meekisnotweak:
Every instinct told the Hobbit to stay away, and yet…
Lorilenne Maggot removed her own coat and held it out to the orc, although she watched him closely for any sign of attack. It was a tad small for him, but was still thick and soft.
“Here,” she mumbled. “I can–I can see you’re cold. You’re practically shaking.”
———
◙ It had all been a blur, really. Getting past the guards, getting past the mountains, trudging through a stinking bog, frantically ducking amongst the grassy stalks of the Brown Lands, and everything melded into one unfocused, cloudy mosaic of memories in the runt Uruk’s mind. He hadn’t quite meant to go that far; Ratbag was never the best at directions. But after Mordor’s official fall, he had to go somewhere or risk being killed by whoever was carrying the hefty weapons these days.
And so... the short-- well, short for an Uruk-hai-- Orc shivered violently as the white powdery ‘ashes’ fell from the heavens in masses, accumulating onto the ground rapidly. He almost hadn’t heard the voice- Ratbag had been simply bent on putting one foot in front of the other- but when he did, he jumped back, sinewy arms raised in front of his face to defend against the oncoming blows.
Only... the blows fell not upon his arms nor his head... or upon any part of him. Wide, fluorescent green eyes glowed through the snowfall with as much shock as could be recognized upon an Orc’s face. An arm cautiously reached out, snatching the coat before any harm could befall his body and he hurriedly wrapped the coat-- upside-down in his haste-- about his exposed shoulders.
“Th-Thanks,” he croaked, thinking that maybe giving a little thank you would help make whoever was out here not want to kill him hastily. “Where is Ratbag?” he asked, habitually referring to him in such a way, and no doubt eliciting confusion to the poor stranger unaccustomed to the Orc’s verbal quirk.
