are best left forgotten." Durek gave a sigh and took a long dreg from his mug. "Yeh think your Da would be wantin' a scowlin' drunkard for a daughter? Yeh forget yerhself. I was there when Ulfr came a'drivin' down tha road carrin' a passel a youngins and waggin' his tongue 'bout some strange orcs. I remember a wee thing jumpin' from tha cart an' shoutin' tha she would fight 'em all with a knife if he'd just take yeh back."

"I was a fool. I spouted the words of an angry child," Bemia said, laying her head on the worn bar surface. "Nay. Yeh was a fighter. Still are, if I'm tha wagerin' sort. Why. Weren't it just last week that yeh threw a man inteh the horse waters fer pickin' on wee Hesia?" Durek asked with a chortle. "That…man was just being a pile of krult. Hesia is obviously not related to Dunlendings, and he was blighting her by hinting so. I'll not have people's feelings being thrown about, especially…"she trailed off as her eyes became misty. "Specially one eh yer lot. I know lass. Yeh protect the babes like they're yer own."

"Someone has to, Durek. Ulfr is getting old. He's almost forty winters now. I can't have anyone thinking the children of Trantil are to be abused." "I figured ye'd think that. Yeh are the clan leader's daughter after all." Durek said as he clapped her reassuringly on the back. Bemia sat up long enough to empty her cup, then thunked her head back on the bar. "I was. There is no clan, no village, no anything. Now I'm a shield maiden of Rohan that refuses to be courted and keeps the company of drunkards and children," she mumbled out. "Eh? Come on lass. Yeh say that like it's a bad thing. Stoolies and wee ones are tha only ones that tell yeh tha real truth."

Durek and Bemia were both hunched over the bar when a one of the town gossips ran into the crowded pub and climbed onto the bar. "Would yeh look ah that. Mayhaps Lady Korliet been stickin' her nose in tha wrong place this time. She looks a mite mad." Durek whispered, giving Bemia her first laugh in days.

"Hush now you slovenly bunch of do nothings! There is trouble going on. We have refugees coming from three different villages to our east. They say that strange black orcs destroyed their homes, stole their women, and ate their horses. Worst yet, they are at least three hundred strong and headed this way," the Lady said, finally getting a breath and swallowing the last sip of Bemia's drink.

All was quiet for a moment, then it went to Hell. Half of the bar rallied itself into a near brawl over staying to fight, while the other half slipped out and started packing for the road. A man was flung through the door way just as Durek drug her out. "Yeh an' me'll be takin' the wee ones as far as we can. Then yeh can fight all yeh want. But 'til then, yeh best cart up what yeh can and grab old Ulfr and the wee ones. I'll be gettin' the horses," Durek said as he ran off to his once glorious family stable.

He only had a moment to look around and remember the place as it had been so long ago. For a fraction of time, the wind was the neigh of a dozen horses and the laughter of his children was loud in the night. "I'll be keepin' tha wee ones safe this time, Lorel. It's not sickness comin' for'em now. Iffin your spirits still here, sweet wife, I'd call on yeh teh follow wee Bemia. I can only be keepin' her from a fight fer so long."

Just like that, Durek remembered what he was doing, and saddled his four sturdy plow horses. It'd take some hard work to be carrying three grown people and eight young'uns, but the horses would have to do it. In an hours' time, Ulfr, Bemia, Durek, and "the wee ones" were all riding a cart that had seen better days.

"I'm getting tired of running away in this thing," Bemia mumbled as she looked back in the distance. It was an hour before night fall once again, and two before the screams of pains and loss were heard from behind.

Please Review. Even Anonymous ones are great help.

Words you might need to know*

Bemia- means "battle maiden", not to be confused with the goddess Bema

Trantil- Bemia's village

Eorlingas- what the natives of Rohan call themselves

Éo-marc- what the natives of Rohan call Rohan, which means literally Horse-Mark

Farnim- the town a day south of Trantil which produces goat cheese, along with a very strong mead

Stoolie- a frequenter of pubs

Horse-waters- I would think that the people of Rohan know that horses in the drinking water is a bad idea. They just…go… where ever and whenever they need to.

Krult- curse among the Rohirric meaning filth or dung