Eowyn and the Orc

The sound of orcs could be heard, it was the Eowyn's first sign they were getting closer. A rumble of hundreds, thousands of them snarling and hissing at each other in a ceaseless argument, together with the crash of metal as they pounded the dents out of their cheap armour and scraped their even cheaper swords at whetstones. Then the smell, dank and dreary, mouldy and dirty, as if none of them had washed since coming out of their caves; overlaid with the ordure of the camp and the sweet, disgusting smell of rotten meat. Eowyn wrinkled her nose, glancing round at the others as she did. Grimbold and the other captains remained impassive, their faces as unmoving as statues. Theoden King barely seemed to notice, but he noticed little these days, he wasn't even riding, but was slumped in a litter covered in warm blankets. Only Wormtongue seemed to notice the smell, his face creasing in disgust, before straightening it as he saw Eowyn looking at him. He gave her a sickly smile and she gave him a glare back. It didn't seem to effect him and if she'd been hoping he'd fall of his horse with the weight of her hatred she was disappointed. He looked like he was going to, but he always did -- for a man of Rohirrim he was no rider.

Soon they crested the rise and saw the orcish encampment, or rather encampments, as there were more than one tribe. There were thousands of them, Goblins, Uruk-Hai, Hobgoblins, the descendents of tortured elves, as well creatures which were neither man nor orc, but a terrible interbreeding of the two. There were men amongst them as well, evil Dunlending tribesmen allied to Saruman and his Master, and captured prisoners, enslaved by the cruel invaders. Each camp was ringed with wooden stakes, sharp enough to stop a charging horse and the stubs of trees around the valley showed there had once been woods here. In each camp there were lean toos and tents, so poorly constructed they looked like they were about to collapse and almost certainly would do if the wind moved above a stiff breeze. She could see why they smelt, there were no latrine pits away from the camp, instead the orcs shitted where they wanted and if they were lucky it wasn't near the food or in one of the shelters. A few of the enslaved prisoners seemed to be trying to clean up, but weren't having much success. More were cooking the food, boiling and braising over open fire, before serving to hungry orcs sitting at ramshackle tables. Yet more were in a pen, all young women, all sobbing as every few minutes an orc would come up and roughly grab one by the arm to drag them away for a bit of fun -- for the orc anyway. The final two slaves were nailed to a post, blood dripping down them as they were whipped by a laughing orc.

And above it all -- the White Hand of Saruman.

The White Wizard was striding towards them, leaning on his staff, though he no way needed it. Behind him came a muscular looking orc, a few strides behind the Wizard, but only few - enough to show he was a servant, but not enough to suggest subservience. The Riders dismounted, most of them gracefully, Wormtongue less so. He went to help Eowyn dismount, as the Captains went to their King to help him to his feet. Eowyn spurned Wormtongue's hand, smiling at his hurt look and then shivering as he gave an evil smile, "No matter Lady Eowyn, I was just being friendly, I thought you might need friends." He gave a cackle and walked over to the King, allowing the feeble old man to lean on him as he led him forward towards the Wizard, "Careful my King, you don't want to overtax yourself, slowly, slowly, lower yourself in a bow."

Eowyn blushed as she watched her uncle and King abase himself before the Wizard. She could almost hear the creak of the bones as he bowed deeply, even though in theory he was the superior and the Wizard just a trespasser on his lands. The Captains looked away, she knew they too felt her shame, but like her they were loyal to the Theoden King, and if he said it was peace with the orcs and the Wizard peace it was -- her brother had thought differently, now he was dead and in a traitor's grave.

Saruman let Theoden bend for long moments, before he said with no hint of irony, "You do not need to bow before me Theoden, we are all friends are we not." His voice was a mellifluous and honeyed as it ever was, making even the most harsh words sound soft and darkest lies like the deepest truths. If Eowyn had not known he'd led the orcs into their lands she would have believed he was the closest friend her uncle had. In fact he sounded so reasonable, that for a moment, she almost doubted that he had led them and it was only the sign of his flag flying over their camps which made her jolt her head back and regard the Wizard with hatred.

"Peace..." her Uncle's voice was soft, but it wasn't the softness of the Wizards, but age and infirmity as if every word was a struggle.

