Consequences

My host descended upon a happy feast in Cirith Ungol. Bonfires burned high and bright in the night and all around Uruks stripped the armor off the bodies of Men of Rohan and Gondor and hung them from wracks by their ankles. Sharp blades carved off dark red meat and the leftover bones found themselves in giant boiling pots with onion, garlic, and hot peppers. The spicy marrow rich broth did a body good in the coldness of the shadow of the mountains.

Eighty one thousand of my Uruk Hai rose up during my twenty seven year rain as King of Mordor, and ten thousand of them barred the pass of Cirith Ungol after we allowed Minas Morgul to return to the hands of Men as Minas Ithil once more. The Fortress Darz-Gurum served well enough as a stop gap, double so after a mutually beneficial relationship was struck up with Shelob and her brood, and triply so after we tore the old fortress down and built up proper fortifications and a strategically planned construction rather than the ill thought out pop up fortress prior.

Numerous outposts littered the pass itself in prime ambush locations, and the hosts of Rohan and Gondor discovered this the hard way as my special forces harried their every step towards the newly built deathtrap of Darz-Gurum.

My forces drove back sixty thousand Men long before the walls of my fortress came into sight and that was before I arrived with another host of ten thousand Uruk Hai from the heartland of my kingdom, and my daughter Eve at my side.

My son Ogbur the Unbreakable joined us with his ten thousand warriors as the Governor of Cirith Ungol. Over his twenty eight years of life Ogbur added to his mass greatly, eating and lifting as often as possible. He outgrew many suits of his favored blackened plate armor, quite fortunate in our family's great wealth accommodating his great thickness.

Our combined host met with the Uruk Rangers of Cirith Ungol and their master, Seregon, my youngest Elf son who proved his mother's prediction of his battle lust true these days. Seregon stood of a height with his full brothers, shorter than my Uruk children, and girded himself in blood red lacquered armor wielding twin spears and paired swords.

Seregon reaped a bloody toll day and night upon the advancing armies, charging down from the mountains often alone using the combination of his great strength and Elven grace to move faster overland than the horses of Rohan, and his precognition to always position himself in the prefect place to deliver killing thrusts with his spears, able to jab them faster and more accurately than any Man could achieve with both hands on a single spear.

He earned more fear than the hollow terror of the Nazgul, for the magic dread he brought with him came with the real tide of blood he shed.

"Ahhh. Come to spoil my fun and games?" Seregon smirked, "No matter, they were going to quit soon anyways."

"Keep your bloodlust in check, boy." I commanded him, "Lest it deliver you to enemies clever or powerful enough to slay you."

"Did you not attack Sauron, the Nazgul, and the Balrogs in Gorgoroth, father?" Seregon countered, "Did you not charge in to experience even greater thrill?"

I stepped into the boy's space and looked down into his eyes, my eyes, "I move with the weight of centuries. I have won wars that leave planets bigger than this one smoldering ruins. Worse enemies than existed in Morgoth's imagination have tried and failed to slay me. I have fought and fucked ceaselessly since my birth, and if I were to be tortured to death after witnessing the death of all I love and the destruction of all I built, I would smile, for my life was glorious. The same cannot be said for you boy. Or do I have grandchildren hidden away somewhere?"

Seregon looked down for a moment and huffed, thinking hard, then he smiled, "So I can battle as much as I want after I fuck some babies into being?"

I sighed, "You can fight as much as you like after you learn enough about the world to know what is best yourself. Not feel like you know, but know. You would die today an ignorant mother fucker. Fix that."

Orgum could die today, and die well. He knew for sure that he loved eating, lifting, and fighting more than anything else. I know this because the guy has a horde of hulking sons that follow him around both the gym and the battlefield.

Eve had discovered a fondness for the wine of Caras Sant at a young age and had traveled there herself to establish a trade agreement where she married an Avari Elf with the biggest vineyard in the polis. The guy had been pretty shocked to learn that he was now the Crown Prince Consort of Mordor, but he rolled with the punches and was tolerant enough to fall in love with an Uruk woman. Whether this was due to the novelty of the new breed or his own fondness for the fruits of his labor, I didn't really care.

He now split his years between Caras Sant and Nurn, maintain his family vineyard while working a new one, and just like me the guy was hard as fuck for all the volcanic material in Mordor. His Mordor Vintage was already good despite none of it having hit the ideal retail age of twenty years. His ten and even five year bottles are already profoundly deep, having 'rested' rather than aged.

In the predawn hour we broke our fast on grilled loin, with spiced broth, and a warmed bottle of my son-in-law's new wine. After that we armed ourselves and set up for a parley with excellent chairs for everyone. After all, if you have a fuck ton of money and an army of beefy goons but no excellent chairs, do you really have anything of worth at all?

The forces of Gondor and Rohan accepted the parley, but I was ready for their war crimes. No one would Mouth of Sauron me.

King Thengel came with his son Theoden, the crown prince in his late twenties, and Steward Ecthelion II came with his son Denethor II, a man in his forties. Under all of their plate armor glowed the soft light of Mithril coats and hoes and cowls.

"I see the Dwarves rewarded your houses properly for your aid in reclaiming Moria." I laughed, "I am surprised they would even part with a single shirt, let alone four chain suits. No wonder you grew bored of the peace I so graciously bestowed upon you. Near invulnerability will do that to the uninitiated."

"Uninitiated? Peace?" spat Thengel, "Have you forgotten the falls of Dol Guldur, Moria, and Gundabad? There has been no peace in the West, only victory over Mordor."

I chuckled and took a sip of steaming broth, "You speak those place-names as if a single life sworn to me died in there. Those battles were only my enemies slaying each other, for I am Thrag, King of Mordor. Not to be confused with the twisted godlings that flailed about in their angst against their maker, for I am a King, something your armies have felt keenly these days."

"And what does the 'King of Mordor' seek with this parley?" Ecthelion questioned from the comfort of his excellent chair.

"I want you to turn back. To enjoy what remains of your lives. To pass your position to your sons and them to theirs. For you both to open your kingdoms to trade with mine. And most of all, for you to leave, and never take up arms against me again." I told them.

"No." Thengel denied, "The anguish of our ancestors will be avenged. There will be no armistice and no trade agreements. Only blood, black and evil."

"Close your heart to their suffering." I told the King of Rohan, "For the desperation of your ancestors will be your undoing."

"Our forces can withdraw, but we will require the return of the bodies of the slain." Ecthelion stated.

"It cannot be done." I responded, "Surely you heard the sound of feasting in the nights."

"Foul creatures!" spat Denethor and Theoden joined him in the cursing.

I merely laughed, "It was you that grew weary of peace and security to come here. To my lands. For war. Here in Mordor we do not allow our foes to go to waste, no we do not. The young men we pulled from the field of battle were stripped, hung from their ankles, bled, flayed, butchered. Grilled over an open fire. Their bones and joints boiled for a day and a night in great pots with onions, garlic, and hot peppers. Such a hearty drink."

I raised my cup and took another tasty draw.

"Would any of you like a taste of the consequences of your choices?"

Needless to say, the fight was on.