The Treason of Isengard

Summary: Saruman breeds a new race of dark creatures.
Warnings: Orc-slash, necrophilia, dpreg, general ickiness.
Disclaimer: I don't own Saruman, nor do I own the Orcs or the world. It all belongs to the Tolkien estate. This never happened in the books nor in the films, my twisted little brain is totally to be blamed for this.
Author's Notes: Written in response to a challenge to write a dead!preg ficlet, as that is as illogical as mpreg. The rating is due to the nastiness of the fic, as I'm not certain R would cover it. Beta-read by the fabulous raven, aka fangirl_lizzie.


~.~.~

The Treason of Isengard

The Orcs looked at each other and snickered. This sounded like fun. The boss was not asking anything particularly difficult of them; it sounded more like it would be something they would greatly enjoy.

Saruman the White had chosen these Orcs, gathered in the Hall, for their physical attributes, for their strength and also for the fact that these were among those that showed the most intelligence.

There had been a strange delivery, only the day before - wagonloads of dead warriors, Men of Rohan and of Gondor. They had all been big Men, muscular and strong, fearless warriors in life, but overrun by the power of Orcs moving in greater numbers than they. The bodies had been laid out in one of the larger caves under Isengard, made ready for the fate that awaited them.

Many forms shuffled out of the Hall, down to the cave tunnels, some bent, some more beastly than the others, but all strong and cruel. Their shadows made them company, cast upon the rough walls by the light of torches, until they reached the cave where the stripped corpses lay waiting and the shadows were lost in the sheer vastness.

Many pairs of yellow eyes glittered in the flickering light, and already growls of anticipation echoed in the cave as the Orcs saw the feast laid out before them. Well-built bodies, long and strong limbs, pale flesh... all there for them to enjoy. In fact, it was even their duty to enjoy these formerly glorious warriors.

One of the Orcs at the head of the column stepped forward to one of the corpses, having chosen a pale-haired warrior, the flaxen hair lying in unruly ringlets around his head - a few days dead but still handsome. He was not the only one to approach the waiting bodies; the beasts had soon stripped of unnecessary and cumbersome pieces of attire, pawing at themselves and at the pale, unmoving flesh before them.

The cave filled with grunts and growls, the sounds and smells of rutting heavy in the stifling air, as the Orcs did their Master's bidding. When its seed had been spilled inside a body, the Orc dragged it over and dumped it close to one of the walls. Then the Orc went to the next body, slaking its lusts once again.

When the body of every dead warrior had been used in this manner, and put into the long ditch hacked into the ground alongside all the cave walls, the imposing figure of Saruman came down from the higher levels of the tower to inspect their work. All that revealed his satisfaction was the evil glint in his eyes and the small smirk that curled the corners of his mouth. His captain knew, though, that he was well pleased with his Orcs.

Saruman stood in the centre of the hewn chamber, his arms raised and his staff pointing toward the floor. Strange words of magic rolled off his tongue, echoing between the walls and growing in strength and volume with each echo until the din was terrible. It ended in a crescendo and a sick green light spread across the open space, snaking its way around and into the desecrated warriors.

The Wizard gave a small, cruel laugh, and strode swiftly out of what would from then on be referred to as the birth chamber. He gave orders on how to care for and nurse the unnatural process he had cause; the captain relayed these orders and made certain they followed to the letter, by whipping if necessary. The Master would not allow any mistakes.

There came more wagonloads with bodies, at regular intervals, so more birth chambers were built, and yet more. Saruman turned the Orcs industrious, and the Orcs he chose made no complaints. Why would they? They were the chosen, their task to use the bodies in the way that they liked best, thus also humiliating the nations that had given birth to the warriors.

The stench in the birth chamber grew worse as the bodies rotted and the things that grew inside them took nourishment from their hosts. In the end nothing more than a filthy brown substance, much like mud, remained, through which could be seen the bodies of those that were soon ready to wake, to be born.

That day came, only a few months after that first shipment of bodies, and with Saruman the White there as witness, the first of the unnaturally-begotten offspring of the union between Orc and Man was born, clawing its way into life. Many were the Orcs that lost their lives as the newborns tore them apart in their first act as sentient beings.

"Whom do you serve?" Saruman asked, later.

"Sssaaru-maaan!"

The Uruk-Hai were born.