Short Story FanFic Contest Archives
Contest Date: November 1, 2002 - February 9, 2003
Approved Entries: Two
Winners:
Best Overall - Drabymeister - "Losing Your Head"
Most Dramatic - Malrodian - "The Death of Sauron"
Original Contest Page
Garath's Netherworld (winner's prize - hosted forum)
Losing Your Head
Aradorn waited. His father was late. Striding up and down the designated practice area, Aradorn felt ill tempered and disappointed – his father was late again. Something must have come up which was more important than teaching his son the mastery of the blade. Pulling his sword out of his scabbard, Aradorn marvelled at its shininess, and looked tentatively under hooded eyes for nearby crows, but he wasn’t scared. The stories he had been told about crows stealing weapons out of children’s hands and pecking their eyes out were obviously wrong, Aradorn thought with some confidence. Why, if a hundred, nay, a thousand crows assaulted me right now I’d be safe, the blade is sharp and true and any crow or orc that comes for me will have a hard time killing Aradorn, son of Aragorn, the finest blades man in the world, Aradorn thought with a note of triumph swinging his blade around him in a wild arc. Orcs attacked him from all sides, trying to get under his guard but none were the match for the future heir of Isildur; Aradorn was too quick by half a second on any of them. They came and came until thousands were there but Aragorn sliced, parried, kicked and stabbed all before they could reach the legendary master, the 7-year-old Aradorn son of Aragorn! His blade met steel with a sharp clang and Aradorn stumbled, wide eyed, nostrils filled with the smell of Orcs, the smell disease and death; the smell of pure evil. There were four of them, all easily double the size of the young ranger and each grinning, rotten, yellow teeth showing and menace in their small pig-like eyes. Hesitantly, Aradorn drew his sword, the metallic rasping sound reassuring as the blade slid out of his scabbard. The Orcs stood a mere six feet away and were laughing with each other.
“Hey, Grulag, this pup seems to have some fire in him. The boy can fight demons as long as they live in his head!”
The other Orcs chuckled at the weak joke. “Hey… hey, Grulag,” another orc said hesitantly. “I’ll wager you five human heads that this boy doesn’t know which end of the blade to hold!”
This met roars of laughter; obviously the Orcs didn’t have a very advanced sense of humour. The third orc, who wasn’t Grulag, spoke “Hey Grulag, this human is…” looking ‘round, mopping his brow, this was an orc that was new to the jeering business. “This human is… stupid.”
The comment met silence. “Get out,” Grulag said quietly to the chosen Orc. With a face that looked as if he was about to cry, the recruit saddled away, and Grulag, obviously the leader of the three, spoke to the boy. “I told you, we don’t do those jokes anymore. Where is your king, Aragorn, boy? We must speak with him,” he asked in genial tones.
Finally convinced this was all just a prelude to an attack, Aradorn screamed at the Orcs and swung his blade around above his head, slicing the throat of an unwary Grulag. Taking a step back, Aradorn saw the two others, staring at him in shock. One of them spoke. “We wanted to talk to your father! We heard he is considered clever out of you lot and we wanted to ask him whether we should repent our evil ways and become monks. We want peace to our lands; your father is the man to help us. To help our race,” the Orc said with gentle eyes.
“Liars,” was Aradorn’s even and judicial response. “What are you waiting for?” he said coolly. “I am Aradorn, son of Aragorn, and this blade shall be your doom.” The two Orcs looked incredulously at the boy as he kissed his sword and posed for a camera close up. Stubble was clearly visible. With a twist of his wrist, Aradorn opened the first Orcs belly, and with a stricken look on his face, the Orc fell to the ground. The other Orc started to run away, but that evil monstrosity wasn’t quick enough for the heir of Isildur. Holding the blade as a javelin, Aradorn threw with all his might. His sword lanced the back of the final Orc; he took a few more steps and collapsed to the ground. Aradorn, exhausted from his near brush with death felt drained and fell to the ground weeping heavily. Why do they still return to torment Gondor and the free lands of men? asked Aradorn to the dirt floor, pounding his fist on the ground. A reassuring, strong hand clasped onto his shoulder, waking the young man from his emotional reverie. “My Son. By life or death I can protect you, you have my sword. What happened here?”
Aradorn brushed his long, conditioned hair from his eyes. “The Orcs came, father, and were looking for you,” he said with a tremor in his voice. “I think they mean to kill us all and plunge the world again into the Shadow.”
Aragorn nodded calmly. “Yes. They have been speaking lies about their aims in Middle Earth ever since Mordor has fallen and the Darkness receded. There can be only one Course of action, a Course which has true to the path of Isildur since the body of Sauron was destroyed." Looking deeply into his son’s eyes, a hint of a smile appeared on Aragorn's weathered face. "Lets hunt some orc!" he said and stood with a flourish of his cloak, the boy's eyes filled with respect and a jolly disregard for his own well-being.
Together they walked to the lanced Orc, and slid the blade out of the Orc's back. Just for fun, Aragorn severed his head off with a sweep of his arm and commented, “I bet he won’t be getting a-head in the world!” Chuckling, they walked ahead, found the Orcs, killed them all alone as father and son, and made rag weak jokes about heads until the end of their days.
The Death of Sauron
(Sauron got back the ring and killed Frodo and Sam)
Aragorn was standing on the wall looking towards Mordor when Merry came up and said, "What are you looking for Strider?" Aragorn answered, "Watching for orcs. Now that Sauron has the One Ring we might be utterly destroyed." Meanwhile Pippin was standing in the kitchen cleaning up plates(by licking them). Gandalf came in and said "Where is Aragorn?" "He's watching for Orcs up on the wall," answered Pippin. Gandalf walked up to Aragorn and said, "The Uruk-Hai are coming. They have killed everyone in Rohan and they are coming here!" "Strange," Aragorn muttered. "What?" asked Merry. Aragorn answered, "There is a black cloud in the east." "Orcs!" muttered Legolas. "Then we must get ready for war!" cried Gimli.
The Orcs and Uruk-Hai came faster then Aragorn could think. He ordered everyone to shoot arrows. With ladders the Orcs climb up the walls. "Draw your swords, men!" cried Aragorn. After two days the Orcs leader Shalmag said, "Surrender men! or die and have your flesh eaten." "Never!" cried Aragorn. Then Gondor's side started to win, but Sauron came out and they started to lose. Then Aragorn the heir of Isildur came and cut the ring off Sauron's hand. The elves brought him to Sammath Naur and said, "Cast it in the fire." So he did. Then a madness overtook him and he jumped in to grab back the ring, but an elf pushed him back up and the elf fell into the fire. So Sauron the Enemy of the free people had been conquered.
