Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: No Escape (#1191)
Author: Earelwen
Chapters: 13

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Alternate Universe (AU)
Description: What if Merry and Pippin hadn't escaped from the orcs at the start of TTT? What would they have suffered? What would they have had to sacrifice? Their freedom? Their sanity? Their lives? Each other? Maybe everything they have to give if the quest is to have a chance of succeeding. (warnings for fight and torture scenes)
Published: 11 Aug 2004
Updated: 12 Aug 2004
Warnings: Violence
Type: Angst
Characters: Merry;Pippin;Legolas


Chapter 1 - No Escape this Time

Author's Note: For my amazing beta-reader: Ruinwen. Thank you so much for putting up with me and my atrocious grammar. Hopefully that's all ironed out now. Please review! This is my first fic so constructive criticisms would be very much appreciated. Love you all!

'At last, Merry stirred and whispered softly: “So far so good: but how are we to avoid being spitted?” The answer came almost immediately. The cries of Grishnakh had roused the Orcs. From the yells and screeches that came from the knoll the hobbits guessed that their disappearance had been discovered. Uglúk was probably knocking off a few more heads. Then suddenly the answering cries of Orc-voices came from the right, outside the circle of watch fires, from the direction of the forest and the mountains. Mauhur had apparently arrived and was attacking the besiegers. There was the sound of galloping horses. The riders were drawing in their ring close round the knoll, risking the Orc-arrows, so as to prevent any sortie, while a company rode off to deal with the newcomers. Suddenly Merry and Pippin realized that without moving they were now outside the circle: there was nothing between them and escape. “Now,” said Merry, “if only we had our legs and hands free, we might get away. But I can’t touch the knots, and I can’t bite them.” “No need to try,” said Pippin, “I was going to tell you: I’ve managed to free my hands. These loops are only left for show.”'

~

He was suddenly cut short as a claw-like hand was clamped over his mouth and the sharp point of a dagger was pressed against his neck. “Don’t make a sound!” hissed a hated voice, horribly close to Merry’s ear. “You give us away and this rat dies faster than you can blink.” To emphasis this, Uglúk increased the pressure of the knife against Pippin’s neck. A few drops of blood fell to the ground and the small hobbit whimpered in fear. “Now move! Make for the trees; and remember, any tricks and…”

Merry didn’t need any more encouragement. He started crawling silently towards the menacing forest, terrified of attracting any attention. There was no mercy in the Orc and he knew that one false move could put a swift end to Pippin’s short life.

Once under the under the shelter of the dense trees Uglúk retied Pippin’s hands tightly and cut the bonds around Merry’s legs. All hope of getting away died in him then; this could only mean one thing. “Run!” Growled their captor, grabbing the younger hobbit like a sack of potatoes, “Run or you’ll wish you were dead.”

It was heartbreaking; running from the only chance of escape they had had or were likely to have again. The forest was silent apart from the noise of the Orc’s foot falls and a strange far off moaning that seem to come from the centre of each tree. They ran for hours heading south through the twisted undergrowth of Fangorn forest. Despair gripped at Merry as he tried to keep the pace set by Uglúk. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make his legs work properly after their long time bound with cruel Orc-rope. The Orc-draft was long cold in him and it had left him feeling weak and drained. So he ran at a halting stumble during which he fell too often. Each time he fell, he received a heavy kick in the stomach from one of the Orc’s iron-shod feet. They were completely alone and Uglúk refused to let them rest for even a second. Only the sight of Pippin’s scared face and pain-filled eyes kept him from simply giving up and curling up on the ground in defeat.

They didn’t stop until they reached the southern eaves of the dark woodland and the Sun had begun its journey through the sky. It was a red sun; a reminder of the blood that had been spilt that night. Uglúk called a halt, tossing down his passenger. Merry collapsed immediately and fell into a deep sleep of evil dreams, not even bothering to make himself more comfortable.

Pippin curled up next to his cousin exhausted by hours of fear; yet whole-heartedly relieved that the cold metal was away from his skin and that he and Merry were still alive. As sleep captured him and clouded his brain, his final thought was, “I wonder why we’re still alive. Not on account of Uglúk’s kind nature, that much is certain.”


Chapter 2 - One Nightmare after Another

“Pippin!” The scream echoed all around and in his own ears. Merry was frantic. The corridor seemed to have no end, with an infinite number of twists and turns. He kept on, racing into the walls in the dark, not caring when he fell on the highly polished floor. Everything was as black as night and he unable to see or hear anything. “Pippin! Pip, where are you?”

He felt his way round a corner and stopped dead, stuck dumb in disbelief. Lying on the floor directly in front of him, bathed in a sickly light, lay a bundle. He recognized the tousled, mop of hair sticking out from the grey cloak of Lorien. It was surrounded by a pool of blood. He fell, sobbing, to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut against the sight of his cousin’s lifeless body.

~

He felt hand shaking him and heard a quiet voice calling him. He tried to push the hands away, but they were persistent and he heard someone whispering his name.

“Merry, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Merry opened his eyes and saw Pippin’s worried face above him. “Pip?”

“Everything’s fine Merry-lad. Just a nightmare; nothing more. You called in your sleep. It must have been horrible!”

He felt warm tears on his cheeks and hastily brushed them away with his sleeve beginning to feel a little embarrassed of his fuss over a bad dream. With Pip’s help he pulled himself into a sitting position and was less than happy to find his arms and legs restricted again. He shook his head to rid it of the lingering images of his disturbed sleep. Pippin threw him one of his impish smiles and it warmed Merry to the bones to know that his cousin hadn’t changed despite everything they were going through. “What time is it?”

Pippin glanced up briefly, “Around nine o’ clock I’d say.”

Merry grinned. No matter how often he did it he was still amused by Pip’s ability to tell the time within fifteen minutes just by looking at the Sun.

Suddenly both hobbits spun around as a harsh voice boomed out from behind them, “Hoy! You two keep your traps shut or I’ll come over there and close them for you!”
To Merry’s horror he saw Uglúk crouched by a fire surrounded by no less than ten, very large Uruk-hai of Isengard. Presumably, they must be other survivors of the previous night’s battle. Uglúk rose and came over to them; knife in hand. Pippin shrunk back, closer into Merry’s side, the small cut on his neck a testament to his experience with that weapon. All the Orc did though was free both of their legs.

“It’s time to start running again, lads.”

The rest of the morning passed in blur as both hobbits, this time, where driven across the plain with whips licking their heels. The Orc-draft warmed them and they ran as fast as they could.

It was harder for Merry whose stomach and chest became increasingly more painful from the kicks he had received in them only a few hours before. He gasped for breath and Pippin tried to lend him support without the Orcs noticing, though his bonds hampered him.

At about midday, they reached the banks of the Entwash. The hobbits fell to their knees in the shallows and began to quench their terrible thirst. It was the first fresh water they had had in days and it tasted like Heaven in their parched mouths.

The Orcs, however, weren’t thinking of stopping yet. Hands grasped Merry’s hair and hauled him to his feet. “Get a move on! Straight across you goes!”

Merry stared in horror. He was one of the few Shire’s folk that could swim and though he had tried to teach Pippin they hadn’t got much further than basic doggy paddle. However, he could see that he was going to have problems himself with this stretch of water. Pippin, who was smaller and was almost as inept at swimming as he was at keeping out of trouble, didn’t stand a chance. An Orc or a man would have little difficulty crossing here, but a hobbit would be almost completely smothered by the deep water. The strong under-currents wouldn’t help matters either.

“We can’t cross this!” he shouted at Uglúk. “It’s too deep!”

“You’ll cross now or I’ll throw you in myself!” growled the Orc, fury flashing in his yellow eyes.

Slowly they pushed forward into the cold water. Pippin gasped as it rose past his waist and up his chest. He could feel the current pushing at his unstable feet; trying to wash him away. He stopped as the river came dangerously close to overflowing into his mouth. One more step and he would be completely submerged.

“Get a move on, Runt!”

He felt a foot kick him in the small of the back and he tipped forward, the water rushing up to meet him. He felt the watercourse pull him away from the ford and hurl him deeper into the current.

He kicked his legs around trying to bring his head above the water, but it was a futile fight, disadvantaged as he was with his hands tied. He could feel water flooding his lungs and every corner of his brain.

Images of people and places he had once known flashed before his eyes: Frodo’s desperate expression while fleeing the Orcs, Gandalf falling into shadow, Aragorn fighting the black riders and finally Merry smiling at him speaking words he couldn’t catch.

He was slammed against the riverbed, rocks cutting into him. He felt something in his arm snap and dimly registered an acute pain. “Well, this is it,” he thought to himself as he lost conciseness, “This is the end. Goodbye, everyone.” And his thought fled far away and his eyes saw no more.

“Pippin!” Merry shrieked as he saw his cousin disappear beneath the surface. He dived to try and reach him, but Uglúk grabbed him and tossed him to the opposite bank. Desperately, he flung himself back toward the river but strong arms held him in place. He could see the flailing body being swept further away down river. Not one of the Orcs gave it a second glance. He screamed as he had never screamed before, cursing every Orc ever spawned and calling Pippin’s name hoping he would hear.

Eventually, the last Orc had crossed and the struggling form had gone still and disappeared. Desperate rage burning through him, Merry lashed out at the creature restraining him causing it to lose several teeth.

In retaliation it clouted him over the head with its fist. He fell to the ground, stars spinning before his eyes. He heard a voice overhead.
“Leave the dead. We still have this one. He’s all Sharkey will need.”

Merry’s brain was frozen. He couldn’t leave Pip. He had sworn to himself a thousand times that he would take care of him till the bitter end. Pippin couldn’t be dead. He was only twenty-eight; not even an adult yet. He had been standing beside him seconds ago. He started yelling again, his brain refusing to accept what he was hearing. He felt another blow to his head and fell into blackness.


Chapter 3 - Avenging the Dead

When Merry came round the sun had gone down into a bloody sunset and the Entwash was a thin blue line snaking though the green country far behind them. He was unsurprised to find they were on the move again, he being carried like a bag of unimportant luggage.

His mind was in turmoil. Pippin was dead. He couldn’t cope with it. It seemed impossible that all that energy, love and innocence could be consumed by a simple stream. How could Merry have let this happen? He had always been there for Pippin, always looking out for him; except now when it had really mattered. He hadn’t managed to save his best friend from a river no different from the Brandywine where he used to swim.

This was all his fault. He had killed his own cousin! Tears he couldn’t hold back choked him and pour down his face. He had never really understood what people had meant by the phrase “heartbroken” until now. It felt like his heart was shattering in his chest leaving him an empty shell of raw grief.

“Stop your snivelling!” growled the Orc carrying him. It set him down and freed his limbs. Try as he might Merry couldn’t stop the waves of sadness sweeping over him. “Crying like a baby! You’re almost as pathetic as your rat friend was! Is all your kind this useless or is it just you two?”

A terrible rage welled up in the hobbit’s chest. He could take taunts directed at him, he was numb to them now, but the remarks about Pippin and his people drove fury through his veins.

Quick as lightning he pulled out the dagger from inside his jacket, which had remained hidden and almost forgotten there since his departure from Crickhollow all those months ago. The desire for revenge grabbed him and he launched himself forward onto the shocked Orc with a cry of “For the Shire!”

The creature fell to the ground, a gapping wound at its neck. Merry was on fire now, determined to exterminate every one of the hideous creatures who had caused Pip’s death. Uruks twice his size and armed to the teeth, fell before him. His dagger was soon stained with the blood of more than half the band.

Arms caught him and he stabbed upwards. The grasp fell away and he heard Uglúk’s cry of agony. He spun around ready to face his next victim but instead slammed face first into the handle of a short sword.

The knife slipped from his blood-soaked hand and he sank to the ground, stars winking before his eyes. Merry couldn’t remember a time when his head had been given such harsh treatment as it had in the past few days. He felt thick cords being tied around him, but his body flatly refused to obey the frantic instructions his brain was sending it: to fight back, not to give up. His limp figure was hoisted under an arm of an Orc and the somewhat depleted party continued its journey west, towards the now visible spire of Orthanc.


Chapter 4 - No Signs of Life

Nothing.

Legolas had been on guard for several hours now, but there was nothing that had caused a threat to his three sleeping companions or himself. He hadn’t woken Aragorn to take his watch, though the Elf’s turn should have ended hours ago, but he saw no reason to disturb the ranger when he himself felt no weariness.

He looked down at his friends, all so peaceful in slumber. He had to choke back a laugh as he noticed Gimli’s thumb in his mouth. That could be a useful bribe in the future.

It was odd having Mithrandir with them again after his abrupt departure, yet very comforting. That too was strange. There had been a time, not so long ago, when all he had needed to feel safe was his bow. Now he could hardly remember the last time he had felt completely secure and protected. But now, even Aragorn seemed easier since they had been reunited yesterday; like a weight had been slightly lifted off him. He wished he could get news to Frodo of Gandalf. The hobbit had been the most distraught of all of them after Moria.

He breathed in the cool night air, his thoughts drifting to Merry and Pippin. He had hoped the wizard would have had some idea of their whereabouts, but Gandalf had been just as confused as them. They had lost the tracks in Fangorn and had been unable to discover which route the hobbits and Orcs had taken. Even from here, on a small hill by the Entwash, the Elf couldn’t make out the band.

Sighing, Legolas lowered his eyes from the heavens to wonder at the stars of Elbereth mirrored in the waters, crystallized in the moonlight.
“A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míri…”

The singing was hurriedly cut off though. Legolas’ eyes had caught something on the banks below. Why had he not seen it before? It was wrapped in something that hid it from even his view. Most likely, it was probably just some debris washed up on the shore, yet something about its shape seemed oddly familiar somehow.

Curiosity won over apathy. He crouched and touched his friend’s shoulder. “Aragorn, wake up,” he whispered so as not to disturb either Dwarf or wizard.

Aragorn, however, sat up wide eyed with a hand on his sword as though the elf had shouted ‘Orcs’ in his ear. “What is it Legolas? Did I oversleep? Are enemy upon us?”

“Nothing of the sort, my friend.” Legolas was slightly surprised by the reaction he had received, yet kept his voice light and airy. “It may just be flotsam from upstream, but I can see a small shape by the water. Could you watch for a short time while I take a closer look? Something about it seems strange to me.”

