Alone Facing Darkness

Much thanks to my Beta reader, Hufflepuff/VanaTheEverYoung. Couldn’t do it without you.




A dazzling, blinding light was the first thing Ron saw when he awoke. He thought that he had overslept, for the clank of cooking pots and the blinding sun surely indicated that he was still at the Fellowship’s campsite. At first, he thought it was the sound of Sam’s pots and pans that had awoken him – then he realized that someone was shaking his arm and calling his name.

“Ron? Ron! Do wake up – ”

“Not now, ‘Mione…”

The owner of the voice huffed. “Not funny. Wake up.”

Ron blinked. A curly head swam into focus. “Pippin?” he croaked.

“That’s right. You’ve been asleep for days.”

“Days!?” Ron asked. “Where are we? Where’s Hermione?”

Pippin lowered his voice. “Look around. We were captured, and I’ve no idea where we are or where we’re going.”

Ron raised his head a fraction of an inch and swept the surrounding area with his eyes. Horror began to well up inside him.

The sounds he had thought were of cooking pots were in reality the clanking of armor. And all around them sat a large group of –

Memories began flooding back. Of course, he thought. Uruk-Hai. They caught me when I…

This thought broke off as something else occurred to him. “Pippin, what happened to Boromir?”

The Hobbit’s face fell. “I don’t know, Ron. But it didn’t look good – he was shot three times the last I saw.”

“Oh.” It was all Ron could say. Silence hung in the air between them before he tried sitting up. “OUCH!”

He had tried to prop himself up using his right arm, but had completely forgotten about the arrow wound in his shoulder. As he collapsed, the Uruks turned their ugly heads.

“Oi! You there, get away from him!” One creature came and carried Pippin away from Ron, throwing him to the ground a few feet away.

“Listen there, scum!” The Uruk who had lifted Pippin turned his head to listen to his taller superior. “They are not to be harmed, even the tall one, or Saruman will have your guts. And if he won’t, then I will. The packages are to be delivered unspoiled.”

The shorter Uruk growled, “You even sure this one’s the one he wanted?”

“Saruman said to find the Halflings and three others – this boy, with flaming hair, another with dark hair and a scar, and a girl.”

Another voice from the behind called, “Pity we didn’t get the girl; she’d have given good sport.” Raucous laughter greeted this comment.

Ron’s blood was boiling. How dare they talk of Hermione in that manner! His left hand slipped into his jerkin; he was going to curse them all into oblivion….Then he realized that his wand was not there. The leader of the Uruks, who had approached, leered down at him.

“No knives. Can’t let you toy with those – you might get hurt even more, and my soldiers had enough of a mess already fixing you up.”

Ron looked at his shoulder. Sure enough, the arrowhead and shaft were gone, replaced by dirty-looking bandages and a smelly concoction. He was just beginning to think that Uruks might have some vestige of civility when the leader growled down at him, “Don’t think it was because we’re playing nice. Saruman wants you nice and whole before he has his fun.”

Ron blanched. Laughing, the Uruk turned away from him and called out, “March, you last maggots! Pick up these two, but leave this – ” he indicated Ron “ - to walk. Tie his hands, make sure he doesn’t escape.”

And so Ron was forced to stand with his hands tied behind his back as the Uruks hoisted a scared-looking Pippin and an unconscious Merry onto their backs. A sharp knife prodded him between the shoulder blades. “Hurry up. I’m sick of carrying you, so now you’re going to walk. And I’ll be holding the rope, so don’t try anything funny.”

He could not respond properly; he was putting every effort into not crying out as the wound throbbed with every step. Wishing that he would stumble into unconsciousness once more, he began the long, quick march to wherever they were going.

Saruman. The name was familiar. When had he heard it? Hermione had mentioned it in passing once or twice, but Ron could not properly remember what she had told them. Something about black birds…

That was it. The cawing cloud of birds that had forced them to go up the mountain of Caradhras and later into the Mines had been under Saruman’s orders. Still, he could not focus on his memory; all he could remember was Hermione speaking.

Was she still all right? Pain made the landscape around him swim before his eyes, and he gritted his teeth again. Hopefully the Uruk’s comment earlier meant that she had escaped and was not dead.

The sun was beating down on his back, and the rope cut cruelly into his wrists. He suspected that the Uruks were trying to toy with them as much as possible without incurring Saruman’s wrath. Yet what exactly did this Saurman have in mind? And why had the Uruks been ordered to take only the Hobbits, Ron, Harry, and Hermione? Well, he reasoned, the Hobbits look clearly different…and Frodo’s carrying the Ring. And the three of us are wizards…

Wizards. That was it; Saruman was the Istar Hermione had mentioned, the Wizard corrupted by the evil of the Ring.

And they were headed directly to him.

