And while I had grown up on the Hobbit and The Return of the King cartoons - which had plenty of Orc songs - it never really sunk in that Orcs sang until someone had pointed out this passage specifically:
If you hear singing and think it might be Orcs, either you are seriously deluded, or Orcs *did* sing, and perhaps I'm being sentimental but it's very hard not to take a people who sing and consider them *as* being people!In a valley among the foothills of the mountains, below the springs of Thalos, [Finrod] saw lights in the evening, and far off he heard the sound of song. ... At first he feared that a raid of Orcs had passed the leaguer of the North,... for the singers used a tongue that he had not heard before, neither that of Dwarves nor of Orcs.
The Silmarillion - JRR Tolkien
Anyway, I wrote a fic about it, set prior to Morgoth's release/return to Beleriand
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Stimp Stamp Mud Shluck
The two figures scuttled along the edge of the forest, avoiding as much as they could the distant lights above, but not so deep in that they were likely to run into the Dug-hai*, great tall beasts that lived in the trees and whose arrows pierced too easily their flesh.
When they came to where a stream emerged, they stopped and drank, though the clean water seemed more to choke them than refresh. The larger one grumbled about there being no fish to be had. The smaller one did not much care since, had there been any fish, the larger one would have eaten them all anyway, and there was a simple joy to be found in knowing their companion had been likewise deprived.
Mud shlucked at bare feet, and little curses followed for the sound carried too much for their liking, the larger of the two promising they’d relieve the other of their feet if they weren’t quieter. The ground firmed up again as they climbed the far bank, scrambling up the last bit that was much steeper than the rest.
When they got to the top, the smaller one sat down, poking at a gash they’d taken in the climb. Thick black blood oozed from the wound.
The larger one had moved on a short ways before noticing, returning as the smaller was smearing a vile-smelling salve over their wound and was just beginning to rip strips from their cloak - which was mostly gone as it was - to act as a bandage.
“What you be doin?” the larger demanded.
“Eyes empty as your ‘ead, aye?” the smaller spat back. “You see what Grom be doin’!”
“Sha! He be mighty mad if we ain’t back soon, and I be taking no whipping for you!”
“Grom takes me own lashes!” Grom said, as if they had some control over who got the punishments. “We be off again quick, soon as wrapped up.”
The other stamped their feet impatiently. “Ghâsh agh burzum!*”
“Stimp stamp,” Grom mocked. “Mugla can wait.” But they were already standing up again. The gash ached but not as much as their feet ached, and they had walked on them for leagues yet.
Mugla took hold of Grom’s tunic, no less filthy than their feet, and gave a good shake, then shoved them along. “No more wastin’ time!”
“Bah!” Grom said. “Time for what, aye? Scramble to make it ‘neath the whip ‘fore it falls? Grom sees sharp mountain teeth and think they be better than whip-masters.”
Mugla struck a vicious blow upside their head with the back of their hand and hissed, “Treason talk, Gûl*-take-you!”
“Talk you used to be at,” Grom said pointedly, mostly ignoring the blow, though their ears rang with it for a few seconds. “Till you got a fancy spot, ‘ead of patrol. Think you be Big Man now!”
“Bigger Man ‘an you be,” Mugla said. “Cut your dirty tongue out!”
“Nah you won’t,” Grom said, waving them off more like a troublesome fly. “Like me singing, you do. Where you be without Grom’s songs, eh?”
Without waiting for either denial nor confirmation, Grom took up a crude tune, making up the lyrics as they went.
Stimp stamp mud shluck
Give me rock a good ol’ chuck
’it ‘im in ‘is ugly ‘ead
Then we dance when ‘e be dead!
Mugla gave a toothy grin at the song, knowing should they ever be caught singing such a thing against the whip-masters they’d be fed to the wargs. But here, far from the pits and slave-pens, they had what might almost be called a chance to be themselves.
Stimp stamp damp maw
Bite and howl, slash and claw
If we good we gets a treat
Foul smelling maggot-meat
The song made the walking easier, though it was a risk. If the Dug-hai with the quick arrows heard them they’d be done for. But it was easier to march to the tune than even to the threat of whips. Out here, they could almost remember what it meant to not be held under the cruel will of the Dark Lord or his lieutenant.
Stimp stamp bog reeks
Over jagged toothy peaks
Live w’out them cruel lashes
We eat fat on mince and mashes
Mugla liked the idea of better eating. They prodded Grom to hurry up but to keep singing, too.
They had wills of their own, though bent mercilessly under Morgoth’s own. But He had been gone for a long age now, and though his lieutenant was no less cruel, they could feel their own thoughts in their heads again, especially this far from Angband.
There was not much else that could be called ‘theirs’. They did not rule themselves, they had no lands and held no titles (well, none that they generally wanted to claim, at any rate.) They did not order their own coming and going, nor choose where and upon whom to make war.
But they still had threads of memories older than they knew themselves. They still had mothers who whispered in their ears before they were old enough to be taken away and put to work. They still felt deep down the want to be free of their overlords, even if they were still too tied to their master’s will to be able to flee.
Out here was as close as they ever got to tasting freedom. Here they could, for a moment, remember that they had never lost their songs.
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Orkish words per Orkish but don't hold me to being correct about how I used them.
Dug-hai - filth-folk, i.e. Elves (specifically Sindar)
Ghâsh agh burzum! - Fire and darkness!
Gûl - "any one of the major invisible servants of Sauron dominated entirely by his will"