"Peace is what we shall have," Grima Wormtongue spoke for Saruman even though he was her uncle's servant, "Now you have rid your halls of false counsellors and traitors who wanted to war against our friend and ally."

"Peace is what we all desire -- a small tribute to be paid to me each year, some lands you no longer need, " Saruman said and whilst the tribute was not small and the lands were a third of the kingdom it sounded so reasonable. He didn't mention the prisoners and slaves that the orcs would be keeping nor the right of passage for his armies or the conscription of Rohirrim for war against Gondor, but if he had Eowyn was sure the honeyed words would coat those as fluently.

She was behind her uncle now, just feet away from Saruman and she saw him looked at her -- it was only close up she could see the cruelty and malice in his face, showing that all his words were lies and deception. He was no friend of Rohan, but it's end, the Kingdom would fall, in reality it had already fallen with a whimper. She wanted to scream that out, cry to the Captains to take up their swords and in one final charge write a song to be remembered. But she couldn't, loyalty to Theoden, as a king and kinsman was too deep in her. The White Wizard smiled thinly as if he was reading her mind. He stepped forward and reached out to stroke her face and she tried not to recoil. His smile never left his face, but nor did any warmth come to it as he turned again to the King. "And of course the final thing, to symbolise our deep friendships a union between Eowyn and one of my orc chieftans."

Eowyn closed her eyes briefly in despair, no matter how often she heard the words she still hoped it was a nightmare. She was a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, she'd learnt to hate orcs with her mother's milk and now she was going to have to marry one. She wished there was a way out, but there wasn't one, her King commanded and she obeyed, even as the Kingdom and all it had stood for slid into ruin. She was so lost in her fate that she almost didn't hear the Wizard, "Gwarsh, come forward, meet your new bride."

Quickly Eowyn opened her eyes as the orc stepped forward and for the first time she looked at the orc who was going to be her husband. Like all orcs he was muscular, his biceps like hills and with legs like hardened trunks and a rippling chest. He was uglier than most as well, his face seeming permanently screwed up with a large nose that was almost a snout and fangs protruding up from his lower teeth, squeezing at his lips and making them seem thin and cruel. He was bald, his head scarred, with the skin tightover his skull. At least his finger nails were short, though by biting rather than clipping, as many orcs had them so long they were claws. His leather jerkin was half undone so she could see the scars on his chest and tattoos of his tribe on his arms, the leather was stained with old food and dried blood -- reddish and black. The sword at his belt was jagged and sawed, with spots of rust and dirt and yet more blood on it. He was looking at her and apprising her as she looked at him.

She had made an effort, even if she hadn't wanted too, she was loyal to the King and she didn't want to be the reason the peace failed. Before she had left she had her maids plat her long blonde hair and place it carefully on top of her head, so only one pony tail descended down her back. The dress was expensive, of imported silks and dyes, with a leather bodice holding it together, but not so tightly that her cleavage wasn't on display. Dangling down the gap was a ruby necklace, the chain gold and the stone itself reputedly from Moira before it fell. The orc's lips curled in either a snarl or a smile, Eowyn wasn't sure which one would be worse and for a moment she froze.

The orc strode towards her, covering the ground in a few bone-crunching sides. He grasped her face, squeezing it with one hand and for a moment Gamling the Old's hand touched his sword before Grima glared at him. Eowyn couldn't see if any of the others moved as they were out of her eyesight and Gwarsh was holding her face roughly, forcing open her mouth. His face came closer and she could smell his rancid breath, rotten meat and decaying teeth, as he gazed into her mouth. "Urrggh," she managed to gasp as he shoved a finger in, running his hand over her molars and gums, leaving a trail of dirt and grease over them so she felt nauseous.

"Huh," he grunted, "She's a young one, still got all her own teeth."

"She's the King's niece, a most delightful young lady," grovelled Wormtongue.

"She's not a whelp is she?" the Orc asked, ignoring the servant. As soon as he spoke he grasped Eowyn's bodice and pulled it open.

She gave a small shriek as her dress pulled away, fully exposing her round bosoms. Gamling looked away as Gwarsh's hand reached forward to grasp them. Eowyn went red with shame, no man's hands had ever touched her bosom before and now she was having them squeezed by the rough and tough hands of an orc. His fingers dug in and despite the fact that his nails were short they still scratched at her skin, making her wince. After a few moments squeezing he let go, "Looks like you've given me a mature one, those baps ain't a brat's."