“Of course; my sleep was troubled anyway. Take your bow and call if any thing is amiss.” A rather bleary eyed Dúnadan seated himself against a rock, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders.

“Thank you. I will not be more than a few minutes. Send out search parties if I’m not back in couple weeks.” Legolas grinned, trying to brush off the last of his worry about Aragorn. He rose, taking his bow from where it lay and swung up onto Arod. He spoke a few words in an undertone to the horse and it set of down the hill without any further direction from its rider.

Away behind him, Legolas heard a pipe being lit and smiled to himself. These children and their pipes! It wouldn’t last long he was sure; another couple of hundred years and smoking would be a thing belong only to distant memory

As he came to the waters edge he saw why the bundle had been so hard to distinguish: it was covered in grey material that seemed to shift its hue to blend with its surroundings. Suddenly, recognition sparked in his brain and realization hit him hard. That material was the exact same as the cloaks worn by all the fellowship who had passed through Lorien.

The size of the bundle meant it could only be one of four people and two of them were at least a hundred miles from here by now. Terror gripped him and he wished could run, to not have to know which of his friends lay here. Yet duty and loyalty stopped him. Slowly, shaking slightly Legolas dismounted, bent down and turned over the limp body. He felt dampness on his cheek he had not felt for nigh on a millennia.

Pippin’s white face stared up at him. It was covered in cuts and bruises and both eyes were red slits. His left arm lay at an odd angle and on closer inspection Legolas found the bone was now sticking out of the skin just below the elbow. There were blisters round the hobbits ankles and wrists and there was a small gash on the side of his neck. Despite all this, the thing that chilled the Elf to his marrow was how strangely peaceful his looked; like he had finally be released from great sorrows and could finally rest.

Legolas wept. True he had seen injuries far worse than these, but it seemed so wrong for a hobbit to be wounded at all. Curse this war! Curse the Uruk-hai and all their masters who spawned them! It seemed impossible, to his mind, that elves and Orcs had ever been the same species.

He laid his ear to Pippin’s chest and his heart leapt for joy as he heard the faint whisper of a heartbeat; yet no breath escaped from the mouth.

Carefully, so as not to jolt the maimed arm, he gathered Pippin’s tiny body into his arms and set him in front of him on Arod.

He galloped wildly back to Aragorn, who now stood anxiously on the hilltop to see what caused the Elf’s hurry. “He is not breathing! His heart is still beating, but his lungs must be full of water.” Fear and anger made Legolas’ voice come in gasps as he passed the oblivious hobbit into the ranger’s hands.

“Pippin?!” A look of utter disbelief spread across Aragorn’s face as he was hit by his companion’s condition. Forcing emotion back, with some difficulty, he quickly took command of himself; and the situation.

“Gimli!” he called, “Gimli, wake up! Get a fire start. Legolas, find some dry clothes. Look in Gimli’s pack. They’ll be closest to Peregrin’s size. Gandalf, please look in my pack and find the last of the athelas.” The whole camp was in action in a matter of seconds, hastily doing as the future king instructed.

Aragorn laid Pippin on his back, careful of the badly broken arm, placed one hand on top of the other near the heart and started to pump, trying to force the water out of the inactive lungs. To his distress he felt a broken rib under his fingers yet didn’t stop; better broken bones than death.

Legolas watched, holding one of Gimli’s smaller shirts and breaches. He bit his lip as he saw the skin around Pip’s lips turn decidedly blue. He was about to speak, when suddenly the hobbit’s eyes stretched opened wide and frightened.

Pippin retched, choking on each breath he hauled into his aching lungs. He felt acute pain in every corner of his body and strong hands holding him steady. “Merry. Merry, help!” he croaked. He wanted his cousin in the midst of his anguish. He shivered with cold as his wet clothes clung to his skin. A fog clouded his eyes yet he could see distant shapes before him. “Merry!” he called out again this time more loudly. “Please where are you?”

“Hush lad. Everything will be well now,” said a gentle voice. Somewhere at the back of his brain he felt vaguely as it he should recognise it, yet he couldn’t put a face to it. “This is going to hurt, my boy, but it will be over in a second.” And, before Pippin could take in what had been said, he screamed in pain. Agony ripped through his arm. It was torture beyond anything he had ever known. He felt something being tied tight around the source of his grief and the pain lessened a bit though the throbbing in his chest was almost unbearable.

“There, everything’s alright, little one.”

He heard something being crushed above him, then a sweet fragrance filled his nose and mouth, soothing him and leaving his brain clearer. Athelas! The remembrance of it took him back to their camp under Weathertop Hill. It was hardly a pleasant memory, yet it was still a memory and that somehow oddly comforting.

The mist in front of his eyes pulled back and just above him he saw a face he would always associate with healing herbs. “Strider?” It took all his strength to say the one word.

“Yes, Pippin, I am here. Relax. You are safe now.”

He felt his clothes being removed and being replaced with dry ones. A pillow was placed under his head and a blanket wrapped round him. Yet his mind still wouldn’t hold still. “Merry… Frodo… Sam..?” was all he could manage through gasps for oxygen.

A shadow passed over Aragorn’s features as he spoke, “Frodo and Sam are on their way to Mordor; as far we can distinguish. We last saw them at Parth Galen. And Merry…,” he faltered unsure of how to tell Pippin this. He had expected the hobbit to know of the whereabouts of his friend. “We…we haven’t found Merry. You were the last to see him.”

“No!” moaned the broken hobbit pitifully as dreadful memories pushed in on his already aching mind. “The Uruks…they’ll have almost reached Isengard by now. They’ll kill him when they find out; or worse!”

“What?” asked the ranger, fear filling his eyes.

“They thought we had the Ring. They were taking us to Saruman. They’ll torture him for information about Frodo when they find he hasn’t got it.”

Aragorn felt as if a bucket of freezing water had been emptied over his head and the horror of realization made his heart stop for an instant. How could he have let this happen? Concentrate! He must see to his casualty now; there would be time later to censure himself.

“Sleep now, Pippin. Don’t worry. Your Merry is made of stronger stuff than he looks, he will be well.” He was disgusted with himself for blatantly lying to Pippin. His charge, however, appeared not to notice the falsehood and took the ranger’s advice; though his young features remained troubled.

“How will he be?” Gandalf appeared next to Aragorn’s shoulder concern etched into every line of his aged face. “Now do I wish more than ever I could take back my words in Moria. This Took is anything but foolish.”

“He will mend with time, as all his kind seems to do with an uncanny aptness; though he will never be the same if we do not recover Meriadoc. But we have no time. We are needed in Edoras and we will have a battle to fight in the near future, unless I am much mistaken. Much as it grieves me, I do not believe we can continue the search for Merry without risking the future of Rohan; indeed the whole of Middle-earth.”

Legolas raised his head, eyes wide. He could not allow this to happen. He could not let these two hobbits be tortured in such ways. It would inevitably cause both their deaths. Pippin would not last long if he gave up hope of Merry’s survival. Besides, if Merry cracked under torture, as everyone did in the end no matter how strong their spirit was, the whole quest could be laid bare before Sauron and an end brought more fully than any he dared to imagine.

But what Aragorn said was true also. The future king of Gondor would be needed in the coming days; as would be Gandalf. There was no other way. “I will go,” he heard himself say and instantly felt three pairs of eyes fix on him. “I will continue the search for Merry while you journey to Edoras. You will have Gimli and therefore no lack of weaponry.”

“Nay Master Elf,” exclaimed Gimli, “if you will go gallivanting all over this country then I will certainly be accompanying you! Who knows what sort of trouble an elf could get himself into around here; and I shall insist on being part of it.”

“My dear dwarf, do not be so stubborn,” replied Legolas in mock annoyance. “You must go with Aragorn and teach the Rohirrim to speak more highly of the Lady Galadriel. Besides I will go faster with just myself, though I must beg leave to take Pippin with me, Aragorn, for he may be of some help.”

“I am uncomfortable with you facing the Uruk-hai alone, be you the best archer in Middle-earth or no, Legolas. We do not know how many there may be and it would be a great comfort to have you with me in battle.” Aragorn’s voice contained deep worry which he failed to conceal.

“I take no such flattery, Aragorn, and I am very sensible of your unease with this idea, but I refuse to give up on our companion until all hope of his retrieval has gone. However, I will not take Pippin if you think it damage his recovery.”

There were a few moments silence while Aragorn tried to find the lesser of the mounting evils before him. Finally he said, “Take Pippin with you. He will have to see fighting whoever takes him. Search for Merry but, please do not put yourself or Pippin in any unnecessary danger. If you have not returned within a fortnight then we will presume the worst. I can make you no promise of where we will be by then and I can only pray to the Valar that you will find us.”

“Thank you. I will, at the very least, to return this hobbit to you safe and well.” The Elf turned hastily began to gather his things before Aragorn could realise he had not promised to keep himself out of danger. He mounted Arod and Gandalf placed the sleeping hobbit in front of him.

“Be careful, Legolas Greenleaf. Saruman is more cunning and corrupt than we dare to imagine and he will not take kindly to any interference with his plans. He will not think twice about removing the Prince of the Greenwood should he even suspect your presence.”

“Don’t worry, Mithrandir, I promise I will not endanger our young friends.” He avoided Aragorn’s scowl as he again made no assurances for his own safety. With that, he turned Arod about and with the lightest touch of his hand galloped away from his friends, clutching his passenger tightly to his stomach to stop him being thrown off.

For the second time, in the space of an hour, he felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes. What was happening to him? He had never been one to express his emotions too much, it was dangerous when one felt so much and lived for so long, but now it came so naturally. “Too long around men and dwarves” he thought with a grim smile. He tasted salt water and wiped his face with his sleeve.

Though no-one had actually said it out loud he knew they had all thought the same thing as they parted. When they next met, whenever that may be, it was all too likely that some of their number would missing. Pushing that thought roughly away, Legolas turned his mind to the task in hand. He followed the course of the Entwash north; back towards Fangorn. To the west he could see the morning’s sun reflecting off the pinnacle of Orthanc rising like a black giant out from behind the mountains.


Chapter 5 - Not Quite as Planned

Merry opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. His head ached so badly he felt sure he would pass out again. He was sure the last blow to his head had reopened the gash he carried from his encounters at Parth Galen. Dried blood clung to his face and was tangible on his tongue.

The small band of Uruk-hai sat just under the eaves of the trees with their backs to him; near enough to watch him closely but far enough away to be out of his reach. Merry wondered at this, until he saw that every one of them had varying degrees of injuries. A grim smile creased the corners of his parched lips as he noticed Uglúk’s left arm was gone and only a bloody stump remained. So his little outburst with the knife hadn’t been completely useless after all. He knew his actions wouldn’t go unrewarded, but at least punishment was postponed; if only for a short while.

He guessed that Uglúk was exercising a lot of self control to obey his orders and resist tearing him limb from limb right now. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, in the long run. No-one was coming to rescue him, of that Merry was now almost certain. The only reason he hadn’t completely given up before was Pippin, but now that he was gone… Was there any real point continuing?

He could see the whole of Orthanc to the south and the thought of what awaited him there made his empty stomach twist into knots. Once in there, he would never return. It would only be a matter of time before the arts of Saruman of many colours forced every secret in his mind to come pouring out of his mouth.

He couldn’t allow that to happen. It would destroy any chance Frodo ever had of destroying the ring. The plot would be out and the Ringbearer would be dead by the next sunrise, soon to be followed by all goodness in the world as Sauron returned to power.

He couldn’t let it happen. He could never let himself be responsible for all that. Frodo was as dear to Merry as Pippin had been. They had been like the younger and older brothers he had never had. Frodo had taught him to pilfer vegetables and cakes, to avoid well deserved punishments, to climb, swim and all the other things he in turn had taught Pippin. He couldn’t let Frodo suffer any more than he was presently with the ring.

Frodo deserved none of this and Merry had sworn an oath to him long ago back in the Crickhollow kitchen. His own words came drifting back to him. “It all depends on what you want. You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin - to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours - closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo.” He didn’t know if Frodo had taken it as an oath but that was how he had meant it. That promise had got him here and he’d keep it if it killed him.

He had to escape; escape now or die trying. He could not let this pathetic group of puppet Orcs take him any closer to betraying his cousin.

Merry’s mind was storming its way though a turmoil of escape plans when, without warning, a hand was clamped firmly over his mouth, preventing a cry of shock. He was too surprised to move and was not entirely sure if he should. The hand was definitely not that of an Orc. The sound of low breathing was distantly familiar from all those times he had been on guard duty; he could distinguish any member of the fellowship just by their breathing.

The quiet voice, however, made his heart leap for joy as he realised what he had deemed impossible was actually happening. “Merry, stay still and quiet. Let me help you and you will soon be free of this…unfavourable company.” Legolas’ tone of voice was calm and confident.

Merry thought he would explode with happiness. He could not believe it. He hadn’t even dared to dream that anyone would follow him rather than Frodo. Yet, he could even now feel the elf, he had thought so far away, lifting him as if he weighed nothing and was liable to break at a moments notice. The hobbit didn’t move a muscle, but relaxed into Legolas’ arms; feeling safe for the first time in as many months as he cared to count.

~

Legolas clutched his friend to his chest and disappeared almost at once into the trees as silently as a moth. Merry seemed awake but barely there. He was covered in many wounds, few of them petty. A gash on his forehead was bleeding quite freely; and everything from his sunken eyes and drawn face, to how light he was, spoke of starvation and dehydration. He was in a similar state to how Pippin had been when Legolas had found him. These hobbits had never done anything to deserve such harsh treatment as he had seen them suffer in the past few weeks.

Suddenly, a cry went up from behind them. Merry’s disappearance had been noticed and the Orcs would even now be heading for them. Legolas started running, yet the Uruk-hai were already everywhere. Every direction he turned he could hear Orcs. He was trapped.

Without pausing to think he crouched by a tree, placing Merry carefully by its feet. He grabbed his white knife, swiftly cutting through the ropes that clung to the hobbits wrists and ankles. He put a steadying hand on his shoulder and forced his dazed and confused friend to look at him. “Listen to me, Merry. You must not be found! As soon as you get a chance head due north for a mile or two and you’ll find a friend waiting for you. No matter what happens, no matter what you see or hear, look back!” Understanding flashed for a moment between the two pairs of bright green eyes.

