AN: I went back and fixed some inconsistencies with the pot, so chapters one and two have been updated if you want to reread them. Just a heads up. Enjoy!


She didn't know how she did it. She knew why; she just wished she'd shown more backbone than what she was currently displaying.

One moment, she was watching him come closer, and the next, she was behind the warg, taking full advantage of the cover its large form offered. How she had escaped its hold was beyond her, though at this point she was more concerned with finding a way over the weathered stone wall in front of her.

Its smooth surface was devoid of hand holds, white rock impenetrable, despite the array of spider-webbed cracks. Of course the one wall blocking her flight to freedom would also be the one wall not crumbling to pieces.

She could have kicked herself. Now not only was she cornered, she was unprotected as well. Not that the warg would have protected her from its own master, but, hell, at least there would have been something between them.

Her bright green eyes flickered at the thought and she whirled around, diving for the huge dog just as its head swiveled towards her. Her knees and palms skidded across the ground and she bit back a yelp of pain, head snapping up at a deep growl. Her nose nearly brushed its snout and she stared, wide-eyed, at its long bared fangs.

The girl could feel its heated breath, smell the blood of its last kill and was even close enough to make out the flecks of silver in its yellow irises. The stab of her poor abused limbs brought her back to reality, pulling an unwilling whimper from her throat as her form drooped, bottom resting on the dirt between her bent legs.

The warg snorted at her pathetic form and she shrunk into herself, not daring to look it in the eye again. She gazed at her hands instead, watching as droplets of scarlet liquid formed and dripped onto the cobblestones, painting them with color.

A dark chuckle rang out and the captive flinched, slowly lifting her head to peep over the ruffled mane of the wolf.

The pale orc was closer than she thought he would be, mere feet from his chosen steed, and by extension, her. He must have crossed the entire length of the courtyard in the few seconds that she was trying to make her escape. He was fast and she subconsciously tensed at the realization, unwillingly catching his gaze.

"You would hide behind a hungry warg, rather than face me?"

It took her a moment to understand what he was saying, the rasping tongue of the orcs unfamiliar to her ears. That she could and did understand made her mouth part in surprise, startled to realize that she had been able to understand from the moment his lieutenant began speaking.

Memories rushed to her mind of bearded faces, their startled glances rolling over her when she decided to speak. She hadn't understood what all the fuss was about at the time, but now she knew. She could understand what was not meant to be understood, though applying this knowledge was another matter entirely.

He laughed again, and her fear returned, body itching to fly as she had only moments before.

Her heart was fluttering again, the uneven sound reminding her of a wounded bird, moving in a half shuffle as it dragged a bent wing behind it. At this rate, it would give up on her. But oh my GOD, he was coming closer. She willed him to stay away with her mind, disappointed when her mental prowess did nothing to deter his progress.

The warg rose to meet him with a purring growl and the orc graced it with a firm pat before roughly pushing it aside.

Long fingers reached for her and she grunted when he dragged her up by the hair, her scalp screaming as she struggled to ease the weight by grasping his wrist with both hands. Her legs scrambled to find perches as he leaned closer, the tips of her dirty feet barely tracing the ground.

His was even more terrifying up close.

"Smart girl." He intoned coldly.

His gaze wandered down her figure, lingering, before flashing back to hers and it took her a moment to figure out why. Her green eyes widened when she glanced down as well, shivering at the cool night air on her chest, the fabric of her blouse torn from the warg's claws when she had ripped herself from its grasp. She released her left hand, wincing at the pain that coursed through her straining neck, and pulled the tattlers closed, shielding herself from his unwanted attention as best she could.

He huffed again, the ragged laugh that left his throat laced with something wholly unpleasant. And when next he spoke, the smooth tones of Westron sounding vile from his mouth, she flinched, wanting to rear back at the grinding way he formed the syllables.

"What are you called?"

Her body gave an involuntary twitched at the sudden switch of languages, blinking as she processed it. Then her mouth thinned to a hard line, jaw locking and eyes fixing defiantly on a point somewhere over the line of his left shoulder.

