Chief

Quickly, Narzug retreated and ordered his carriers to bring him back to his forge by the most direct route. He wanted to be far away from any possible carnage and, above all, far away from Bilbo Baggins. Why Bilbo Baggins, one might ask now. Narzug wanted to ensure that Bilbo DID find the ring. He feared that a magical atomic bomb like the One Ring would remain in Gollum's possession, or worse, by some cosmic chance, he himself would find the ring. "No, I absolutely do not want to have anything to do with that. Stay away from me, you ring-bearing hobbits!" Narzug screamed in his heart.

Suddenly, as he was being carried past one of the many side branches of the tunnel, glowing eyes stared back at him. "Shit, why is Gollum here? That makes no sense... I don't want that damn ring!"

But then his orc eyes saw more in the darkness. A long, shaggy grey beard and a bulbous nose. Also, a tall grey pointed hat.

"Alarm, even worse, that's not Gollum but Gandalf the Grey, the wandering orc mass-murderer himself!!"

All alarm bells went off in Narzug's mind. He only hoped with all his might that Gandalf hadn't seen Orcrist in his hands and would rather go for the dwarfs and Bilbo.

But in less than a second, Narzug was past the side branch and out of Gandalf's sight. He hurried his carriers along, and when it still wasn't fast enough for him, he even ordered the whip to be used to spur on the orcs.

At that moment, Narzug didn't care about anything around him. His head had switched to panic mode, and he just wanted to lock himself in his forge until the whole Misty Mountains episode involving the dwarves, Gandalf, and the hobbit was over.

After a short half hour that felt like an eternity to Narzug, he stood before the door of the forge once again. He looked one last time down the long corridor and felt relieved. No enraged homeless murder-wizard in sight.

He entered the forge and closed the door with a heavy bang. Immediately, Narzug bolted the door so that no uninvited guests could enter. Then he sat down and took a deep breath. In. And out. Suddenly, Narzug couldn't hold it back anymore and burst out laughing hysterically.

He giggled hyena-like to himself, "I am really in the world of Middle-earth. Holy shit. Hehe. Haha. What should I do? Can I stay here? But Sauron will definitely conscript all orcs into the military later. Fuck, what should I do? Get stronger? Learn to fight, well, I should definitely learn that... don't want to end up as döner kebab on some spear. Should I rise as the new ruler of Goblin-town once the Great Fat Goblin is slain by Gandalf? But I also don't want the responsibility, well, I could just run this place into the ground for my own benefit... learn everything, pocket everything of value, and then move on? That sounds like a plan."

"Wow, I'm really starting to sound like an orc," Narzug said, grinning wolfishly. His sharp fangs flashed in the darkness of the caves.

Narzug looked around the cave and saw that on one of the worktables stood his leather apron and a large chest. The chest was filled with relatively fresh bread, moldy cheese (this time even the good mold), and fresh, still-warm meat. Narzug hoped it was an animal and not a dwarf or an unfortunate orc.

"Well, hunger will drive it down."

Then Narzug looked at his main prize. Slowly he drew the blue-glowing Orcrist from its sheath and held it before him. He examined the masterfully forged sword and sank into a deep trance, searching for the secrets of the craftsmanship it concealed. Hours passed as Narzug stared at the sword and felt every millimeter of the blade. Slowly, he began to understand it, the purpose of the sword, the will of the smith embedded in the blade. And he began to hate it. He felt the unbridled hatred and disgust toward orcs that the smith had infused and hammered into the sword. The only purpose the sword possessed was to split orcs. Slowly, he could also feel the sword's hatred and anger toward him. The feelings boiled up in Narzug, and with a furious scream, he threw the sword into the hot glow of his blast furnace, hoping to burn away the sword's will.

Only now did he realize that he had spent the past hours in a trance.

"I will never be able to use Orcrist in its current form. One inattentive moment, and it would split me with my own hands. I didn't want to destroy it, but if I want to use it, I will have to reforge it. But should I really forge a new sword from it? I have never held a sword in my life... The Great Goblin wanted an axe. Swinging an axe is somewhat like swinging my smith's hammer. And I could show off my nicely steeled arms. So, an axe, but how exactly? I have forged axes before, but this one should be special. Maybe I should think about the design first."

Narzug took a piece of charcoal and began to draw on his table. After the third restart and many improvements, he was satisfied with his work.

The axe has a long, straight handle wrapped in leather with sharp metal spikes at the ends. The head of the axe features two blades, a large curved one for chopping on one side and a smaller but no less deadly one on the other side as a counterweight. Narzug hopes that the larger blade on one side will give the axe greater chopping and splitting capabilities. He plans to use Orkrist for the axe head. For the handle and the leather, he will need to summon an orc to bring him suitable materials. But that could wait until the Baggins-fiasco was over.

Narzug wanted to get to work immediately, but when he tried to retrieve Orkrist from the flames, he noticed that it hadn't changed at all. There was no color change in the blade from the heat, and even the leather on the handle looked the same as before.