~

Before Merry had a chance to open his mouth in protest Legolas had turned and run headlong into the trees. Sounds came from all around of Uruk-hai tearing apart the landscape in search of their lost prisoner. “No, Legolas! Legolas, come back!” Merry whispered desperately. This wasn’t right. This reminded him too much of himself and Pippin distracting the Orcs at Parth Galen so Frodo could escape.

He had to run, Merry knew it. Legolas was armed and he was not. He would be of no help and would only get in the way. (That was all he had seemed to do since Rivendale: slow everyone up, like a piece of unwanted baggage.) It had to be now. There would be no other chance to escape after this. He seized his opportunity with both hands. As soon as the coast was clear and began to run as fast as he could force his aching legs to carry him.

~

Legolas placed an arrow to the string of his bow, pushing his back to a tree. He could see Merry disappearing through the forest, heading straight for where he had left Pippin with the horse. He had done everything he could and now all he had to do was create a suitable distraction. He knew that even the most highly trained Uruk wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to slaughter an elf.

Taking a deep steadying breath, he leapt round the wide trunk and sent his arrows flying in every direction. They imbedded themselves into the first of his shocked quarry killing them instantly, but not before one of them could let out a howl of agonised rage. Excellent. The attention of every Orc in the vicinity should now be successfully grasped. Almost at once, nine Orcs came charging through the trees, armed to the teeth. Again, arrows flew deftly from the Lorien bow, killing their targets with lethal accuracy.

Adrenalin was flooding Legolas. He was winning, the advantage swiftly becoming his. Abruptly, something hit him in the back and moments later his face contorted as a sudden explosion of white hot pain erupted in his chest.

The bow fell from his hand and he looked down. An arrow head stuck defiantly into his view, out of his skin near to the. Bright red blood mixed with black poison dripped from the point, hissing as it landed on the leaf strung ground.

The breath caught in his throat and suddenly breathing became a lot harder. He was shocked beyond thought, but something screamed at him that he couldn’t give up. His hand flew unconsciously to his knife and, whirling around, he hurled himself on the smirking Uruk that had shot him from behind.

He would kill every Orc in his reach before he despaired of the life that was now doing its best to flee his body. If he gave in now then the Uruks would find Merry before he could escape and the quest of the ring would fall into jeopardy. However, even as these thoughts brushed against the strange calm that had settled over him, more Orcs burst into the clearing.

He was on fire now, knife a blur of motion and instant death for any creature that found itself in its reach. His hand was going numb and he could feel darkness creeping into the corners of his mind, but resolve drove him on. He fell to his knees unable to stand anymore, but still slammed his blade into his enemies. “Strange,” he thought, “Boromir and I will die so similarly. I hope I earn even as half as much honour as he did.”

~

Merry pushed on, stumbling over large tree roots. He could hear terrible noises behind him. Screams of pain, terror and ferocity echoed after him and his muddled brain was unable to tell whether any of them belonged to the elf.

Shoving such thoughts out of his head, he limped on; defying the pain in every part of his body. Legolas’ last wish had been for him to survive and he would not purposefully deny him that. The sound of running feet pounding after him suddenly caught his ears and he fled, heedless of the branches that slashed his face.

The footsteps continued to come.

Glancing behind, Merry was just in time to see Uglúk hurling himself forward before he went down with a thud, the Orc pinning him to the ground.

Merry could hardly breathe from the stench and the weight that now smothered him. Its eyes were glowing with unsuppressed wrath and his voice was riddled with hate. “You and your disgusting friend have been nothing but trouble since the moment we took you! You have destined yourself to suffer the slowest and most painful methods of “questioning” that Isengard can offer. You have only made your situation worse and have killed yet another of your worthless, so-called friends.”

Merry froze. It couldn’t be true. It was inconceivable Legolas had lost to the Orcs. Uglúk was just trying to scare him and make him despair. He struggled again, but Uglúk wouldn’t let go of him. He was surprisingly strong despite the loss of his arm. Merry fought with all his might but his strength was failing and he could already feel think cords being bound about him.

“Help! Legolas, help!” He was desperate. He twisted his face round and spat vehemently up at his attacker getting him straight in the eye. “Let go of me you filthy…” He was prevented from continuing by the hard punch full in the face. His head swam and through the haze he tasted blood.

~

Uglúk grabbed his prisoner and shoved a dirty rag into its mouth and blocked any further protests that would have been likely to flow from it if not prevented. “You will pay for this, you vermin!” he growled the now incapacitated hobbit, wishing he could finish with the thing now.

He picked the tiny creature up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack. He started out in the direction of the cries of torment that still reverberated from the clearing where he had left the others to deal with that elf. He smiled evilly as a cry met his ears that definitely didn’t belong to one of his men. By the sound of things, there might not be that much left of the creature for him to deal with.


Chapter 6 - Annoyance and Horror

Pippin lay on his back, staring upwards through the canopy of leaves. The light of the dying sun played through them, gentle rays kissing the hobbit’s face.

He had lain like this many times with Merry back in the peaceful days of the Shire, usually after having eaten the day’s usual plunder. There had always been something be it apples that had just happened to be fall of the Hornblowers’ trees as they passed, or mushrooms which they had stumbled across, quite by accident of course, in Farmer Maggot’s fields.

Pippin grinned, as memories of all their hunting trips through their land came back to him. The search for the best blackberry pie in Tuckborough had been a particularly successful one and, as he recalled, he had gained at least half a stone that summer.

He felt much better now than he had immediately after coming round from his bout with the river. True, it would be sometime before his arm didn’t throb every time he tried to move it and before his breathing wasn’t a little laboured and painful, but, as Legolas said, it was nothing time wouldn’t heal.

He was feeling far more hopeful as well. It shouldn’t be long now before Legolas came back and Pippin fervently hoped that he would have Merry with him. The state his cousin would be in was hardly to be doubted. When they had last been together they had both been exhausted, dehydrated, starving and on the point of despair. He could only presume Merry’s situation had worsened.

It didn’t appear that Merry had been trying to make life easy for himself either. A little further back along the boarders of Fangorn they had found the bodies of a few Uruk-hai and the limbs of several more. Lying on the ground, in the middle of the carnage, had been a small knife Pippin had immediately recognised as the same one he had seen Merry secretly slip into his jacket before they had left Crickhollow. Undoubtedly, his stupidly brave cousin had taken the liberty upon himself to avenge Pippin’s supposed death. The poor fool of a Brandybuck! How was he to know that his Pip was still alive and as well as could be expected after a tussle with a river. How he wished he could tell him now.

He was roused from these thoughts by Legolas’ horse Arod. The animal had been grazing a short distance away, but it suddenly seemed to have taken a great interest in Pippin’s hair.

“Hoy, none of that thank you! I know my hair can’t look that amazing after the last few days, but that is no reason to eat it!” He sat up and turned to face the horse, trying to put an annoyed expression on his face, albeit not very well since a grin slipped onto his lips.

Again, Arod nudged him. The creature seemed agitated for some reason and it took hold of Pippin’s scarf gently in its mouth, apparently trying to pull him to his feet.

He scrambled up, trying to calm the horse with difficulty, given their respective sizes. “What is it, Arod? What’s the matter?”

Of course, Arod would not and could not answer. He merely continued to pull at Pippin’s scarf.

“What are you doing you mad horse? Where are you taking me? Legolas told us to wait here for him, quietly. You are not helping with either factor! He’ll be back soon with Merry and he’ll lynch me if I'm not here. STOP! Woe! For goodness sake this ridiculous, Arod!”

Considering it belonged to an elf, the horse seemed to have extraordinarily bad manners. Desperate, Pippin wriggled out of his scarf to leave it dangling from Arod’s mouth. Unperturbed, the creature continued walking due south without dropping the scarf.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Pippin hurried after the increasingly annoying horse. “Stop it, Arod, you cretinous animal! Come back!”

They continued in this fashion for some time, the horse always a few feet ahead of the running hobbit whose language was becoming less and less savoury.

Pippin stopped for a moment, hands on knees gasping for breath. He was in the middle of Fangorn, with no clue as to where they were and no guide back to where he had been other than this insane animal, which seemed to take a vindictive pleasure in taunting him. Making a metal note to suggest to Legolas later that he should get a new horse, Pippin ran on.

As they continued, the trees grew further apart and the leaves above less dense. The hobbit supposed they must be drawing close to the eaves of forest.

Suddenly Pippin tripped and fell flat on his face. Cursing, he turned to see what had caused this undignified action and quickly threw himself away in horror. A dead Uruk lay where he had been sprinting a moment before. A green feathered arrow, he recognised as Legolas’, protruded from its eye.

He looked up and saw Arod staring fixedly at something in a clearing ahead. Scrambling up, he rushed silently to where the horse was standing. He about to grab the bridle when he froze stock still, petrified as he saw what it was gazing at.

~

Legolas’ knife fell from his hand. He could feel the poison spreading though his veins, into every part of his body. A steady increase of pain was following not far behind it. The ground was covered in carnage. Dead Orcs lay tangled in the twisted positions they had fallen in. Legolas’ own clothes were soaked in their blood as well as his own.

Agony was building unbearably now. It was everywhere, snaking like a viper into every corner of his being. His face contorted into a silent scream and his arms wrapped around his chest trying to stem the bleeding. It was cold… So cold.

His muscles gave up and he fell forward; grasping his chest harder still. He lay twitching in torment, unable to govern his own body any more. He could feel his breathing slowing. He didn’t want to die. Not here, not now. He had lived for tens of thousands of years and still there was still so much to do and see. He didn’t want to leave yet. His kind never should.

~

Uglúk arrived just in time to see the elf collapse to its knees. A barbed arrow stuck though its chest and it seemed to be suffering no small degree of pain. A smirk slid across his face. He turned Merry so he could see the dying prince. A muffled scream came from the hobbit’s gagged mouth and it seemed to go limp with shock as it witnessed the elf fall forward, unable to support its own weight anymore.

All of his men lay dead, stuck full of arrows and knife wounds; it was of small importance now. They were within a day’s journey of Isengard now and all the land between them was allied to Saruman. It should be the easiest leg of this infernal mission. Plus, the fewer men who came home with him meant less he had to share the credit of the hobbit’s capture with.

“Your friend will die here alone, defeated and it will be your fault entirely. You are the cause of yet another death.” That, combined with the elf’s demise, should kill any spirit left in the hobbit.

With that, he threw Merry back over his shoulder and began to run again, heading straight towards the pinnacle of Orthanc; now so near.

~

Merry’s eyes never left Legolas. They remained fixed on the elf’s feebly twitching body; hardly noticing the blur tears made on his vision. Suddenly, they were stretched wide as a figure burst into the clearing, paled by moon and star light and somehow very ghostly and ethereal. He seemed so familiar, but Merry’s brain either couldn’t or didn’t want to place him. For a moment he caught a glimpse of the apparition’s eyes and realization shot through him.

“Pip?” The word escaped his lips in a half sob as he lost sight of the ghost of his cousin. Soon, they were out of the forest and running across the hills that lined the way to Isengard.


Chapter 7 - Help Unlooked For

The ground was covered in twisted, mangled Orc bodies. All were missing limbs and were stuck full of arrows. It was not this that halted Pippin however. Amongst the carnage lay a lighter, smaller form, drenched in both red and black blood. Starlight fell directly onto it.

Dashing forward, Pippin felt tears pricking in his eyes. It couldn’t be; it just couldn’t be. He fell sobbing to his knees by the body, his worst fear confirmed. Legolas, Elven Prince of Mirkwood lay dead in the mud, surrounded by stinking Orc carcasses. A single black arrow was wedged through him, from the small of his back to directly under the heart.

“Legolas?” His voice was choked with tears. Pippin gently laid his hand on the elf’s cheek. Cold as stone. He took one blood soaked hand in his, but again was greeted only by a deathly chill. He fell to bitter weeping. Howls of rage and grief escaped the tiny hobbit’s mouth. He begged, pleaded, screamed at Legolas’ unmoving form to get up, to live, just to breathe again. But it was in vain and his yells fell upon deaf ears that had never before missed a single breath of air. The elf didn’t respond with even the smallest flutter of an eyelash.

Everything about his posture spoke of great pain. All his muscles were tensed in apparent agony and the green eyes so full of life once were now dimmed and had been left to stare in horror at the scene before them. There was no sign of Merry anywhere and if Pippin counted correctly at least one Orc was not among the dead. The plan had failed and Pippin had now lost another friend to the same group of Uruk-hai.

He laid one hand to Legolas’ chest and the other to the pulse point on his neck. His heart leapt suddenly as he felt a dull but steady beat. Even then, though, he could feel it slowing.

Terror seized him and with tentative fingers he reached out and touched the arrow imbedded through his companion. Giving as much care as he could to not giving Legolas any extra pain, Pippin rolled the elf onto his side, snapped the fletching off the arrow and flung it into the sea of corpses that surrounded him. Gently he laid Legolas on his back again. Then, with one hand grasped around the arrow just below the head and with the other around the base, he pulled it free of the body in one slow, but steady, movement.

Taking off his own cloak, Pippin wrapped it around Legolas; trying to staunch the loss of precious blood. He looked down at the thin weapon in his hand and blanched as he saw both red blood and black poison both covering it. Throwing it after the fletching, he looked at the elf and was shocked to see that no change had come over his face; though maybe it was a good thing. If he had been conscious then no doubt he would have suffered only more pain from what Pippin had just done.

Desperately, he called out, “Arod, get over here! Arod, if you care for your master at all then you will come here now.” The horse trotted into the clearing and came to a stop next to the hobbit, whose eyes burned with a fire that had rarely taken up its residence in them. Leaping up, Pippin fumbled around in the travelling bags till he found their water.

Dropping behind Legolas’ head Pippin lifted it up onto his lap. Gently he placed the cap of the bottle on the pale lips and poured a little of the contents into Legolas’ mouth. He massaged the throat to help the water down just as he had seen Merry and Sam do for Frodo when he had been stabbed and had hardly been able to move.

Nothing happened.