Ron gave a tug on the rope, testing the Uruk’s reactions. A sharp flick of a whip upon the back of his neck destroyed any hope of escaping while on the march. Even if he tried, what was the use? Though the feeling had returned to his legs, his bound hands would hamper him in any attempt to flee, not to mention the fact that he had no idea where he was. And he could not simply leave Merry and Pippin to the Uruks, for though they were older than he was, he felt obliged to protect them.

Suddenly, the Uruks halted. The leader raised his nose into the air and sniffed.

“What is it?” another asked. “What do you smell?”

“Man-flesh,” the leader growled. “And not the captive. They’re following us! March on, scum!”

So Aragorn had led the others close! To the left, Ron saw Pippin’s head jerking up and down. The Hobbit had seized the Lothlórien leaf brooch in his teeth and was tugging it loose. A few seconds later, he spat the delicate-looking pin into the grass.

“Good thinking,” Run muttered.

“Shut it! What did you say?” The question came with a sharp prod in his back.

“Nothing. Can we stop?”

The Uruk let out a hoot of laughter. “Can we stop, you ask? We won’t. You’re worth too much for your friends to find you. You’re going straight to Saruman himself, and I’m glad that I’m not in your place.”

“What does he – ”

“Like I’d tell you if I knew. One of you has something he wants.”

The Ring. His heart sank. When Saruman found out that they did not have it, they were dead for sure.

The day wore on, and the Uruks kept up their brutal pace without slowing. Finally, at nightfall, they paused at the very edge of a forest. The trees were taller than any Ron had seen, and they looked far more menacing than the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. “Are we going through that?” he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

The Uruk who had guarded him all day merely sneered down at him. Others were venturing to the very edge of the forest, hacking down whatever branches hung over the grass. A pile of wood was growing in the middle of the campsite, surrounded by Uruks trying to kindle a fire. Ron sat on the ground and slumped forward, exhausted.

“Oi, you!” He looked up to see the leader pointing with his sword. “Bring the prisoner over here, and station a guard!”

A sharp tug on the rope brought Ron’s limp arms up, dragging the rest of his body into a standing position. Stumbling, he let the Uruk lead him to the place where the two Hobbits lay motionless in the grass. As the creature shoved him to the ground, he glanced at his two companions. Merry, he saw, had an ugly gash above his right eye, but Pippin seemed unhurt.

“You all right?” Ron asked quietly, as the guard moved farther away.

Merry gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve been better. But well enough.”

“What do they want with us?” Pippin asked. “Did you find out anything?”

Ron gestured for them to come closer before he whispered, “The Ring.”

Their eyes went wide. “Oh, no…” Pippin murmured.

“We’re dead once they find out we don’t have it,” Merry said. “Who wants it, anyway?”

“Saruman. We’re going to him.”

The two Hobbits closed their eyes in despair, and Ron glanced around. There was a squabble going on at the other side of the campsite, most likely over the fire.

A plan began to form in his mind. “Merry. Can you walk, with that wound?”

Merry touched his bound hands gingerly the gash. “I think so.”

“What about running?”

The Hobbit grimaced for a moment, and then smiled. “I’ll manage. I’ll even beat you, Pip,” he added, smirking at his cousin.

Pippin didn’t seem amused. “How are we going to run with our hands tied?”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but an Uruk grabbed him from behind, pulling him roughly into a crouched position. Had the creature heard them plotting an escape? Another Uruk had seized Merry and Pippin, dragging them to their feet.

“They are not for eating, clear?” the leader said, shaking Ron by the scruff of the neck. “They have something, a weapon for the war. Saruman wants it.”

“We ain’t had nothing but moldy, stinking bread for days!” an Orc replied. When they had joined with the band of Uruks, Ron did not know – probably when he was unconscious. “Come on, those Halflings don’t need legs – you’re carrying them!” A roar of approval from the rest of the Orcs met his comment. “Just a little, they look mighty tasty!” He gestured behind him, and one of his soldiers came forward with a knife drawn.

The Uruk leader growled and raised his sword – and a moment later, the Orc’s head went flying, to land at Ron’s feet. He recoiled in disgust.

“Fresh meat!” the Uruk jeered. “Come and get it, boys!”

The creatures hurried towards the body of the fallen Orc. Ron turned his head away, sickened by the sight.

“Psst! Ron, Pippin!”

Merry was back on the ground a few yards away, gesturing to a dropped sword. “Help me hold it steady so I can cut through these ropes.”

Ron crawled over to Merry’s side and placed his hands on the hilt, keeping the blade upright. The process seemed excruciatingly slow; as Merry moved his wrists back and forth, the sword slipped out of Ron’s sweaty grip.

“Careful, Merry!” Pippin said.

Merry did not reply. He kept his eyes fixed on his bonds, which began to come apart, lash by lash…

At last the ropes fell away. Merry wriggled his fingers and flexed his wrists, savoring his freedom of movement once more.

“Oi! Come on, help us!” Ron hissed. The Uruks and Orcs were still huddled around the body, but he had no idea when they would turn around.

