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Interlude II: Vir Prudens Non Contra Ventum Mingit

On the road to Isengard, World #4591

“Take the Halfling,” the Uruk-hai growls, baring rotting teeth in a snarl. “Tie his measly legs together. We’re bringing him to Isengard.”

On the ground, World #4591's Kyungsoo winces and massages one big, hairy foot. “I really am not the hobbit you want,” he says as reasonably as he can with a broadsword at his throat. “That’s another fellow, you see. His name is Frodo. I’m just a tavern singer from Bree, a simple hobbit, if you please, sir.”

An orc drips saliva on his foot, hot and stringy, and Kyungsoo suppresses the urge to kick him in the face. “A tavern singer, little Halfling?” the orc sneers. “Then what were you doing near Amon Hen so close to the Anduin?”

Kyungsoo lets out a hysterical giggle, knowing just how ridiculous the truth will sound. “Napping. My gran always said it’d get me in trouble - I like to nap near the water, you see, and sometimes I drift a ways downstream. I’ve never drifted as far as this before, though.”

The Uruk rolls him over with the toe of his great iron-clad boot, checking that the rope around his wrists is secure. “Don’t talk to him, Gorkol. I refuse to run any risks with this one. If we want this one in Isengard, we bring him straight to Isengard, no stops along the way.”

“But Lurtz,” the orc wheedles with wide yellow eyes, “just a bite from the leg, he doesn’t need them both, does he? He looks so juicy and… fresh.” More saliva sprays onto Kyungsoo’s skin.

“No!” Lurtz smacks Gorkol in the head with the side of his broadsword and ignores the resulting yelp. “Move out! We’re taking the Halfling to Isengard!”

Kyungsoo can’t resist scowling at Gorkol as he is slung over the broad, armor-plated shoulder of another Uruk. “I’m not that juicy,” he says, glaring at the orc, “I might overindulge on the cheese and honey bread sometimes, but I’m a perfectly well-proportioned fellow, I’ll have you know!”

The Uruk who is carrying him, a giant, well-muscled thing, nods along. “The superior creature is modest in his speech, but exceeds in his appetite,” he says. “‘Tis an opponent with no appetite who bends like a reed in the wind.”

Pausing, Kyungsoo tries to make heads or tails out of the phrase but fails miserably. “Sorry, what does that mean?”

“Nothing!” Gorkol glares at the Uruk, straggling behind them with his shorter legs. “Don’t listen to Burtz! He’s a failure from the first experiments in breeding orcs and humans. All he does is spit out useless garbage.”

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