Despair flooded Pippin and his tears fell onto Legolas’ face as the small amount of hope he had fled. There was nothing he could do. It was useless. He sobbed, rocking back and forth in his misery. Every now and again he would check the pulse at Legolas’ neck and each time it was harder to find. He mumbled nonsensically under his breath, talking to the elf of their journey and of their different homes, but of course Legolas heard none of it.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. It seemed almost absurd to his mind, but he was desperate and willing to try anything. “Ah El…Elbereth Githoniel, have mercy on me. Save my friends!” He knew that Frodo, Sam, Merry, Aragorn and even Legolas had turned to the Valar in times of trouble. He had never done so himself, but now was the time, if any, to do so. Pippin had heard Merry begged for Frodo’s and even his own safety before, when his cousin had thought he was asleep. He had never been brave enough to ask him about it though. When he next saw Merry he wouldn’t bother being shy about anything. Life was short and it appeared that if you didn’t live as if each day was your last you would end up regretting it. There was so much he had never had a chance to say to any of his friends who he might never see again.

How long he sat there weeping and praying Pippin could never remember, but he was brought sharply back to reality as the ground began to shake. He raised his head and looked about. He could see nothing, but the ground was undoubtedly. It seemed to tremor in a steady rhythm as if many marching feet were making the forest vibrate.

Carefully, he laid Legolas’ head back on the ground and stood up. The trembling of the ground was becoming stronger. The trees quavered and the shudders where now so large that the hobbit had difficulty keeping his feet. Something was coming. Something huge.

He stood firm and faced the direction that the noise seemed to be coming from. He could hear a deep rumbling like many voices all chanting together; though he didn’t understand the language. He half dreaded what he was about to see and half hoped against hope that it would bring help. In normal circumstances he would certainly have run, but now he needed urgent assistance and this seemed to be the only possible source at this moment. He braced himself, trying to prepare himself for what was coming. Maybe Elbereth had chosen to answer his plead in a slightly unexpected way.

Just when he thought the vibrations and noise had reached their peak he shouted at the top of his voice, trying, and very nearly succeeding, to equal the uproar around him. “Please, whoever you are, help me! I have an elf of Mirkwood with me and he is wounded. Please, I need you to help me!”

Abruptly, silence fell and the land became deathly still and quiet. The silence was almost as loud as the tumult before it. Pippin’s breath caught as he heard strange whisperings echoing through the trees. He had sealed his fate, though whether for good or ill was yet to be seen. It was horribly probable that death was about to find both hobbit and elf.

Slowly, a single set of footsteps came towards him, but they were undoubtedly made by a huge creature. Pippin still stood stubbornly, refusing to give in to his mind and legs’ desire to bolt. “Don’t trust your head, Peregrin, it’s not the best part of you,” he told himself firmly. He was sure he had heard Sam say something similar once.

Suddenly, a creature came into the clearing and faced the rather bedraggled hobbit with a puzzled expression. For a moment Pippin thought that his heart had stopped beating. His jaw dropped, his eyes goggled and he was sure he was going to faint. He had never imagined anything like this.

“You’re a… a tree!” he finished lamely. Indeed that is what it appeared to be to him, except that it had sprouted a face and limbs. It seemed so human yet so otherworldly at the same time.

He could feel his brain trying to give up entirely and abandon this ridiculous situation, but he somehow bullied it into keeping going. Could this possibly be real?

These musings were cut off as the thing spoke in a voice that did sound as if it could have been a tree’s; if tree’s had been in the habit of talking that is. “TREE!? I am no tree. I am an Ent. Hrum hoom. What do we have here? An elf you say. I like the Elves and knew many once, yet they are all sailing away over the sea. A great shame it is for the world will be the darker without them. But you are not an elf, young one. I don’t know what you are, but an elf you are certainly not. Tell me your name and that of this elf you speak of. I would not normally be nearly so hasty, but time presses and we waste valuable amounts of it in this meeting.”

Pippin’s courage almost failed him. How was he supposed to do this, to speak to a walking, talking tree when he had never had to relate to anything more unusual than the infamous Merry Brandybuck and Frodo Baggins. Pushing his cousins’ and Legolas’ faces to the front of his mind, he forced himself to speak. “I am Peregrin son of Paladin a hobbit of the Shire in the north. My companion is Legolas Greenleaf, Elven prince of Mirkwood. We have journeyed far together and have fought many battles. We were tracking Orcs across the plains, but despite all our efforts Legolas received an injury which will kill him soon unless a miracle can be done. Please will you help me? If I lose him I shall also lose a great friend along with any hope I ever had of completing my errand.”

“Hoom. Well you are in need of assistance aren’t you? You have not told me all Master Peregrin that is plain and what you were doing tracking Orcs is a mystery to me but, as I always say, ‘don’t be hasty.’ Let me see this elf of yours then.”

Pippin pointed to Legolas’ unmoving form, thanks spurting from his mouth haphazardly as the Ent stepped closer to inspect the damage. ”A miracle indeed will be needed here, but do not despair just yet, little hobbit; there may be a way to bring him back.”

Swiftly, the creature reached down and gently picked up the limp form. His hands worked deftly inspecting the elf for damage and his brow furrowed with worry. “Quickbeem, bring us a small skin of the draft we have.”

At his command, another very similar creature emerged as well; carrying a few small skins. Taking one, the Ent poured its whole content into the Elf’s mouth. Throat muscles came suddenly to life, swallowing the liquid without any help.

To Pippin’s horror, Legolas started to shake and twitch uncontrollably. The body twisted and writhed uncontrollably, as if he had gone mad, in the Ent’s hand. When the fit finally ceased the Ent turned to his companion, who he had named Quickbeem. The two talked quietly for a moment and, though he struggled vainly, Pippin could not catch a word spoken. Then, they turned to him and the first Ent spoke. “Your friend is very close to death. We may be able to recall him, but it might take some while, depending on his own will. We will take the two of you with us for the moment so that we waste no more time here.

He took hold of the hobbit around his middle and lifted him up into some of his higher branches then placed the Elf next to him. “Keep a hold on him, Peregrin, and don’t let him fall. Make him drink all of this in the next hour to rid his body of the rest of the poison. He should live if you can. He is very lucky we found you when we did.”

Pippin took the flask and with a yell from the Ent they set off. Many creatures were around them in an instant and again their voices started chanting. There were so many of them. All were obviously these Ent creatures, but they all looked very different from one another and he could see many different types: willow, birch, rowan and ones he couldn’t put names too.

The ground shook with their footsteps and the air with their voices, only now Pippin was caught in the middle of it. Their song was very powerful and terrifying. He couldn’t catch all the words, but those he did seemed to be focused around the destruction and complete annihilation of Isengard.

Hope rose in his heart. He had no idea what these creatures had against Isengard and its inhabitants, but he hardly cared. They seemed very capable of doing exactly what they sung of and maybe once he had seen to Legolas, and the Ents were done with their demolition, he could persuade them to help him rescue Merry.

He turned his attention to his friend and was struck by the change that had come over him. No sign of injury seemed to be upon him. The hole in his chest had mysteriously healed itself and even gashes that had littered the elf’s face a minute ago had vanished. The rise and fall of his chest was still laboured and shallow, but it was an improvement from no movement at all.

Pippin glanced first at Legolas, then at the water bottle before immediately opening it and pouring a large portion of it into his friend’s mouth. Again, it was accepted, though Legolas showed no signs of waking. Even his skin was now beginning to retain some the glow it used to have especially when in places like Lothlorien and Rivendale.

“Hold on, Merry,” Pippin thought silently not even wanting to think of what his cousin might be suffering at that very moment. “I’m coming for you and when I get there, with this lot, Saruman will wish he had never heard of hobbits or rings. Please don’t give in yet.”


Chapter 8 - Your Mind is a Greater Prison than any of Stone and Iron

Never, even in his darkest nightmare, had Merry been so terrified. Everything was black, darker than night without a single star. Pain was in every fibre of his body. Aching and screaming agonies filled him so that even thought of moving was impossible. Breathing was challenge enough.

From what he could tell, with the use of his bound hands, he was in a tiny cell. He couldn’t have sat up straight even if his muscles had allowed it for the height ceiling would not have and he had to bend his knees to fit in at all. His fingers couldn’t even find a crack in the walls that would have indicated a door; though he knew there must be one.

Merry simply lay shivering, crumbled in the same position he had landed in when they had thrown him into this “room.” He was becoming claustrophobic and he desperately needed to get out, just to see some light; just to remind himself that there was a world beyond this prison. Damp, stinking air surrounded him and clouded his mind.

Nothing had been left to him. He had been brought into Isengard a few hours back, as the sun was setting blood red in the west. Merry tried desperately to stop the thought that told him it was the last sight of the sun he would ever see. Uglúk had left him with a group of about ten large Uruk-hai and had told them to have their fun with him; without making him useless to “the boss.” He had then gone to find Saruman, leaving Merry to endure one of the worst hours of his life so far. His mind shrank away from that memory, though he doubted he would ever truly forget it. Anguish and humiliation hung around it like a raw wound straight through his soul.

Never once, though, did the thought cross his mind that he did not deserve all this pain. He had been the unwanted baggage that had refused to leave the fellowship when all he had ever done was to slow them up time and time again. Only five remained now of that fellowship and even that would not last long. He had watched Boromir die, though he doubted all the reasonable arguments in the world could have stopped the steward’s son fighting that day. He hadn’t even managed to save either of his cousins from extreme pain. Pippin was dead because he hadn’t looked after him as he should and Frodo was on his way to certain death at the summit of Orodruin. His latest offence was to have been the cause of the bloody massacre of Legolas Greenleaf. The elf had left his home and all those he loved for Frodo’s sake. He had then left battles and friends to come and rescue him and Pippin. “And how,” Merry asked himself, “have I repaid him? By not only failing to escape, but also causing the elf’s death when time itself had dared not touched his race. For that he deserved all this pain and all that he was doomed to suffer in the coming hours.

The realisation that only death and agony would find him was not what worried Merry, for he had resigned himself to it long ago and had brought it on himself by his own foolishness. What petrified him; beyond all else, was what could come out of his mouth before death mercifully enveloped him. He would betray everything he loved, a piece at a time, by having everything he knew of the ring and its whereabouts stripped from him. He knew everyone fell to torture in the end and he was sure Saruman was on of those who would never stop the pain until he found the very last scrap of information he wanted.

Even death had lost any sweetness it had once held; in his mind. Once he reached the other side he would have to face Pippin and Legolas; maybe even Frodo and Sam. How would he ever manage to look at any of them again without feeling crushing shame and their deepest loathing? They would hate him, for even the forgiveness of even Elves, of even Frodo, could only stretch so far and would hold no place for a betrayer like him.

However, he was beginning to doubt his beliefs about the afterlife now. He had always believed Bilbo, who said that when someone dies they go to a place the living cannot reach, where every day is like the first day of spring and that no sadness can touch for all eternity. Gandalf too had had a similar theory. Memories floated back unbidden, but inescapable.

~

He sat in his bedroom staring at the wall blankly. His mind was numb, frozen in the same shocked state it had been locked in for the past few hours. Silent tears streamed down Merry’s face.

He had been called into his father’s study earlier that day and had been given the news of his grandfather Rory’s death. The two had been very close, almost as much as Bilbo and Frodo. Something in Merry’s mischievous, cheerful nature had always appealed to Rory, reminding him of himself in his youth. Merry, in turn, had always looked up to his grandfather as almost a second father figure, considering his own excellent one was always busy with business.

He didn’t want to stay in Brandy Hall as the memories his grandfather pushed in on him there. He fled the hall, feeling that he might be able to escape a little of the pain that way, and headed straight to the hobbit who knew him better than any other.

When he arrived at Bag End the sun was just starting to peek over the crest of the hill though not even the earliest risers were showing any sign of stirring yet. He had raised his fist to knock on the bright green door, when it was suddenly flung open and Gandalf had come marching out of it; almost bowling the small hobbit over.

Before Merry had even opened his mouth in exclamation or apology Gandalf noticed his tearstained face and bloodshot eyes. He was ushered into the kitchen where he was made to drink extraordinarily sweet tea by his concerned, bleary eyed cousin. After Frodo had forced at lease three mugs down Merry he had made him sit in an armchair in front of the fire before letting the smaller hobbit even give a reason for his unexpected arrival. Merry loved him for it. Frodo knew he was not the sort to appear in such a state over something unimportant.

When Merry told them of his loss Frodo had wrapped him in his arms and had allowed his younger cousin to cry himself out; asking no questions. Merry knew Frodo was trying to hide his own grief, he and Rory had been close friends, but he had felt moisture on his shoulder.

“They think he had a stroke. He was just there one minute, gone the next. I know there are worse ways to go and that I couldn’t hold onto him forever, it’s… it’s just I didn’t think it would end this way.” Merry’s voice was flat. He was drained and strangely empty. Nothing seemed real.

“The end?” Both hobbits turned to face Gandalf who was smiling sadly. “No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.” The wizard’s voice was somehow distant and dreamy as if recalling a pleasant, half forgotten memory from long ago.

“What? Gandalf? See what?” Merry stared hopefully, desperate to hear more. A strange expression came over Frodo’s face too like he was trying to remember something long forgotten or dreamed about.

“White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

“Well that’s not so bad.” A nervous grin creased the corners of Merry’s lips.

“No it’s not” Gandalf gave them one last look then turned and left the hole. He was not seen in the Shire again for many years and when he did return Merry had formed his conspiracy and had posted a spy on Frodo’s doorstep, or rather his garden.

~

After that Merry had never been able to grudge his grandfather his passing and the thought that those who died went to the land Gandalf had spoken of was all that had kept him going when Boromir and the wizard had died. It had been his only comfort that at least Pippin and Legolas would find joy and peace in death, but now he wasn’t so sure.

The ghostly figure he had seen running to Legolas’ body had been Pippin; no two ways about it. He would have known him anywhere, for grief had not made him so incapable of intelligent thought, but it was also certain that Pippin was dead. No-one could have survived those rapids let alone a small, bound hobbit who’d only got wet in the bath; and even then none to regularly.

The thought that Pippin was still held to this pain-ridden earth, still suffering as a direct result of his folly was unbearable, but his brain failed to find any other solution. His little Pippin: a ghost. How could this be true? How could he have caused so much pain, so inadvertently? “I am so sorry, Pip,” he would have wept but he had no more tears left to spill. “I would do anything to bring you back, anything to stop your suffering. I would die for you, if it meant you could live. Please believe me Pippin, if you can hear me, I never meant any of this to happen. I never meant to hurt you.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard a voice in his head, “Hold on, Merry, I am coming for you and when I get there with this lot Saruman will wish he had never heard of hobbits or rings. Please don’t give in yet.”