Wormtongue leered as a blushing Eowyn laced herself up again. Saruman looked at the orc warrior, "Is she satisfactory?"

The orc spat, "She'll do," he grunted, "I'll enjoy breaking her in."

Eowyn shivered at his words, even more so as Saruman gave a cruel smile and said, "From tomorrow you can do what you will with her, she'll be yours."

*

The next day dawned warm and sunny, the sky almost cloudless and deep blue. On any other day it would have gladdened Eowyn's heart to hear the birds twittering cheerfully and the horses neighing as they were fed their morning oats. But not today when she was due to be wed to an orc. She tried not to be too tearful as the handmaids readied her, they all had tears enough -- not for her, but because they were also going to be left with the orcs; "a sign of the friendship between your two peoples and a chance for an intermingling, which will bring many benefits," Saruman had claimed with his cruel smile. "Sex toys and breeding foals for the foul orcs," her brother had said, before riding off to a traitor's death. She feared her brother was closer to the truth, but there was nothing she nor anyone else could do, not now Theoden King had decreed they were in alliance with orcs as lieges of the White Wizard.

She finished readying herself and stood in front of the mirror, someone had placed in the pavilion. If it had been someone she loved she'd have been overjoyed with how she looked, even if it had been someone she didn't mind, but was marrying for dynastic reasons, she'd have been happy. But for Gwarsh she felt miserable. Not because she didn't look beautiful but because she did. Her long hair was piled across her head, held together by rubied pins, so you could see her pretty face without hindrance. Her dress was a flowing white one, which reached to her ankles, but held to her form and figure, arching round her bosoms and accentuating her hips. Underneath her pussy had been shaven as Rohan women did, so that only a tiny trim of hair reached up from the top.

Outside the pavilion Grima Wormtongue was waiting. He leered as Eowyn emerged, "Theoden King is feeling too tired to walk you to the wedding. He has already been ridden there and settled. He had asked that I give you away in his stead." It was another humiliation, not just that her uncle wouldn't be the one giving her away on her wedding day, but that he'd given the task to one such as Grima -- not even Gamling or Grimbold. Still it was a minor humiliation compared to what was to come so she didn't complain or draw away as Grima slid his arm through hers.

Normally they'd have ridden to the wedding ground, but Grima was no horseman so it had already been agreed they'd walk. The traditional gift of the bride's horse to her husband had already been sent ahead, though Eowyn was not sure she'd ever seen an orc ride anything but those mangy wargs they allied with. The guard of honour fell in half a dozen steps behind them and the weeping handmaidens behind them. There were few people left in their camp, only those who had to come had done so and many of them were already awaiting in the orc camp for the wedding party. A few grooms and potboys watched her pass, commiserations on their faces, as well as some of the remaining kitchen scullies and camp followers, gratitude that they weren't with her written on theirs.

"To think you could have had me," Grima said with an evil smile, "Do you regret it?"

The proposal had been suggested by Grima when the King still had some strength left to ask Eowyn her views. She had haughtily turned him down. She regretted it now, Grima might have been a weak runt of a man, snide and snivelling in equal measures, but he was at least a man of Rohan not an orc chief. However there was no good in telling him that if she had it all again she would have married him in a heartbeat, that was not going to happen so instead she said, "I am looking forward to marrying Gwarsh."

Grima cackled unbelievingly. "You looking forward to him fucking you with that green orc cock of his?" he said cruely.

"He will be my husband so I will lay with him," Eowyn said primly, whilst feeling her stomach churned at the thought.

There was another evil laugh from Grima, "I hear an erect orc is near a foot long, that will stretch you." Eowyn said nothing, wondering why Grima hated the thought of size. Grima grinned again, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The rumour is that they like to do it backdoor as well."

"Backdoor?" Eowyn asked, not understanding what he meant.

"Up the arse," cackled Wormtongue, "Just think that from today you'll be being fucked in the arse by some twelve inch orc cock, not just for tonight, this is it forever."

