With the Polyjuice Potion in hand, the chances of successfully infiltrating the interior of Mordor increased dramatically.
Aragorn divided the potion into five portions, carefully dropping a strand of Orc hair into each vial. The liquid immediately turned a sickly green, bubbling faintly as a pungent, nauseating odor spread through the air.
Everyone instinctively recoiled.
"Ugh, what is that smell?!" Gimli groaned.
Gritting his teeth, the dwarf gulped the potion down in one go, then promptly gagged and cursed.
Legolas, who had always been fastidious about cleanliness, turned visibly pale, as though he had swallowed poison.
Aragorn, by contrast, merely frowned slightly and drank his potion in measured gulps, as if his senses had been dulled through sheer force of will.
Frodo and Sam pinched their noses and forced the potion down, immediately bending over as they retched, tears streaming from their eyes.
But the reaction came quickly.
Frodo felt his heart race. Heat surged through his body. His bones stretched, muscles swelling and twisting beneath his skin. In a matter of seconds, he shot upward in height, growing two or three times taller than before. His clothes tightened painfully, as though a child had been stuffed into a grown man's garments.
Around him, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Sam underwent the same transformation.
In moments, five misshapen, muscular half-Orcs stood where they once had been.
Gimli burst out laughing, pointing at Legolas.
"Ha! Pointy-ears, you look terrible! Want me to find you a mirror?"
Legolas glanced down at his new body, coarse skin, brutish frame, yet his posture and movements remained unnaturally elegant, making the contrast almost unsettling.
He snorted coldly. "You haven't improved yourself."
Since the Battle of Gondor, their constant bickering had only grown more familiar, and oddly closer.
Frodo, still staring at his reflection in disbelief, suddenly frowned."Our voices haven't changed."
Aragorn nodded. "Correct. Polyjuice changes appearance, not voice. That means we must be careful."
He lowered his voice. "From now on, don't speak unless absolutely necessary."
Legolas added quietly, "The Dark Races of Mordor use the Black Speech. If we speak another tongue, we'll draw attention immediately."
"Then let's pretend to be deaf and mute," Sam suggested. "We can use simple gestures."
"That works," Aragorn agreed. "Minimal movement. No conversation."
He looked over the group, his gaze lingering on Legolas.
"You especially, suppress your presence. Half-Orcs aren't graceful. Try to look rough. Hostile."
Then he turned to Frodo and Sam.
"Your eyes. Orcs don't look gentle. Make yourselves fiercer."
Under Aragorn's guidance, they adjusted their posture, expressions, and mannerisms until they truly looked like savage half-beasts.
Gimli needed no instruction at all, he simply let his natural ferocity loose.
Next, Aragorn waved his wand. Their clothing warped into filthy, tattered hides, while their weapons transformed into crude, rusted scrap blades typical of Orc gear.
"Done?" Gimli asked impatiently. "Can we stomp in now?"
Aragorn shook his head. "Not yet."
He dropped to the ground and rolled in the dirt, coating himself in mud and grime until he looked properly filthy.
"Orcs aren't clean," he said flatly.
With visible reluctance, the others followed suit.
Then Aragorn rummaged through his spatial pouch and produced a small, black, spherical container.
The moment he opened it, an indescribable stench exploded outward.
Everyone recoiled violently.
"By Durin's beard, what is that?!" Gimli gagged. "I'm going to vomit!"
Aragorn grimaced, barely maintaining composure.
"A novelty item from Diagon Alley. A Giant Dung Ball, supposedly invented by Peeves. Once broken, the smell clings for hours."
He sighed.
"Wargs and trackers have an extremely sharp sense of smell. Even as Orcs, we might be discovered. This will mask us."
The group stared at the foul-smelling spheres in horror.
But in the end, necessity won.
One by one, they crushed the dung balls and smeared the vile substance over themselves.
The stench became overwhelming.
Fear flashing across their faces. Legolas and the others turned ashen, looking as though they were on the verge of suffocating. To avoid vomiting up the Polyjuice they had just swallowed, they desperately suppressed the urge, collapsing weakly against the rocks.
At that moment, they all felt the Polyjuice Potion was nothing compared to this abomination.
They genuinely could not understand what kind of wizard would invent such a thing. This was no mere prank, it was practically a biological weapon. If deployed in large quantities on a battlefield, it could incapacitate an entire army without a single blade being drawn.
After a long while, perhaps because their senses had grown numb, the stench became… barely tolerable.
Only then did the group finally steady themselves and prepare to move.
"But what about him?" someone asked.
All eyes turned once more toward the hunched creature cowering nearby.
He knew the paths of Mordor better than anyone alive and could lead them toward the Cracks of Doom. In that sense, he was invaluable.
But on another level, he was utterly untrustworthy.
He had already tried to lead them into deadly danger before, and worse, he clearly harbored a twisted obsession with the Ring. Now that they were disguised as Orcs and intended to infiltrate Mordor itself, a single reckless action or betrayal from him could expose them instantly.
He was a walking catastrophe waiting to happen.
Sensing the tension, Gollum back further, trembling violently, pressing himself into the shadows like a frightened animal.
Aragorn turned to Frodo.
"Frodo. This decision is yours."
Frodo hesitated, looking at the pitiful figure before him. Despite everything, compassion stirred in his heart.
"We take him," Frodo said at last. "We still need him to guide us to the mountain."
Aragorn studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Very well. But we take precautions."
He continued calmly, already forming a plan.
"We'll seal his voice and keep him from communicating. If anyone asks, we'll claim we captured him along the road and are taking him to the watchtower."
The others exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement.
Aragorn raised his wand and cast a spell. Gollum clutched his throat in panic as his voice vanished completely. A rope followed, binding him securely.
Moments later, the group, now fully disguised as half-Orcs, descended from the mountains and stepped onto the road leading deeper into Mordor.
..
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