Merry was shocked beyond words. That voice had been Pippin’s but he had never heard it so strong. Maybe he was going mad; he hadn’t drunk or eaten for so long he could hardly remember the feel of water in his mouth. He didn’t understand what the voice meant and he could not even begin to guess what “this lot” was. He must be losing his grip on reality.

Despite all reasonable objections he couldn’t lose his impression that this was not of his own imagination playing a cruel joke on him. Something was in motion and if Pippin’s voice was anything to go by he had a plan that he was confident in.

None of it made sense, but as he lay, awaiting torture and hearing the shuffling footsteps of an approaching Orc, he swore by all that he loved and longed for that he would not say anything to Saruman. The roof above him vanished and he shielded his eyes against the sickly light that streamed in. The leering face of an Uruk-hai loomed above him. He wouldn’t even scream.


Chapter 9 - Saruman of Many Colours

He was dragged down the black corridor, every fibre of his body screaming out in protest. Walls, floor and ceiling were made of a stone as dark as night and as smooth as a river worn pebble. Many doors branched off leading to rooms full of papers, books and strange instruments which Merry couldn’t, nor wanted to, guess the use of. He desperately tried to use his legs so that the pain would be lessened and to try and prove his determination, but they would simply not support him and left him to collapse back to the ground exhausted by the effort.

Finally, they came to a huge door which barred their way. The Uruk raised its fist and knocked before entering. Even as he was being hauled along, Merry wondered at how unnatural it look for an Orc to show any kind of politeness. Saruman must be one to be feared for these creatures to show him manners such as these. The hinges swung open silently and Merry was dumped just beyond them. The Orc left, closing the door behind it.

Slowly, painfully Merry raised his head, to take stock of his surroundings. The room was made of the same black stone as the rest of the tower. Looking up, he could make out no ceiling no matter how much he strained his eyes. In the centre of the floor was a pedestal with a black orb atop it. Something about the ball grasped and held his attention steadily. He was so entranced by its perfect roundness and the light that seemed to twist in and out of clouds deep inside of it that he momentarily almost forgot his plight.

“The Palantír of Orthanc sees far. It has shown many things to me that I would not have one so innocent as you to pay witness to.”

Merry tore his gaze from the orb and locked it into an old, wizened face. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself almost crying out in shock. On the opposite side of the room, in a colossal throne, sat a wizard so similar to Gandalf in appearance it was disconcerting. True, Saruman was dressed all in white and wore no hat, but something about the voice and lined face implied a family connection between the two. He had heard Gandalf say that they looked a little similar, but he had not been prepared for this. They were so alike and unalike at the same time.

“I have seen the lands of Middle-earth torn apart by Sauron’s Orcs; the Shire laid to waste by half men corrupted by the Dark Lord. The world of men, hobbits, elves and dwarves all destroyed by the return of the Necromancer. All of these things will surely happen if the enemy regains the Ring.” The wizard’s words stung Merry to the core. He fought to keep his face empty of any emotion, but it was hard when confusion pressed in so heavily on him. “Will you not help me prevent such things from happening? Will you not tell me where the Ring lies hidden? I will provide such a sanctuary that Sauron shall never discover or penetrate.” Saruman’s voice was silkily persuasive and very pleasant to listen to. To his horror Merry felt a rising fondness for the voice and realised he was starting to think that all it said seemed wise and sensible. It took enormous strength of will to squash such feelings and to keep in the front of his mind all the pain he had been caused by the man.

He did not move or speak in answer but concentrated on desperately keeping the fear out of his eyes that he felt building in his heart. The wizard’s voice alone was deadly and he would have to keep his guard up to resist it.

“Come, my friend, you must tell me. You must see that it is the only way to keep the world from darkness. Reveal its whereabouts to me and we shall help rebuild this age to its former glory. I say we for we it must be. Your people shall be richly rewarded too. The Shire shall be extended west to the Grey Havens and south thirty leagues. Eriador itself shall be yours to govern and control. My friend, you must help me.”

Swallowing hard, Merry fought down all thoughts of agreement that were still trying to capture his mind. Anger was also growing and he could not hold back his own words any longer. “Saruman, your attempts at negotiation are futile and your false hand of friendship is sickening. Thanks to your witchcraft I have lost two friends as close as brothers to me, I have gone to the point of death and back again, I have been severely beaten by your own Orcs and am still starved and thirsty. The Shire does not need extending and nor do I wish for responsibility such as the rule of Eriador would bring; so do not try arguments of that nature either. As for you wanting to rebuild the world with the Ring? Ha!! I am not a simpleton. Even I, the least important creature on earth, know you are sworn to Sauron’s allegiance and seek only to trick knowledge, I do not posses, from me for your own devices. Your words stand on their head so that help means ruin and saving means slaying!”

Peace! Be silent!” For an instant Saruman’s cloak of benevolence slipped and fury burned in his dark eyes. Quickly, though, he pulled himself together and returned to his act, his face as calm as if no anger had ever crossed it. “Your ears have been subject to the poisons of Gandalf Stormcrow I see. You are young and brave master Halfling, but you have been deceived. I am not an ally of Sauron, but a friend of the free peoples of Middle-earth. I wish only to help…”

“Shut up! Shut up! You are a liar and a coward Saruman of Many Colours. Like white light your allegiances have been long split and you have committed double treachery to both the peoples of Middle-earth you claim to support and the dark tower. I know all this as fact and not as a pilgrims tale, so do not waste my time further by repeating lies.”

“Such big sentences for one so small and insignificant! You know not of what you speak hobbit and nothing but ignorance escapes your mouth.” Anger was now irrepressible in Saruman’s features.

“In the same way, nothing but false promises and treachery escapes yours!” Merry’s will was set and only death would break it. He would resist this man to his last breath.

“You leave me no choice. I have offered you a hand of friendship and you have spat at it. If you will not give me your assistance then I must force it from you. You leave me no other choice.”

At these words Merry felt something touch the corners of his mind and instantly tensed, pushing it away. The force of the resistance that he met was so phenomenal it sent him flying backward. He writhed in agony. Saruman was trying to break into his mind, shoving and slashing at his bruised brain so ferociously that he could hardly stay conscience. He thought his head would explode with the pain, but he fought back with all his might.

Suddenly, the pain released him and he lay panting on the floor staring up at the invisible ceiling. Saruman still sat in his chair, but a look of vindictive pleasure creased his face. “Didn’t you like that, young one? Perhaps a little more will help you come to your senses.”

This time the force was so great Merry was slammed against the wall and he realised Saruman had only been playing with him before. His mouth stretched in a silent scream and he could feel the wizard trying to hack into his thought. He still resisted, still pushed back with all his strength. Words echoed in his head “My Orcs have gone to war and will destroy all your friends at Helm’s Deep. Resistance is futile. Give up now and tell me what I want to know. You know that you cannot fight for long. Give up and save yourself this pain.”

“NO!” He flung the yell out of his mouth. Pain ceased again and he was dropped to the floor. Merry closed his eyes trying to focus all his energy on reinforcing his mind. He push Legolas and Pippin to the front of his mind and pushed Frodo to the back so that if he did fail Saruman would take longer to find that thought.

Even as the next wave of anguish smashed into him he knew he could not keep up this fight forever. He was drained and weaker than he had ever been before in his life. A few more minutes of this and he would probably die of exhaustion anyway. No he could not die. Not yet. Pippin had said he was coming and his cousin had never broken a promise in his life. He would not let a little thing like death stand in his way now. So, even as he thrashed about on the hard stone floor, whacking his own head inadvertently onto the wall, Merry clung to hope.

Pain came again and again and each time the gap became smaller and smaller. Merry was losing. He was fading, his mind almost out of his own control, but his stubborn hobbitness deep down refused to give up. The torture and he were now one. He could no longer find a single part of his body that was not plagued by bone-shattering agony. “Pippin, please hurry!!” The ear piercing scream flew from him, echoing off all the walls. Saruman’s evil laughter filled him and he let go.

~

Outside the walls of Orthanc the plea for help reached the ears of every Ent and hobbit; each of them quivering with anticipation for battle. As one they moved forward, with a cry to wake the dead, and the destruction of Isengard began.


Chapter 10 - Fury Roused

“For Fangorn!”

The deep throated cry erupted all around the walls of Isengard. Stone work, that had stood for years uncounted, quaked violently and shattered into fragments. Orcs that had not marched to the battle of Helm’s Deep stopped their labours and reached for weapons that lay near. Fear gripped every one of their foul black hearts as the supposedly indestructible stronghold of Isengard shook to its foundations.

Then the walls exploded under the pressure of many hands. Hundreds of Ents came, tearing vast chunks out of structures that had never been breached before; doing with their bare hands what whole armies had failed to do. They hurled giant boulders of stone at the tower and sent them rolling across the plain of Saruman’s treachery. Creatures below, who had been wrought and corrupted by darkness, were crushed before they knew they were under attack.

The suddenness and volume of the assault below was enough to shake the dead in their grazes and in a room high above Merry felt Saruman’s mind jerk away from his; their own battle haulted temporarily.

He fell back, gasping for air. That had been close, too close. Had they been like that, locked in a private war, a second longer the wizard would have had his mind open before him and to read like an open book.

“Hold him!” barked Saruman as he turned away from his prisoner and strode towards a window.

Merry tried to raise his aching body up on his elbows, but a weight on his neck crushed him back to the ground. Even through his blurred vision he could make out Uglúk’s smirking features. “We all get what we deserve,” he hissed into the hobbit’s ear. “You will die here slowly and despairing, whereas I will be promoted to captain and given my own army. No more pitiful errands for Uglúk of the White Hand.” His breath stank of death and decay.

Outside, the air growled like thunder and Orthanc vibrated under its influence. It sounded as if every stone for miles was being torn from the one next to it, then launched against the smooth, black fortress.

“You!” Saruman wield around, his eyes burning with a crazed fire. He bore down on the hobbit who, twisting as hard as he might, could not escape the Orc’s iron clawed grip. A look malicious pleasure flashed across Uglúk’s face as he saw the creature that had caused him so much trouble, even an arm, squirming in terror.

However, his revelries didn’t last long as his master whacked the Uruk across the back with his staff. Uglúk grunted in pain and Merry was suddenly able to breathe again as the Orc rolled away from him.

“You said you left none alive! You said none saw you or knew that you lived; save this runt.” Saruman’s fury burned out of him and Merry pulled himself painfully away from the wizard’s reach.

“Yes I did, my lord, and I spoke the truth. We killed the man defending them at Rauros. The horse boys knew of no captives and thought all of us dead. I let another Halfling drown for he was of no use. He was weak and would have died before he got here anyway. An elf attacked us in Fangorn and killed all the remainders of my troop. He was disposed of though by a poisoned arrow and his body is rotting now in the dead leaves of the forest. No others saw us and no others knew we belonged to Isengard.” The Orc was terrified and Merry was given a few precious moments in which to delight in seeing his long tormentor so powerless.

“Then how do you explain this?!”

Uglúk leapt to his feet and dashed to the window Saruman kicked him towards. Cursing in his own tongue he leaned further out to get a better view at whatever was happening below.

Unexpectedly, a strangled cry escaped the Orc’s throat as something flashed briefly into sight. Uglúk flopped backwards, dead before he hit the floor. A ruby hilted dagger was lodged between the staring, slit eyes. Merry stared at it incredulously. It was his. The same dagger he had been given by his grandfather Rory in his will. The same knife he had used to cut down the Orcs who had caused Pippin’s death.

What was happening? What strange twist had fate taken out there in the world?

Saruman now turned his madness in the hobbit’s direction once more. Far away, like an echo out of a dream, a voice floated to his ears. “And that’s for my Merry!”

~

Overhead stars winked through swaying branches. He drew in a deep breath, rejoicing in the ability to do so. Memory eluded him presently and he knew nothing of his surroundings, but at the moment he did not care for he knew somehow he had been blessed and given a second chance. “A second chance at what?” he wondered.

He was regaining his hearing. He was now becoming aware of shouting and the sound of thunder. Breathing still hurt a little and though he couldn’t recall why he was aware that there had to be an extremely good reason. Slowly he tried to move his fingers and to his surprise they obeyed without much of the pain that he had expected. The bark that he lay on and the view above made him think of Lothlorien. Lothlorien! He knew the name and, though he struggled vainly, he couldn’t bring back the memory of it or why he knew of it.

Gently, Legolas raised himself up, using the branch above to help. The sight that met his elven eyes made him gape in astonishment and he reeled in confusion. Ahead of him was a huge black tower. Orthanc! Orcs ran yelling in terror and pain as they where crushed. It was the creatures that did the destroying that truly astonished him. “Onodrim!” he gasped slipping into his own tongue momentarily.

Pippin. The name leapt suddenly to mind. Where was he? For some reason he was sure that the hobbit should be there and that he must have had a hand in the chain of events that had led him here. He cast about searching for his small friend, a few memories coming back to him. Glancing up caused his breath to catch in his throat. All his contact with hobbits could not have prepared him for this.

~

Pippin stood on Treebeard’s top branch, fighting gravities attempts at making him fall. Biting his tongue, he focused on the Uruk that was now leaning out of a high window above him. Drawing the dagger back over his shoulder, he took careful aim, using all his fury to fuel his strength, then threw in one smooth motion. Merry’s ruby hilted dagger flew from his hand and soared through the air, somersaulting a high arch over the raging battle.

Pippin held his breath and his knuckles where white, as his nails dug into his palms. But the dagger was well aimed and it flew true, sinking deep into Uglúk’s unprotected forehead. Pippin yelped in triumph and had to very quickly sit down to avoid falling of his high perch completely. “And that’s for my Merry!” he screamed at the now vacant window, adrenalin pumping through his veins.

“Good shot, Pip!”

Pippin spun around and, to his delight, he saw Legolas perched just behind him. He leapt at his friend and pulled him into a tight embrace. Burying his face in the Elf’s chest he started to sob uncontrollably, as emotions he had tried to bottle up came flowing out of him.