The thought made Eowyn almost physically ill, only that she was a Shieldmaiden of Roham kept her from bursting into tears or fleeing, though she cursed the loyalty to the King which had been bred into her from birth and which meant she'd go along with the marriage without complaint. As they got nearer the wedding site orcs poured from their encampments, surrounding the small party with their shrieks and hisses, pulling face and making lewd gestures which were meant to simulate copulation. Eowyn remained looking straight ahead, trying to ignore them, even when one of them pulled his dick out and waggled it a few feet from her she didn't look (apart from to note that Grima was right in that it wasn't small). Behind her some of the orcs were gripping at the handmaiden's, dragging them away from the main party to start another, more brutal and degrading, party early. Eowyn was about to order the guards to stop it, but Grima was first, "Let them be" and for a moment Eowyn thought he was protecting the women, but he continued, "Don't interfere with our orcish allies, if they want to pick out some of the choice first, let them."

By the time they reached the wedding site there wasn't a handmaiden left in the group, though there wails were audible behind them. Saruman was awaiting them, a cruel smile on his face, and beside him stood Gwarsh, who's only effort for the day seemed to have been to bite his nails even shorter. He grinned evilly as Eowyn approached, "The wedding present was good." He gestured to the firepits where parts of a horse were skewered and being blackened over the flames, "It'll be part of the wedding feast."

More than at anytime Eowyn blanched, her face paling and her palms sweltering, it had been a fine horse, a great gift, not food for hungry orcs. She looked at the Rohirric lords, they all guiltily avoided her stare, shuffling uncomfortably and looking elsewhere -- anywhere but her and the horse. Only Theoden, already seated at one of the tables looked at her and for a moment, she thought she saw the old King in his eyes as his mouth opened and his back straightened. And then it was gone, he was, again, just a decrepit husk, bent over a table with some wine in a cracked goblet; a King in name only (but still her King).

"let's begin the ceremony," said Saruman tetchily; it was alright for him to want the wedding to begin, he wasn't marrying the orc.

Trying to appear neither reluctant nor hurrying Eowyn went to stand next to Gwarsh. She wondered whether she should hold his hand, but he made no move to take hers so she kept still. Saruman wasted little time, there was no preliminaries just the legalities, checking that she was who she said she was and that Grima was acting as her guardian and giving her away. Then came the part she was dreading, "Gwarsh, son of a nameless orc, master of the pit, by whose own effort has risen himself to be the greatest of the orc chieftans and loyal servant of Saruman the Wise, do you take Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, niece of Theoden and heir to the lands of Gondor to be your orc-wife, to own as you see fit."

"I do," snarled the orc, looking lustfully at Eowyn as he said it.

"Do you Eowyn take Gwarsh to be your husband, to honour and obey in all things?" Saruman looked at her like a hawk as he spoke as if he was daring her to refuse.

"I..." the words were broken by a sob Eowyn could no longer control. The orcs laughed and hissed, enjoying her discomfort. Even her soon to be husband was grinning, his fangs protruding over his lips. She took a deep breath and tried again, "I do."

"Put the ring on her finger," instructed Saruman. Eowyn held out her hand with her fingers outstretched as Gwarsh pulled out a ring from a pouch on his belt. It was golden with a sparkling diamond and Eowyn would have thought it beautiful if it wasn't for the faint scratches and spots of dried blood which told her that it had been sawn of its previous owner's finger (hopefully when she was dead). The orc slipped it up her ring finger as the hoots continued from his minions, almost but unfortunately not quite, drowning out Saruman as he said, "I now pronounce you orc and orc-wife."

"Now you're mine," snarled Gwarsh. He gripped her round the waist and span her towards him so quickly she thought she was going to faint. His face was over hers and for a horrible moment she feared he was going to kiss the bride. He didn't instead his hands went up to her cleavage, grasping inside the bodice and ripping it hard, so the material split and her bosoms were exposed. "Let's see these baps out," he leered, "See what I've got for my ring."

Automatically Eowyn had reached to cover herself, which made the watching orcs laugh even the harder, including Gwarsh, who put his head back and roared at his new wife's embarrassed discomfort. That didn't mean he wasn't going to make it worse, as he reached for her wrists and grasped them strongly. Firmly, but perhaps with surprising painlessness, he pulled them away from her bosom so her boobs were exposed. "That's better," he snarled, keeping her hands pinned to her sides in his tight grip. "They're a lovely pair of pups."