"I'll have to put in a bit more effort with the heat," he said, and began working the bellows. Hours passed as Narzug tended to the bellows and occasionally drank some water. Eventually, he succeeded. The leather had burned away, and Orkrist's blade shimmered white-blue. His inner master smith told him it was at the perfect temperature to be forged. Carefully, he took it out of the embers and placed it on the anvil. But after a few strikes with the hammer, he noticed that the material wasn't changing. No matter how much force he used, he couldn't even dent the blade. Full of rage and frustration, he struck the sword again and immediately noticed a difference. A large hammer mark adorned the blade. Then Narzug understood.

"To reforge Orkrist, I need to put all my rage and fury into the process. I have to forge not only the sword but also the hatred and disgust of the original smith. Fortunately, I have just the thing."

Narzug continued working, channeling his frustration, fear, anger, and hatred towards his current situation, towards this dream or non-dream, into each strike.

Slowly, an axe head began to take shape.

Days passed, but Narzug worked tirelessly on the axe. The only breaks he allowed himself were for eating, drinking, and answering nature's call.

On the tenth day, a finished axe head lay on his anvil, and Narzug could be seen lying on the ground, sleeping peacefully with a broad grin on his face.

Silence reigned in the cave for the first time in days.

---

A few kilometers outside the orc caves, at the foot of the Misty Mountains, stood a large group of small folk, and with them a tall man in gray robes with a gray pointed hat.

"Gandalf, we must go back. The master thief and my Orkrist are still with the orcs. Without them, we cannot continue," argued Thorin Oakenshield.

Gandalf looked him in the eye and replied, "Thorin, you may speak of our Bilbo, but I can see in your eyes only concern for your sword. Has the curse of greed from your ancestors already taken hold of you?"

"Moreover, I saw Orkrist briefly in the mountain before I joined you. It was in the hands of a large orc, unlike the smaller orcs of the Misty Mountains. He was heading deeper into the tunnels. Do you really want to go back to look for him, possibly endangering the mission? The sword could already be on its way to any other orc city; that orc certainly didn't belong here."

Thorin looked longingly back at the tunnels. But eventually, he pulled himself together; his mission to reclaim the Lonely Mountain was more important than an elven sword. "And what about Bilbo Baggins? Do we leave him behind?" he asked.

Gandalf then began to smile. "Sometimes you have to trust your companions, Thorin. Let's rest here for a moment; I'm sure our master thief will join us on his own very soon."

---

In the forge, a heavy, impenetrable silence prevailed.

Narzug slept deeply and soundly, truly resting for the first time in days.

But something broke the silence.

Narzug heard something and woke up. Quiet, but loud in the silence of the cave. Far away, but coming closer. Loud singing, but with horrid voices. He heard songs being sung with loud drumming until everything suddenly stopped. Narzug looked towards the door from where the noises were coming. Something was trying to push against the door, but it was bolted by Narzug.

After another attempt... silence... then a timid knock. Narzug sighed, but inwardly he celebrated his triumph—"No crappy déjà vu today"—and unbolted the door. In came Tragar, who cleared his throat:

"Master Smith Narzug, please excuse the disturbance by a small worm like me once again. But the new master of Goblin-town, the great Barry the Singer, brother of the legendary Larry the Bard, sends me to fetch you, Master. He wants to see the new weapon you were forging for the Great Goblin."

"What's with these names? Barry and Larry?" wondered Narzug as he followed Tragar out of the forge. He wanted nothing more than to stay, but he hoped that the dwarves, and especially Bilbo, had long since escaped the tunnels. So he followed Tragar and was led back to the grand throne room. There, he saw a small orc sitting on the throne, loudly singing some songs until he noticed Narzug.

"Ah, you must be the great master smith Narzug. Come here and bow before your new king. I am Barry the Singer, my brother is the legendary Larry the Bard. Come and crawl at my feet."

Narzug slowly approached Barry until he stood right in front of him, seeing Barry's spiteful gaze. Without much thought, he grabbed the smaller orc's head and, with all his strength, ripped Barry's head clean off his neck.

"Wtf have I just done? I've killed, why does it feel so good... Are those the orc genes in me? Damn, I intended to take over Goblin-town later, but screw it. Today is as good as any other day."

Narzug turned around and looked into the bewildered faces of the other orcs.

Tragar reacted quickly: "Long live Chief Narzug the Head-Ripper!"

The orcs around him began to cheer and celebrate. Many started singing one or another hit song by Larry.

"Silence!" Narzug's voice thundered through the room. "Bring all the materials we have stored for weapon making to my forge. I have a weapon to finish, and anyone who disturbs me dies. Anyone who sits on my throne dies. Understood?"

"Tragar, take me back to my forge and wait outside until I come out," commanded Narzug, issuing his first orders as the new chief of the Misty Mountain orcs.