~
Legolas was more than a little perplexed, but was too concerned for Pippin to ask the thousands of questions he had.

“You stupid, stupid elf!”

Legolas decided to let that one go. Pippin was just upset; though he was no closer to finding out why.

“Are you alright? You’ve had me worried sick! You nearly got yourself killed! If it weren’t for the Ents…”

“What? Killed?!” Now Legolas was truly confused.

“Yes, killed! I found you in a clearing in Fangorn more than half dead.”

“Fangorn?! I have never been to that forest!”

“Don’t you remember anything?” Pippin asked slowly, looking at the Elf as if seeing him for the first time.

Legolas closed his eyes trying to focus his aching brain. “I remember going down the river Anduin and stopping a little way past the Argonath and just before Rauros Falls. Frodo had gone for a walk to think of where he would go next.”

Pippin gaped in unconcealed astonishment. “That was over a week ago!” Was that all? It seemed like years ago that they had all sat together waiting for Frodo to return. That had been the last time he had seen Frodo. “I can’t tell you everything now, but at the moment we are fighting at Isengard, as I'm sure you realised, and for Merry.”

It hit Legolas like a tidal wave. Memory surged back as the word “Merry” left Pippin’s mouth. He clenched his eyes shut as memories of pain, despair and failure piled in; crushing him. “I didn’t manage to save Merry. I sent him in your direction, but he was captured again and I was overpowered. I saw him being carried away by the leader of the Uruks just before it all went black. I am so sorry, Pippin! I will not even ask your forgiveness for such a failing.”

Now it was Pippin’s turn to be shocked. “My friend, you have done absolutely everything in your power to try and save Merry. You could have done no more and now you have come back there is no reason why we should not continue in our mission. I will not grant you my forgiveness purely on the grounds that there is nothing to forgive.”

Legolas smiled, amused by the hobbit’s seeming inability to be negative and remembering why it was that all four of the hobbits had grown so dear to him in the past few months. “I still feel I owe you something for breaking my promise to stay safe to you. Is there anything I can do?”

Pippin was about to protest, when a thought struck him and he grinned evilly. “You can continue to help me get Merry back…”

“Of course!”

“Don’t interrupt, Legolas. It’s not polite. …AND you must try some pipeweed at the next possible opportunity we get. All your protests against it are ill founded if you have not tried it.”

The elf stuttered incomprehensively, “Why you scheming, little…” was all he managed.

Pippin nearly fell off his branch he was laughing so hard. “Promises, promises,” he choked.

At last, Legolas had to laugh too, “I suppose I had that one coming. Alright, I will try your pipeweed, Master Halfling, but I never would have suspected such devices from one as kind and innocent as you.”

“Never underestimate hobbits my friend or you will be taught to regret it.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Legolas. “Where’s Arod?” he asked. “Éomer will not be best pleased if I have lost him. I thought I left him with you.”

You did, and you have your still have your life thanks partly to the infuriating creature. The pain in the neck is outside the walls.” Pippin frowned then turned to Legolas in mock annoyance. “That horse dragged me on a most undignified goose chase half way across that forsaken forest. True, it saved your life, but still I would have expected some manner of politeness in an Elven beast.”

Laughing at the mental images conjuring before his eyes of what the scene must have looked like, Legolas replied grinning, “I have always believed that, in cases such as this one, good manners are inexcusable!”

“Release the river!” The cry rang around the destroyed stone circle. The friendly banter between hobbit and elf silenced as two pairs of green eyes raised themselves to the massive dam at the mountainside. Two Ents could be seen moving up there then, suddenly, a torrent of water gushed out from broken wooden barriers. The Isen had been unleashed and now it cascaded down into Isengard faster than a galloping horse. “Hold on my friends,” shouted Treebeard above the noise as roll upon roll of water charged towards them.

Grabbing onto a branch, Pippin hung on for dear life as the full force of the water hit Treebeard around the middle; with enough force to topple a house. But the Ent stayed standing and continued to push forward.

A small island still protruded from the water and atop it stood an Orc staring out at the destruction of his master’s work. Legolas and Pippin caught sight of the creature at the same moment, gave each other a quick glance, then both leapt into action. Pippin snatched a stone from his pocket with nimble fingers as Legolas loaded his bow; surprised at how easy it was, considering what he had been through. With a flick of his wrist, the hobbit sent the stone skipping and skimming across the surface of the water as, a short way behind, an arrow whistled in hot pursuit.

The owners of the missiles sat with baited breath, silently urging their missile to go faster. The Orc turned, saw the approaching arrow and threw itself to the ground, just avoiding it. However, as it straightened, smugness spread all over his deformed face, the stone slammed into his forehead. He was dead before the water engulfed him.

~

“I was going to spare you this,” spat Saruman in Merry’s direction. “I was going to save you from being questioned by the Dark Lord himself and all the slow torment that that would bring in its train, but now you have sealed your final doom.”

Merry froze, dragging his eyes away from the dagger. The Dark Lord. Sauron! If he was taken to Barad-dûr then his situation would become worse than he had ever dared to imagine. He would be torn apart and everything he knew would be squeezed out of him and more. This could not be!

Saruman strode to the Palantír, placed one hand on top of it and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Merry stared, petrified by fear. A lidless eye, wreathed in flame appeared in the dark orb. It looked back and forth as if searching for something and he knew, with a certainty he could not deny, that the Ring and those who knew of its whereabouts where the soul purpose of its hunt. The thought chilled him to the bone.

The wizard stood like this for less than a minute, but to Merry, it seemed days. When he turned back to the hobbit his voice was ice. “A Nazgul is on its way, Halfling. I offered you every way out, but your blinded foolishness will not be impressed upon. I will though, in my mercy, give you one last chance to tell me where the Ring is hidden. Either tell me now, or tell it to the Dark Lord himself and see the world fall to darkness about you!”

Sauron. He was going to be taken to the Eye itself. How would he survive? His own voice spoke quietly at the back of his head. “I won’t, but neither am I about to give up before I am totally beaten. Telling Saruman now or Sauron later will make no difference to the final out come, but every minute I can buy Frodo brings him closer to Mount Doom and to victory.”

He raised his eyes to meet the wizard’s, both pairs burning with hatred. He spat in Saruman’s face and sealed his death. “I will never tell you or your puppet master anything! It is you who are the fool, for you forsook the title “wise” the moment you threw your lot in with Sauron.”


Chapter 11 - The Dealings of Wizards

** “Losing your innocence is like losing a limb. You can still live - you can move around. But you will never dance again, not like you once did. You will never again run across a meadow without a shadow drifting over your heart. They have crippled me and for that, I too will cripple them." **


5th March 3019 of the 3rd Age

Pippin allowed a wheel of smoke to float from his lips and into the sky above him. He watched as it drifted across the desolate landscape around him: a little piece of the Shire in a graveyard of evil. The smoke tasted like ash in his mouth and he could not possibly have enjoyed it, had the smell of pipeweed not reminded him strongly of Merry. He breathed it in deeply: trying to make the rich scent conjure memories of happier times with his cousin before his eyes.

Isengard lay in drowned destruction all around his little rocky haven, on top of an old guard house. The filth of Saruman was finally washing away and he would have rejoiced, as the Ents did at their victory, but he could not. He simply could not bring himself to feel happy while his beloved cousin was still hostage to the tower. All seemed calm at the moment, but he knew it was a trick. Merry would not be won back without more fighting; and that could not take place until Gandalf and Aragorn joined them.

He glanced behind him to see Legolas balanced a little above mending and sharpening his arrows. Every now and again, the Elf would scan the outer walls for any sign of their friends, but so far none had been spotted since Gandalf’s unexpected visit two nights before.

Pippin was growing impatient. This may very well be the eye of the storm, but he wished it would pass quicker. All the time he was helpless to do anything except wait down here, Merry was in constant agony up there. The storm must break soon or Merry and all hope for Frodo would be lost. He had heard his cousin’s cry for help on the eve of battle and even then he had sounded desperate. Now two days on Pippin shuddered to think what he must be enduring. Why couldn’t Gandalf hurry up? The fate of the world, not just his cousin, was hanging in the balance.

“What news of the tower, my friends?”

Both Legolas and Pippin wheeled round to face the owner of the voice. “Gandalf! At last!” Pippin went slipping and sliding down the pile of rubble and practically threw himself into Aragorn’s arms; who had dismounted to greet the hobbit. He left the formalities of greeting the king to Legolas. He should know what he was doing, being a prince himself.

“You’re looking considerably better, if a little pale, than when I last saw you, Peregrin,” commented the ranger looking his friend up and down; then lowering his voice for only Pippin to hear he asked, “How does Merry do?”

Pippin chocked on his words, “I don’t know, Strider. We have heard nothing from the tower for two days now.” Aragorn increased his pressure on the hobbit’s shoulder.

What happened to you, Master Elf,” inquired Gimli, none too politely, as he appeared at Pippin’s other side. “What battles have you been in? I’ll wager they were not so tough, nor so grand, as ours.”

Legolas glanced down at his chest. He presently wore no shirt as his had been destroyed beyond repair and his bag had been left behind in Fangorn by a hobbit who had had many other things on his mind. A bandage was wrapped around his mid-section, hiding the remnants of his rather extensive wounds which the Ent-drafts had not fully healed. “I’ll take that wager but it’s a long story, Master Dwarf,” replied the Elf, with the same half cheek in his voice as Gimli’s had had. A small smile played across his face as he spotted his friend. “One we do not have time for at the moment as far more pressing matters await our immediate attention.”

The sortie rode towards Orthanc, now accompanied by Pippin and Legolas atop Arod, who had trotted into Isengard as soon as the waters had receded enough to allow it; Pippin’s scarf still clenched in his mouth. He had received many dirty looks from the hobbit for the teeth marks in it.

They stopped below the high balcony. “May Saruman of Many Colours, as he has named himself, come forth and face those he has wilfully and purposefully harmed!”

For a minute Gandalf’s cry hung in the air and only a deathly silence answered it. Pippin’s hand twisted violently in his lap, terrified that no reply at all would be forth coming. One of Legolas’ comparatively bigger hands reached down and took both his in a comforting grip. He squeezed back, shivering with fear and making the Elf wince a little as his knuckles turned white. He had to be strong now and maintain his shaky grasp on his composure, if only for Merry.

~

Far above Merry heard the cry, though it hardly registered in his thoughts. Everything seemed distant and unattached to him, as if happening to another. His world was pain, both mental and physical, and that was all. He clung to any thoughts and memories that he still possessed jealously. He had built a wall around them all, both fair and foul; they were all that remained to him now and none would take them from him.

He had given Saruman all his knowledge, memories and emotions, his childhood, his fears and his moments of greatest weakness. He had given his entire self, save anything that had the remotest connection to the Ring or its bearer. Those he had locked far away in himself, so that even he could hardly remember them.

Saruman, sensing what he had been doing, had not been gentle and had used methods on him that he shrank to remember. However, he clung to his agony; it was real, familiar and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he deserved it.

Dimly, he was aware of being dragged down a corridor and of raised voices near at hand. He paid it all little heed. He had begun to hallucinate during the last few days and he no longer trusted anything his senses told him. He would not be taunted by false hopes any longer as it didn’t matter what happened anymore. A Nazgul was on its way to take him to Barad-dûr and once there he would not be able to hold out long. What scared him the most: was how little he cared anymore. The whole affair was doomed to failure anyway.

Suddenly, a harsh, but refreshing wind him in the face, and ran tendrils or his blood-matted hair. Slowly, he opened his tired eyes to brilliant sunlight that streamed through open doors before him. He blinked in surprise. He had not dared to hope he would see the light of day again and now here is was blinding and filling his senses. What was going on? Had the Nazgul come already? Not yet surely. Oh please, not yet!

His eyes slowly grew accustomed to the light and he began to take note of the debate taking place in front of him. Saruman stood out on a balcony and conversed with someone far below who was out of Merry’s line of vision. The convocation sounded not too dissimilar to the one he had had with the wizard only a few days previously.

“Tell me the whereabouts of the Ring and I will reward you all heavily. I will give my aid in this war and shall return your hobbit to you, though he has brought troubles upon his own head that I could not prevent. Merely give me information of who bears the Ring and great power shall be given to each of you beyond your imagining. I offer you much, considering you have destroyed my armies and my home as well as insult me so severely.” Saruman’s voice was oily and persuasive; it reminded Merry of a snake. However, under this tone ran a note of exhaustion and desperation; the final attempt at negotiations of a cornered man.

From below came another voice. It sounded calm, confident and to Merry slightly familiar. “This is much to ask and your terms are questionable. You have no aid to give that can now have any sway on the future; not now all your foul army is destroyed. How do we know you will give anyone present here any more power than they are destined to gain? You have done nothing to win our trust, that would even tempt us to give you any information we may possess. Besides, how do we know that your prisoner is still alive. We shall need proof of that at least before we put even a thought to the possibility of consenting with this bargain.”

Growling, Saruman turned to face Merry. “Bring the vermin forth, Grima,” he hissed venomously. Merry was dragged further forwards out onto the balcony and he yelped as he was picked up by the scruff of the neck and was dangled over its edge. A scream tore from his aching, parched throat as he thrashed about wildly, terrified by the distance below him. A sharp blow stuck him across the back of the head. “Keep still, fool, or do you want the worm to drop you?”

He went as limp as a wet rag and merely stared at the land below him. It wasn’t the clout to his head that froze him so; it was the people below. Even from this distance he could clearly make out Aragorn standing proudly beside Gandalf. Gandalf?! But he was dead! It couldn’t be him; could it? His gaze moved across to Gimli who stood at Gandalf’s other side. He could not believe they were all here when he had thought them leagues away with Frodo. However, his jaw dropped as he made out who sat astride a horse next to the dwarf. Legolas gazed up at him and almost smiled sadly.

His heart leapt for joy, despite his situation. He had been so sure the Elf was lying dead in Fangorn forest. What miracle had brought him back? A bandage circled his chest, but apart from that he appeared to be in the bloom of health. It was the figure in front of the Elf, though, that brought words to his mouth, which had not formed coherent words in days. “Pippin?!” It was a strangled whisper, but it brought tears flowing from his eyes; probably the last moisture left in him. His cousin sat far below starring in terror up at him. He drank in the sight of him, rejoicing in every familiar feature of him. He must be dreaming. This couldn’t be true! He would not let his hopes be raised, only to be dashed yet again.