And then he was shaking her.

Her body flailed and she cried out, modesty forgotten as all ten of her fingers dug their nails into the leather of his wrist guard. It hurt and she could feel herself becoming light-headed, black dots spotting her vision as she temporarily lost consciousness.


She dreamed of waking in a field.

Tall stocks of corn towered over her, their leaved hands reaching for the warm sun and seeded hair waving in a gentle breeze. Something was poking at her and it took a moment for her to realize that it was her bed.

The girl sat up slowly, grass and dirt falling from her hair, onto the loose white fabric of her blouse. She ached all over and when she raised her arms to fix her unrolling sleeves, she noticed bruises forming over her olive skin. She must have fallen.

Curious, green eyes wandered over her surroundings, taking in the tall plants and the crushed ones that she had been laying on. The place was unfamiliar and she wracked her mind for something that would be. Nothing came.

There was a snarling howl heard in the distance, others quickly joining it and something curled in her belly; something that made her heart race and her breath quicken. A voice rang out, male, yelling about crops, and the sick feeling intensified.

She finally identified the feeling as fear, but the elation at such a discovery never had a chance to bloom; the sounds where coming closer and the feeling was screaming at her, telling her to get away, to run!

Finally she rose, long legs lifting her form as she turned and did as commanded.

She barely felt the passage of the ground beneath her, her bare toes meeting the earth with the softest of touches. The wind rushed by, entwining its fingers in her thick hair, throwing the tight curls up to halo her head. It whispered to her, urging her to move faster, to run, to fly!

The girl felt an excited light fill her, a voice telling her that it was joy, and soon the sound of her pursuers fell away. The plants no longer stung as she passed, instead reaching out with gentle caresses, speeding her along. She ran, elated by the burn of her lungs, the fiery ache in her legs.

To feel so alive, so free!

She could soar with the wind, if only she had wings!

The girl could see sunlight streaming through the forest of plants before her, the edge of the field within view. She pushed herself to move faster, nearly desperate now to see the open horizon. Soon she was breaking through the green, a laugh ringing out as she reached for the open air.

Then she was falling.

For a moment, the girl felt weightless, the surreal feeling causing her to close her bright eyes.

But gravity quickly reinstated itself and they snapped open, widening in alarm at the bluff she had unknowingly launched herself over.

She was shocked farther to find herself rushing towards a grey blob, colliding against the blurred shape with a loud ooff.

Sliding quickly off the figure and tugging her tangled legs loose of what her mind told her was a long grey cloak, the girl was appalled to find that she had crashed into a man. An old, no, ancient looking man.

She hastily moved to help him up, apologies waiting to drip from her wind-chapped lips, but stopped when a withered hand waved her back.

The man huffed, bracing himself on a long walking stick then slowly rose to his feet. A weathered mouth opened to deliver an affronted reprimand, and she winced, not relishing the scolding that she was sure to receive. It did not occur to her to ask why she would be punished. It simply was.

But he paused when he saw his assailant, shifting nervously on her feet and biting her lip sheepishly as she pulled some wild strands of hair from her face.

His bushy eyebrows furrowed, whiskers shifting in a frown as he peered at her with keen blue eyes, a faint look of puzzlement coloring his features.

She twisted her dirty hands in the hem of her shirt, the suspense quickly becoming too much for her. His silence and searching look had her itching to run, so she bowed again, hastily, and turned to the road with hopeful eyes.

But an old voice stopped her, the words merry with amusement.

"Amin, uma lle noro lim!"

The brunet blinked in confusion, twisting on her heels to stare at him. His reaction was curious and it took her a moment before she replied.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Her words came out slowly, the sounds moving out of her throat in a way that felt unnatural.

"I said: 'My, do you run fast!' I had assumed, given your appearance," He gestured towards her head at this, "that you would understand Eldarin." His nose wriggled in bemusement as he paused, "But it seems I was mistaken."

