CHAPTER 1 - The world wrought anew

She sat sheltered by the warmth of the fire, still as the veiled night which reigned above all. Flames reflected over a young, drawn face with angular features. Amber eyes sunken with fatigue glistened listlessly as embers soared into the cold air. It had been another full day of alternating force, grueling marching and tense stealth. Another day of hunting and capturing stray humans, ones daft or desperate enough to be found still wandering the forests of Ithilien. She looked to the left, where large iron cages held exhausted and frightened men, women and children. Very few of them had defiance etched on their faces. Soon they would be brought to the Black Land to meet their new fates.

She had seen it before. The smithies and forges would rapidly swallow their strength, their hope, their lives. The Dark One now had his long desired empire and it was ever growing, ever changing. Its heavy reliance on thralls meant His armies now had a new purpose. This detachment was but one of many scouring the lands with the intent of capturing those to be used for His purposes. She had heard of a great war, one so terrible it left many lands barren and razed entire realms to the ground. The tales from the uppermost ranks of the Lord of the Earth were full of the majesty with which His army had defeated its enemies and brought His dominion upon their wretched backward realms. She had heard wisps of tales of it, but it had all passed before her time. This was the world she knew and strove to survive in, and there was nothing else.

"You! Sitting nice and comfy there, ain'tcha?" a growl brought the female out of her wandering thoughts. Gurthok.

Frowning, she looked to the speaker with narrowing eyes. His impossibly tall and bulky frame clad in iron was menacing on its own, even without the bulging milky eyes and grey brown mane of dirty hair.

Angry orbs now set on her. "Well, what ya still eyeballin' me for, Kal?" the imposing Uruk hankered in the Black Speech. "Get off yer half-breed arse before I make ya. It's yer turn to guard the prisoners."

Of the entire company trekking across the land, all of which were resplendent examples of cruelty and violence, Gurthok stood well apart. All under his command knew it and moreso felt it. Those who did not forfeited their lives as fast as one could cleave through human flesh. His subordinates hated yet obeyed him in fearfulness. His moods ranged from foul to rotten, and Kal knew that in this moment she was on the receiving end of the latter. It was best not to antagonize him. The scar on her shoulder served as a brief reminder of a time when she had, and nearly lost her life in the process.

Wordlessly Kal stood stomping in her boots, clad as she was in her sleeveless worn leather tunic and breeches, her blackened scimitar safely secured to her back. Gurthok paid her no more heed as he turned and went to bark orders to the others. She glanced his way. He well knew that here, his command was law. He need not wait to see that she would follow his demand.

The one named Kal walked purposefully towards the cages, her lithe frame illuminated by the various camp fires. The sole female of this group she was, and hardily had the creature earned her place among the mayhem and bloody affair that were the armies of Mordor. Only the fittest survived, even fewer thrived. Yet somehow she had managed both.

"Ak! Kal givin' it up finally tonight? I be waitin' behind the grove for ya," a gangly sallow skinned orc rasped as she passed him by.

"Nay Kroznak, but my offer to crush your balls and gift them to you in a jar stands," she retorted boredly, hearing the other roar in laughter.

"Ya stinking oddity, one day ya'll see the better end of my rod and I'll have ya beggin' for it too," Kroznak sneered, eyes unabashedly trailing over her smooth face, down to her waist and long legs as she swayed away from him, rolling her eyes.

They never ceased reminding her. A half-breed, neither fully orc nor Uruk. Yet she had been born of one, and a different fairer race, for somehow she held the likeness of humans in form though she was taller and suppler in frame than most human females she had seen. Her skin was pale and smooth, an unsettling contrast to her amber irises which encircled round black centers.

Framed by heavy sable hair woven in a single braid, her face appeared rather fine in its shape, her features too regular for one to consider her orc kind. Two slight upper fangs were the most poignant trait linking her to them. Still, despite the characteristics which made her so noticeable among the brawny and motley companies of orc and Uruk-hai, her strength she owed to them. She could fight her way against any male Uruk, assuredly a trait which had enabled her survival in Mordor. There were those who throughout her life had called her an abomination living by the will of the Dark One alone. Products of such unlikely unions tended to perish soon after their hard birth, or were killed being considered weaklings and thus a waste of resources.

Yet somehow, the hardships had increased her strength. This and an unrelenting stubbornness alone had kept the half-orc out of the slave pens and out of the hands of ones such as Kroznak, for whom female bodies were disposable merriment. She had seen what happens to them, both in the pens and in the wilds. She had felt such debasing attempts on her own skin. Never again, she had sworn. And so Kal had fought her way from among the laborers to the recruitment lines. After much trial, bone breaking training and contempt, she was finally assigned to go on scouting missions. This included traveling with the most dangerous of them to hunt enemies for labor, but she complained little. What else was there? This was life.

Leaning against a tree and scouring the frightened humans briefly with her eyes, she let her thoughts wander. It aided to not have to look into their eyes. Somehow the fear there always unsettled her. Was that how she must have looked once? Her eyes flitted back to the figure of Kroznak, now barking and flailing his arms at another orc. Such filth had been her plight all her life. But when there was nothing else, it all became accepted as the way of things. Kal they had called her. Woman. Nothing more, but it was enough. She took the name.

"Please, water," one of the women begged then, and looking Kal saw a human child hiding in the folds of her worn cloak. Snorting, Kal went a few steps towards a large bucket and a wooden pouring cup. She brought the object next to the woman who had spoken and placed it sharply onto the ground. "Only if your smaller one takes it," she said in the common tongue, looking to the child who now dared gape at her.

Hearing this the woman regarded the little one and hedged him, and though reluctantly, he reached and retrieved water for himself and his mother.

"Quickly now," Kal urged before anyone saw and there would be trouble. Others were now asking for water as well. "Silence!" she hissed, brandishing her scimitar. The murmurs ceased, and Kal reached for the water bucket intent on returning it to its rightful place. She had made two steps when there was sound of a great commotion and the high pitched cackle of voices. Many feet thumped against the forest floor as the darkness revealed two Uruk-hai dragging what looked to be a prisoner in submission.

Kal found her vision straying to the struggling form of the strangest being she had ever seen. Slighter of frame than its captors. Fair of hair and face, he seemed a herald of light garbed in faded green. But he struggled something fierce, and gave her companions so much grief they ceased and had to soften him with blows to quench that bothersome strength.

They were coming nearer and Kal belatedly recalled she was on prisoner duty for the entire night.

"Sha! Half-breed! Look what we found skirtin' bout the trees yonder."

The prisoner was quite harried, a frowning gaze stubbornly set to the ground as he thrashed against their grip from time to time; Kal saw he was limping and had been through much physical struggle if all the blood was aught to go by. And her eyes widened in surprise when she beheld the tips of his ears.

Kal crossed her arms. "What is this?" she muttered mockingly, irked at having to converse with the two less than pleasant interlocutors. They reeked of blood and death and entrails. It made her sick, to remain so after a battle.

"Dunce of a woman!" the black orc grinned. "This here," he said shaking the grimacing prisoner roughly by his light silvery hair, "is an elf."

A/N:

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is Tolkien's (I only hope he would forgive me). No money is made from this, nor would it bring any.

So I'm trying this AU. Thoughts and/or suggestions are most welcome and highly appreciated.

Regarding the title of the story:

'Môr' = darkness, night (Sindarin)