“Here is your friend, Mithrandir,” cried Saruman, “and as you can see he lives still. Now tell me what I want to know or I will see to it that his remaining days are spent in the worst possible agony my arts can contrive.”

No one below answered. The sight of Merry’s situation seemed to have paralyzed them all. A tear rolled down Pippin’s cheek, though his clear green eyes never left his cousins. Merry shook his head slightly, silently begging them all not to say anything. If this was a dream then it was a nightmare. He had fought so long to keep the knowledge of Frodo from Saruman. He was insignificant to the grand scheme of things. “Please don’t let them say anything!” he pleaded silently. “Please I'm not important enough.”

Maybe, there was only one way out of this. His friends might betray all their knowledge to save him and he refused to put them through that or to have that on his head. Even if they didn’t, a Nazgul would be here soon and, once it had him, it would only be a matter of time before he told all he knew. Either way Frodo would be found and killed all because of him. If he was no longer around, then none of this would be at risk.

He thought of the hurt he would do to Pippin, if he did as he now planned, and almost wept anew. On the other hand, before they had left the Shire or even told Frodo of their conspiracy, he and Pip had sworn to each other that they would sacrifice everything to see Frodo as safely as was possible to whatever doom he was called. It had gone unsaid, but they had both known that they included each other in the oath. If he could give him this chance then Frodo would be able to comfort his Pippin when he returned from Mordor. It was the only way.

Glancing off to the east he saw, to his horror, a large winged creature silhouetted against the horizon. The Nazgul had come and so had his time. He lowered his eyes to his cousin’s far below. A crooked smile flickered over his lips and Pippin cocked his head slightly; not understanding Merry’s strange behaviour. Merry then turned his gaze to Legolas, begging him silently to look after Pippin. The Elf may not have understood his exact meaning but he seemed to realise Merry’s intention and his eyes widened as a brief look of horror crossed his face.

There was nothing left for him to do now, nothing else he could do. He took a deep breath, gazed one last time at the sky. Quite suddenly, he let out a wild cry of fury as, at the same time he used all his strength to twist around and yank at Wormtongue’s grasp on him. Taken completely off guard, Grima gave a yelp and loosened his grip on the hobbit. Merry slipped through his fingers and fell. Free at last.

~

A scream ripped from Pippin’s throat as he saw what his cousin was doing. Time seemed to slow and all sound was silenced in an instant, everything died as he saw the frail body falling. His heart seemed to stop and he was totally paralysed with shock, so that even the scream was cut short. No! No, please not this! This was worse than any other path he had imagined fate would bring them on. How could this be happening? There was nothing he could do. He could not tear his eyes from the plummeting figure and yet, he wanted to screw them shut and howl in defiance of what was happening.

All the others where immediately springing into action. He could see Treebeard, who had appeared out of nowhere, sprinting toward the scene, hand out stretched to catch Merry. It seemed for a moment that he would and that maybe, just maybe, all would be as well as it could.

But it was all in vain. From behind them a whoosh off wings was heard, a black creature streaked into their vision and Merry was snatched out of the air by razor sharp talons. The Nazgul circled the tower once, its blood-curdling shriek piecing every ear, then it sped back towards the east; Merry still clenched in the beasts claws.

Pippin could not move for shock. Everything was happening too fast for him to comprehend. Legolas, however, dug his heals into Arod’s chest, looped his arm firmly around Pippin’s middle and spurred the horse after the foul creature; Aragorn and Gandalf drawing level with him in seconds. “Take these!” he commanded over the noise of the wind, handing the reigns to Pippin. “Keep your head down and bring us along the beast’s left side.”

Pippin obeyed silently, handling the animal with far more aptness than he would normally have managed. Adrenalin pumped through him and his jaw was clenched in a fierce determination roused within him.

Legolas strung his bow with swift fingers and notched an arrow. The bow sang and the arrow flew, aimed straight for the winged creature’s neck. At that same moment, the rider flicked the reigns and its steed swerved so the arrow only pierced its wing. A croaking screech tore through the air from the wounded beast, but its injury was not enough to halt its flight.

Cursing softly, in what sounded remarkably like Dwarvish, Legolas set another arrow to the bowstring. This one, however, was only permitted to stick into the beast’s tail. It was like an enraged wasp now.

The Nazgul swung around a hundred-and-eighty degrees, catching its pursuers off guard and plunged towards both Elf and hobbit. Arod reared in fright tossing its smallest passenger to the ground and narrowly avoided being spited by the Nazgul himself.

Pippin rolled clear of the horse’s stamping hooves and pulled himself to his feet. The Nazgul still seemed intent on putting an end to them that had dared put arrows in its flesh. It swooped at the Elf repetitively, each time missing Legolas by a hairs breadth, as the he both tried to control his horse and not get severed in two at the same time.

However, neither steed nor rider seemed to have noticed Pippin, only a small hobbit after all and in his Lorien cloak hard to spot by the best, most watchful eyes. He would not let Legolas fight alone; not this time. He bent and pick up a stone by his foot. He could see Merry’s limp form still hanging from the beast’s talons. The stone flew. “Please don’t let him be dead,” he thought desperately, “anything rather than that!”

The Nazgul was this time unaware of the missile directed towards its exposed head and the stone hit its mark: on the back of the creature’s head. The blow was not enough to kill or even wound it, but it did achieve its goal as it was a sufficient distraction from the Elf. Now, the beast plunged towards Pippin who stood ready to meet it. His sword (that Aragorn had given him back) was in his hand, though he could not recall how it had got there. It was coming straight at him, his death written in its face, but he did not quail. Rather, he stared it in the eye as it drove down upon him. This foul Nazgul was all that now stood between him and Merry. He would not give up now.

At the last possible second Pippin threw himself to the right and the rider passed right over him. He could see Aragorn and Gandalf both trying to get to him to help, but each time their efforts where flaunted by the Nazgul who prevented them getting within range.

A sudden scream of rage from the Nazgul made Pippin drop his sword and clutch his ears, to stop the noise from piercing his brain. He looked up and saw three arrows had punctured the winged beast’s neck. It was loosing altitude and control of its limbs. Out of its talons slipped Merry’s unmoving body. He plummeted the short distance to earth and met it with a sickening crunch.

Another scream of pure hatred left the rider, but it knew when it was beaten and when it was foolish to continue a lost fight. Savagely, it kicked its steed into flying above the forest of Fangorn, less than a mile to the north-east, before allowing the thing to give up its struggle and die; falling out of the sky into the trees.

Gandalf, along with Théoden and his men, galloped off to the dark forest to locate the Ring-wraith; if possible. Pippin paid no heed to anything, except Merry’s body lying feet in front of him. Painfully, he crawled to his side, shaking with fear. He could not see any rise or fall of the chest. His breath caught in his throat as, gently, he turned Merry onto his back and his cousin’s condition was made clear him for the first time.

Merry’s face was covered in blood, bruises and dirt, yet it showed a remarkable peace like one who has found rest at last after long struggles. His clothes were soaked in blood and were shredded as if racked by claws. Long wheals ran across his back and chest. His arm and left leg lay at odd angles. No movement was visible in the tortured form though the expression on Merry’s face looked like that of a deep sleep.

Pippin buried his head in his cousin’s chest weeping uncontrollably. An unearthly scream left his contorted mouth as grief wholly overcame him. Merry! His Merry! Why had this happened to him? Few could have deserved it less. It felt like part of his heart had been ripped out: the part that had once laughed, smiled and thought the world a good place. His innocence, his joy, his Merry was gone.

He felt arms try to tear him from his cousin’s body, but he lashed out at Aragorn, clinging tightly to his lost friend. Hands fastened around him and lifted him into a tight embrace. He yelled and thrashed in Legolas’ hold, “Don’t take him from me! I won't be parted from him; not again. Let me be with him, if only to say goodbye! Please! Oh Merry!”

“You must be strong a little longer, Pip,” said Legolas gently but firmly, still restraining the hobbit as Aragorn gathered Merry up into his arms and hurried away with him back to Isengard. “Save your tears and summon your wealth of courage. Not all hope is lost yet. Your Merry still lives, if only just, and I will not let you give up hope on him yet. We have come too far for that. Come, you are your cousin’s only hope of recovery.”


Chapter 12 - Come Back to Us

Legolas sat alone, atop one of the ruined guardhouses, staring off into the distance; though focused on nothing. In one hand he held Pippin’s Lorien brooch and ran his thumb repeatedly across it; he had meant to return to the hobbit but had not yet had the chance. In the other, he held a long stemmed wooden pipe he had found in Gimli’s pack, along with enough pipeweed to last the dwarf through many hard months of smoking. He had promised Pip he would try pipeweed and he intended to see the promise through, though he saw no reason to humiliate himself in front of everyone else in the process. That he had not promised to do. He hated to admit it, but he could see the appeal of the weed; it would be a shame when this pipe ran out. Something about the smell of it reminded him of the hobbits; especially Meriadoc.

He knew he should probably be inside the guardhouse, turned healing room, with Pippin but he could not have stood one more second in there. He had already stayed in there for hours, watching the laborious rise and fall of Merry’s chest, which was hardly visible even to his eyes. He had sat by Pippin’s side, who cradled his cousin’s scarred hand while fighting back tears.

Aragorn had done everything he could for Merry apparently and now all he could do was stop in as often as possible to see how his patient was doing. A fever that refused to break gripped the hobbit like a vice, threatening to snuff Merry’s life out; like a candle in a storm. When Pippin wasn’t looking, the ranger’s face held a look of such hopelessness and sorrow that it chilled the Elf to his core. Aragorn had told them that, short of a miracle, nothing would stop Merry from dying within the hour.

The others had been informed and had all come to say their goodbyes, though Legolas doubted Merry had been aware of any of them. He had not stirred since being rescued. Gimli had led away a weeping Gandalf, while tears flooded his own beard. Aragorn had lent over Merry’s still frame whispering, “Go to your rest my friend. We will take care of those you love. Be at peace and know you go with honour. I am sorry I failed you.” The ranger had placed a kiss on the hobbit’s forehead then hurried from the room; shoulders shaking.

Only Legolas and Pippin had been left by Merry’s side, neither speaking and to the Elf’s amazement Pippin’s eyes had still remained tear-free. Grief had threatened to consume Legolas, but still he had stood in a corner observing the two unmoving hobbits. Eventually, unable to contain his agony anymore he had knelt by the bedside and had taken one of Merry’s icy hands. “Go, if you must, my friend,” he had whispered, fighting the tears that had pushed so hard against his eyes. He shoved them away though. He would say his farewell, if he must, but he would not indulge his grief until then. “We will meet again on the white shores in days to come. But, also know that if you will come back to us, to Pippin, we will set everything to rights; if it takes us forever and a day. You will be healed and whole if you will just come back.” With that he had left leaving Pippin to say his farewell in private.

Legolas stubbed out the pipe guiltily and tucked it safely away in the coat he was borrowing from Aragorn. He took a deep rattling breath and brushed a single tear sliding down his face away. First smoking and now this! He had definitely been around men too long. Maybe this is why his father had kept him away from mortals as much as possible. He would never get used to death.

He started off down into the wreckage of Isengard and then out into the plain. He had no fixed destination in mind. Just to try and get as far away from the grief that pressed down on him; as if walking could take him further away from himself. “Don’t go, Merry,” he muttered under his breath. “For all I will try to do, I do not think I will be able to make Pippin survive you long. Please stay, if only for him.”

~

Pippin tore his eyes from his cousin’s face to watch the elf leave the room. How Legolas had stayed with him so long was staggering. To have sat and faced death, when he would never be able to understand the phenomenon that would, in the end, consume all his mortal friends.

The door clicked shut and he was alone with his cousin for the first time since Lorien. Had it really been so long? It seemed another lifetime, to his mind, that he and Merry had found the Elves’ wine cellar and had had a drinking contest lasting into the small hours of the morning. He smiled at the memory, though fat tears finally came to his eyes that he had held back for what felt like forever.

His gaze was drawn back to Merry’s deathly pale face and a sob escaped him. Careful not to cause his cousin any extra pain, Pippin crawled up onto the makeshift bed beside him, like he had used to as a child, when monsters lurked under his bed and Merry was his only guardian. “White shores,” he muttered through his tears. “Legolas and Gandalf say that when you die you go to a far green country under a swift sunrise with white shores that stretch from the north to the south. You deserve them, Merry, and only the Valar knows what else for all this trouble you’ve been made to go through. But, Merry, what will I do if you go? What will I do without you to get me out of scrapes, or even to get me into them?”

It might have been Pippin’s imagination, but he could have sworn his cousin’s breathing became a little deeper and steadier. His imagination; it must be. “And what will Estella do without you? You didn’t know I knew about your feelings for her did you? It was the only times I ever saw you nervous, in her company. Will you really leave her for some addlebrained Hornblower to snatch up? Sam would forget Rosie Cotton first!” Was that colour in Merry’s face? He was letting his fool’s hope run away with him.

“And Frodo! He will need you when he returns. We will need everyone Frodo loves to pull him back from whatever darkness might have hurt him in Mordor. He loves you maybe even more than he loves his old Sam. You can’t leave us all, and though it may be selfish for me to want you back I think you would…do understand.” Now he knew he wasn’t imagining it. Merry’s face creased in a small frown and his tongue ran over his healing lips.

“Come on, Merry! I know you can hear me, you stubborn Brandybuck! You never could hide anything from me, now come on: breathe, open your eyes and come back to us! The rest of the world might give up, but I'm still here and you aren’t going anywhere for a good while, if I have anything to do with it. We were both always as obstinate as each other, now I will make you come back if I must drag you. You will come back because those who you love need you; because I need you. Open your eyes, Merry! Our work in this world is far from over! We have fireworks to steal, women to woo, a cousin to save and a world to explore. Open your eyes and see the sun again!”

And as he spoke miraculously, inexplicably Merry’s eyes peeped open, the sunlight through the window dancing off them. “Pippin?” It was barely a whisper, dry and cracked, but the word was still there. Brilliant green eyes found Pippin’s and that small half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You could give lessons to rocks in pure blinded stubbornness, Peregrin.”