Merry nodded and reached for the sword.

“Wait!” Pippin said. “I forgot – the belt! The belt from Galadriel!”

“How could we have forgotten?” Merry muttered. He reached to his side to find – nothing. The belt still hung about his waist, but the blade was no longer there. “It’s gone!”

“Never mind then,” Ron hissed. “Grab the sword and help us.”

Merry wiped his palms – sweaty out of nervousness – upon the sides of his trousers before taking a firm grip on the blade. Applying downward pressure as Ron and then Pippin slid their bonds carefully along the blade, he helped to quickly free them.

“Right,” Ron said, shaking his hands out. “We crawl to that ridge first, go down the hill, and then run into the forest. Hopefully they won’t notice us.” He looked up at the sky and cursed silently. The moon was waning, but still nearly full. The brightness of its light would hardly aid them in their escape.

“The cloaks!” Pippin said excitedly. “Didn’t the Elves say they would hide us?”

Ron and Merry nodded, pulling the hoods up. Pippin followed suit. “Let’s go,” Ron whispered.

They stayed flat against the ground as they wriggled over the grass towards the slope. Ron felt his breath coming in short, quick gasps and tried to keep the sound down. What I wouldn’t give for Harry’s Invisibility Cloak now, he thought wryly. I hope he’s keeping Hermione safe.

Only twenty feet before they reached the ridge…fifteen…ten…

Ron came to the edge of the slope first and waited for the two Hobbits to catch up. The grassy incline was not very steep; they could go perhaps halfway down before standing and beginning to run.

Merry and Pippin went down first, edging partway down and pausing. With a quick glance back at the knot of Uruks and Orcs, Ron followed. “Halfway, then run,” Ron whispered. It took all of his nerve to say it – what if their plan failed? Would they simply be recaptured, or would the Uruks kill them instead?

He had just made it over the ridge when a harsh voice rang out. “Where are the prisoners?”

The two Hobbits looked at him with wide eyes.

“Idiots!” the leader said. “Split up and look for them. Saruman will have your head, and I’ll have your guts torn out if you don’t find them!” The sounds of clanking armor and pounding feet filled the air.

“Go!” Ron said. “Forget crawling, just run!” He waited for Merry and Pippin to begin running before he himself stood, hoping that the cloak would keep him hidden as Celeborn had said.

Cloak streaming out behind him, he soon overtook the two Hobbits and waited for them at the base of the hill. Too slow, he said to himself. We’ll never make it…

A harsh call came from the top of the hill. “There they are! After them, you lazy dolts!”

There were maybe fifty yards between them and the Uruks. “Merry! Pippin!” Ron cried. “One of you climb on my back. I’ll hold the other one and run.” He crouched to the ground.

“But – ”

“Get on, Merry! No time!”

The Hobbit hesitated for an instant before wrapping his arms around Ron’s neck. The redhead then bent quickly down to pick Pippin up. Then he began to run.

Ginny had always wanted to be piggybacked around the Burrow when she was small. All of the Weasley boys carried her around at some point, but it was Ron who ended up doing so most of the time. He smiled briefly as the memory of his younger sister – barely smaller than he himself was at the time – flashed through his mind. Carrying two Hobbits would be easy, as they were much smaller in relation to him.

He had not reckoned on having to deal with his arrow wound, however. Before long, his shoulder began to ache, and pain jolted up his arm at every step.

Have to get to trees, his mind told him through a fog of pain. Safety.

“Ron! I’m slipping!”

Pippin’s panicked words turned into a yell as, too late, Ron made to adjust his grip. The Hobbit went tumbling to the ground, and, unable to stop his momentum, Ron continued running.

“Pippin!” Merry cried. “Turn back…”

“One minute.” Ron made to launch himself into the concealing shadows of the trees – and tripped spectacularly over his own feet.

Something crushed into his windpipe for a moment just before he felt Merry fly off his back. The ground was coming up to meet him…he couldn’t stop it…and then he knew no more.



Merry was momentarily stunned as he landed, winded, upon the ground. Before he could properly move again, an ugly, leering face filled his vision.

“You are lucky that Saruman wants you unharmed,” the Uruk growled. “For that trick, we usually punish prisoners.”

Merry did not want to know what kind of punishment they used against runaways. Instead of replying, he called out, “Pippin?”

“Over here, Merry.” His cousin’s normally jovial voice was now dull and cheerless. “I guess this means no more escape.”

The Uruk kicked Merry sharply in the side. “No talking. You’re lucky, idiot Halfling. You both are, you and that pathetic excuse for a Man.” He raised his voice so that the rest of the group could hear. “You’re to keep them alive and unspoiled, you hear? Just keep them separated until we get to Isengard. If I hear even one word out of them, I’ll have that guard’s guts for my breakfast, you hear?”

A roar of assent met his words. Then he leered back down at Merry, who was still prone upon the ground.

“Get up, Halfling. You three are headed to Saruman.”