“And yourself to mules, Meriadoc!” Pippin laughed though his tears. He was exerting every last bit of self control to restrain himself from seizing Merry in a bear-hug. “Lay there quiet a bit, while I fetch Aragorn. He’ll get Legolas to use me for target practice if I wear you out with talking.”

With that, he leapt from his perch on the bed, though loath to leave Merry for even a second now, dashed across the room and into the doorway. “Aragorn! Aragorn! He’s awake! He’s alive!”

Aragorn appeared in a second and hurtled full pelt into the room, causing Pippin to squeeze himself thin against the doorframe to avoid being bowled over. Just as he was about to peel himself away from the wall Legolas flew past too and he threw his back into the door again. By the time he managed to get back to Merry’s side the Gimli and Gandalf had arrived too.

Merry gripped Pippin’s hand in his the moment he could reach it, seemingly unwilling to let go. His grip was surprisingly strong considering and Pippin had to fight back a wince. Aragorn was checking Merry’s pulse and talked to the hobbit, asking him if he could feel pain in the areas the ranger touched. The tone of Merry’s voice and the set of his face suggested that, yes he could very well feel pain just about everywhere. Legolas placed a cup of water in Pippin’s free hand which he helped Merry drink, coughing and spluttering a little.

“Well, Master Meriadoc, you’ve come out surprisingly well, all things considered; though you’ll have scars to rival Legolas nice collection of new ones I dare say, “Aragorn pronounced grinning. “A broken rib, wrist and sprained ankle though they are all mending extraordinarily fast, with cuts and bruises just about everywhere it’s possible to get them. It’s going to hurt for some time, but nothing time won’t heal. The fever seems to have broken and completely gone, though how that managed to happen in the time that I was gone is a mystery to me. We will have to put it down to the sheer resilience of hobbits in general.”

Pippin laughed out right, though tears of relief still streamed from his eyes unchecked. Merry started to chuckle, but he quickly stopped with a grimace and contented himself with his lopsided grin. Pippin wanted to hug his cousin for all he was worth, though he kept himself in check. Merry was not only alive, but he was smiling and would be out of bed in a matter of days. He could not have wished for half so much a few minutes ago. However, as he glanced down at Merry he noticed something about his smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes. The smaller hobbit bit his lip. Maybe not all wounds would be external or so easy to heal. He shuddered a little, hoping Merry hadn’t noticed.

An abrupt movement over the other side of the bed caught his attention, out of the corner of his eye. He was just in time to see Legolas hand a perfect black ball of stone to Gandalf who hid it quickly under his cloak with a meaningful look at the elf. His Tookish curiosity seized him and he found himself planning to get a better look at it later. Maybe once Gandalf had gone to sleep; that would be safest.


Chapter 13 - I Died in my Dreams

15th March 3019 (1419 S.R.))
The Pelennor Fields

Cold.

So cold.

Merry shook, his eyes unable to even open from the weakness that would soon consume him. The weight of the felled Orc atop him made it even harder to draw breath. Everything was agony. Just healed wounds from his time with the Orcs and Saruman had broken open again. Blood loss, combined with the freezing numbness that was writhing its way up from his arm to his neck and chest, clouded his mind and made his thoughts blurred. When it reached his heart and head he knew he would die then. At the moment though it seemed unlikely he would make it that long.

Was this what Frodo had felt after being stabbed on Weathertop? He had never doubted for a moment that the injury had been worthy of the commotion it had caused, but with only a small wound on the shoulder, it had always been hard to see how Frodo could have been in so much pain and danger. Well he understood now. He did not even have a scar to show for this ordeal. Both cousins would bear markings from their meetings with that dread Witchking, though maybe his wouldn’t be so visible.

He almost welcomed death now; in a way. He had prepared himself mentally for death many times now. He had said his peace and had been ready to go to eternal rest, but he kept being denied. Pippin kept pulling him back. His younger cousin had quite literally begged him stay, commanded him to, when he had been so close to leaving back in Isengard. He had heard every word Pippin had said and had found that he couldn’t go then. Apparently more needed to be said to make Pippin understand. But how could he explain to his best friend what he felt: that every time he prepared himself for death he gave up part of his soul and, when he found he was going to have to live on a little longer, he could not regain the piece that he had given up. Not that he had really tried, but what was the point really of going to such pains when death was a certainty anyway in this war. He could do what he must without his whole soul.

Of course he hadn’t let Pippin see any of these things in the brief hours they had been together; before his cousin had gazed into that Palantír. Why did Pippin always HAVE to look? Never dabble in the affairs of wizards; or if you have to don’t get caught. Surely any fool knew that!

Merry felt tears beginning to stream down his face as unwelcome memories flooded his head of his own experiences with the Palantír. “Fool of a Took,” he mumbled.

He could feel the coldness nearing his heart. Not long now. Dark memories danced before his eyes. Why wouldn’t death just hurry up; hadn’t he waited long enough already?!

He thought he could hear voices. Well this was it. He had started to go numb and was hearing voices in his head. The end was coming. He could almost touch it. Sweeping relief rushed over him. No more fighting. Knowing his luck Pippin would probably find him now and make this so much harder. “Fool of a Took,” he muttered affectionately to the darkness; grinning slightly.

“Who said that?! Merry, is that you? MERRY!”

It couldn’t be! Could it? No there was no way. He’d only been joking! The weight on top of him lifted. The world could be that ironic. But then again, considering his life for the past year…

“Merry! Merry, it’s me. It’s Pippin”

He felt Pippin’s arms around him. Through blurred eyes he saw his tear streaked face, heard his sobbing voice and yet he could hardly believe it. “Pip,” he laughed, then winced. He had so much to say and yet so little breath to say it with. He wanted to cling to his best friend and also to be left in peace. He wished he had the strength to tell Pippin how much he meant to him and how he was so sorry that he couldn’t physically stay any longer; not again. Instead he settled on a quiet, “I knew you’d find me.” Why did Pippin have to make going so hard?! It was torture to see the pain in those young eyes and to know that he was causing it. He could no longer help it though; nothing could save him and his shattered soul any more.

“Of course, I always do.” Pippin’s voice was so choked with so many sobs that he was almost unintelligible.

Merry wanted to stop Pip feeling this pain on his account. It was cutting him to the core hearing the agony and yet determination in Pippin’s voice. “Why do you have to make this so hard? Oh, Pip, I have to go!” he thought silently but instead he said, “Are you going to leave me?” It had come out wrong. He had meant to ask Pippin to leave, to distance himself from this death but the words had got jumbled and mixed up on the way out of his mouth.


”No, Merry. I'm going to look after you.” He felt a cloak being wrapped around him. The words were so familiar.

They were the same ones that he had whispered into Merry’s shoulder when he had only just been old enough to be talking.

***flashback***

The baby Pippin had run in a haphazard line into Merry’s bedroom in Brandy Hall to find his older cousin crying into his pillow. The infant had bounded across the room and crawled up next to his cousin. “What’s the matter, Merry?”

“Go away!” Merry had explained.

Pippin’s tiny jaw had dropped and pointing an accusing finger at the much bigger hobbit he had exclaimed, “You swore!”

“That’s not swearing!” was Merry’s shocked reply, while he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“Is too!” was Pippin’s response.

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is…never mind. It doesn’t matter because there is nothing wrong with me, Pippin.”

“Yes there is! You were crying and that means that there’s something wrong.”

“Well there isn’t. For all you know, I might like crying.”

“You don’t because you cried when you fell out of my da’s apple tree and I know you didn’t like that; so there must be something the matter.”

Merry goggled. If the boy could have that much to say this young then he dreaded to think what he would be like in a few years, maybe even months. “Well there isn’t this time!”

“Is!”

“Is not!”

“Isisisisisisisisisisisisisisis…”

“ALRIGHT, PIPPIN!” Merry thought he would go mad or hit Pippin soon, though his aunt would be less than amused with him about the latter. Maybe he had better just tell the lad. He was too young to understand anyway. “If you must know, Peregrin…”

“Don’t call me that! Ma calls me that.”

“…Pippin, then I'm sad because Frodo left earlier today. I never thought he ever really would.” Tears threatened again but this time he was ready for them and fought them back.

“So?” said Pippin, huge green eyes shining, “He’s going to live with Uncle Bilbo. Frodo will like that. You should be happy!”

“Yes maybe I should be, Pip,” said Merry finding it hard to believe he was being lectured by his baby cousin, “but I miss him already. He always looked after me and now I'm alone. I just miss him is all, because now no one will look after me.” Tears leaked down his face despite his best efforts.

Pippin had stared at Merry a moment, then he stood up on the bed and wrapped his arms around the older hobbit’s neck. “No, Merry,” the younger had scolded. “I'm going to look after you.”

Merry had laughed through his tears at the words. The very idea was comical, but he hugged his tiny cousin back fondly. Maybe Frodo had been right: maybe Pippin wasn’t as annoying as he had thought. “Thank you, Pip. I’ll look after you too.”

***flashback end***

Merry smiled at the memory as all around him faded to blackness. “You always were stubborn, Pip,” he laughed as his cousin’s face disappeared too.

~*~

“Give in!”

The darkness was unbearable. He was being sucked away from death yet again, but this time not by the living world. Wraiths called, he could hear them.

“Stop fighting and join us. Save this pain.”

He could feel their minds pulling at his, could feel his soul being drawn terrifyingly, yet uncontrollably, towards them. He fought his hardest, tried to block them out, like he had with Saruman, but he could not; he was just too weak.

“Come into the eternal night, Merry. It is quiet here. It is peaceful here.”

“LIARS!” he shrieked back in his mind. “Poison drips from every word!”

“You can’t resist us, Merry. Just give in and come. It will be easier that way.”

How had Frodo fought this so long with the combined effort of fighting the Ring? How was Frodo so strong and yet he was so weak. He fought back as hard as he could. Help. He needed help.

Suddenly, all went silent. The wraith voices vanished, but all around him lights flared. To his absolute amazement, he saw he was standing in a high domed, perfectly circular room. He was clothed still in his Rohirrim battle garb, still covered in Orc blood, but none of the pains that had wracked him out on the field were there anymore. Even the scars that he still carried from Saruman had ceased to hurt. He hardly noticed any of this however, as the figure at one of the two doorways to the room snatched all his attention instantly.

Aragorn raised a hand in salutation. Merry ran to him and the ranger crouched to envelop the hobbit in a tight embrace. “Merry,” his voice was serious, calm and commanding; as always. Also, at this moment, it was the most welcome sound in the world, “we do not have much time. I have come to give you a choice that you must make now. You can either come with me now to live again or you can go through the other door to death. The wraiths will not claim you now no matter what you choose, but you must make this choice immediately between life and death. This is your last chance.”

Merry froze. He wanted death. He did. But he so want to see Frodo and Pippin and Sam and the others again. No he had chosen long ago the path to death. He would take that and sleep. He was about to say as much, when Aragorn spoke again.

“Pippin told me of a promise he made you once: to always look after you and though I might have laughed at the idea once, I start to see how much you need him. I know that you would never have let him make such a promise had you not made a similar one back. I also know that Pippin needs you as much as you need him; maybe even more. Don’t try to deny it, Merry. I am in no way trying to lessen your strength or his by saying this, but one of you will not long out live the other. You know this, Merry, so don’t give me that look. You need each other, just as Frodo and Sam need each other at the moment. Friendships like the ones you hobbits share should not be taken lightly nor given up lightly.”

“Pippin means the world to me, Aragorn.” Merry’s voice surprised even himself. How could he sound that strong? “Life without him simply isn’t life. And yes, maybe I mean a lot to him too. Yes, I know my going will hurt him, but he will heal, Strider. I don’t mean that much to him. Besides, I am not whole anymore. I gave away part of myself every time I looked death in the face. I cannot burden Pippin with a broken version of myself. That would be worse than not having me at all. It is better for me to go. Pippin will survive without me and when Frodo comes back he and Sam will be there for him instead.”

“You are fooling yourself, Merry; pulling the wool over your own eyes. You do not truly believe that Pippin will ever be whole after suffering your loss; at least if he could still see you and talk to you if you came back different from how he remembers you. And though, yes Frodo and Sam would try to help him when they come back, we must first face the very real fact that they may not come back, and if they do you cannot expect them to be as you remember them. Mordor will change them and they will have their own personal battles to continue fighting even outside its boarders. You cannot honestly believe that burdening them with a broken Pippin will help them recover. You do not truly believe any of the things you just said, do you?”

Merry thought and realised that everything Aragorn was saying made perfect sense. He felt something fill him briefly, and recognised it for resolve and purpose.

“Plus, you yourself are not beyond healing, Merry. If you come back with me then you may very well be able to become whole in both body and mind more quickly than even I can imagine at present” Aragorn’s voice was gentle now and comforting. “I did not mean to get angry before, Merry, but you must see what I mean.”

Merry nodded, unnoticed tears splashing to the stone floor. “I see, Aragorn. I will live again. If Pippin can still keep fulfilling a promise he made when he wasn’t off his mother’s apron string, then I can keep the same one I made to him when I was too young to know that “looking after” Pippin would entail more than teaching him the best method for stealing Gandalf’s fireworks uncaught. I'm ready to come back and heal.”

Aragorn nodded in satisfaction, clasping the hobbits shoulder and grinning. He then turned and disappeared through the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, Merry made as if to follow the Ranger, then gave the room one last look. The door on the other side of the room stood invitingly open and through it he could see white shores of a green country under a swift sunrise.

Now he turned his back to it. What would life, even in paradise, be without Pippin? His cousin was a piece of his soul that he was now determined to mend. Life without Pippin wasn’t life. He would go back to the world of both incredible pain but also incredible beauty, to suffer more and to laugh more; for Pippin. Only for Pippin.

Squaring his shoulders he marched through the doorway after Aragorn. Pain rushed over him, but the sweet smell of athelas and heather also filled his senses.

Only for Pippin.

~

Suddenly Merry awoke, and he said: “I am hungry. What is the time?”

“Past supper-time now,” said Pippin smiling; “though I daresay I could bring you something, if they will let me.”

“They will indeed,” said Gandalf. “And anything else that this Rider of Rohan may desire, if it can be found in Minas Tirith, where his name is in honour.”

“Good!” said Merry. “Then I would like supper first, and after that a pipe…”


~*~ The End ~*~

All my love
Earelwen xx
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