The girl looked down at herself, taking in her grass-stained trousers and bare feet, her toes nervously digging rivets in the dirt road beneath her. Something told her that her appearance was strange, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why. So she ignored the errant thought, bringing a hand up to where the old man had indicated and letting it trace softly over her face. Her fingers ghosted over an angled jaw, the tips tangling in her hair before they were met with hidden flesh; an ear, her mind supplied. She mapped the shell, frowning at how the gentle curve ended with a point, the smooth skin somehow different from what it should have been.

Her bright eyes snapped up at a grumbled murmur, the sight of the graying man shocking her to awareness and chasing away all thought of her confusing discovery. But her anxiety returned as she stared at him, his eyes clouded over as if in some deep contemplation. The silence was beginning to become unnerving and she couldn't help herself.

"Aren't you angry with me?"

He started, her voice jolting him from his revere and it was a moment before he slowly shook his head.

"So…" The girl questioned hopefully, wringing the yellowed edge of her shirt in her hands, "I'm not going to be punished?"

"No," The man answered absently, still lost in his thoughts, "I never said that…"

The young woman sagged, unable to stop her fidgeting as she hopped from foot to foot.

Then his wrinkled features seemed to come to life, a decision finally made as he straightened his stooped form.

"No, no! There will be a punishment for you, my dear. Accosting a weary, old traveler like myself is hardly acceptable behavior! But first," And here he wiggled his scuffed eyebrows, an odd twinkle entering his eyes, "You must come to dinner!"

The girl bit her lip uncertainly, a strange foreboding filling her, despite his kind eyes.

He smiled at her encouragingly and she nodded, hesitant, dark curls bouncing with the movement.

Harrumphing with satisfaction, he nodded back, then turned and started out in the direction they would travel.

She followed after him, eyes downcast until his deep voice drifted back to her.

"Now tell me, little Norolim," The Grey Wanderer asked conspiringly, humor lightening his tone, "Have you ever been inside a hobbit hole?"


She was pulled back to consciousness by a sharp pain at her temple, nausea and vertigo making her insides squirm. She blinked rapidly, trying to distinguish between memory and reality, balking as everything came rushing back.

Her throat moved in an awkward gulp as she feebly tried to move away from the source of her pain, stilling only at a harsh tug to her hair.

Belatedly, the girl tried to remember what this terrifying figure wanted, desperately wracking her jumbled thoughts. Something clicked and she flinched. He wanted her name. Panic quickened her blood; she didn't have a name to give. She had never had one, at least, not one she could remember.

Her world was spinning, the last memory of Gandalf's endearment ringing in her mind. She latched on to it, forcing it out of her mouth.

"Norolim!"

She repeated it to herself, wonder making her voice soft. "My name is Norolim."

It was a bastardized version of common Elvish, two words strung together in a way that native speakers would undoubtedly frown upon. But something told her that she wasn't remotely native, so butchering other languages was pretty much her job.

"Golug-bag!" The White Orc spat, lifting her higher off the ground as she was pulled violently from her musings. Norolim's legs kicked uselessly, arms straining as she tried to keep from having chunks of hair torn out. She was suddenly close to his face, too close, and she flinched back when something freezing touched her forehead, running along her hairline before impatiently flinging the wild strands from the side of her head.

The weapon against her skin stilled when it brushed against the shell of her pointed ear and she fought to strangle her gasping breathes. She heard an angry hiss of air being expelled sharply before she was thrown from him, his loud snarl ringing in her ears.

She curled into a ball and braced herself but the landing still hurt and she skidded a few feet before rolling to a standstill with a quiet squelch. There was something warm under her, warm and wet with the distinct smell of copper. Norolim had closed her eyes after the initial impact and was now very reluctant to open them, as she had a sinking suspicion about where she had landed.

But he was coming, his large foot falls echoing in her ears and the sound alone was enough to make her scramble up, watery eyes darting for an escape. It didn't matter that she was kneeling in fresh blood, or that the bodiless head of her captor's latest victim lay staring at her with dead eyes. All that mattered was that she had to get away and she had to do it fast.

Her legs pushed forward with a burst of speed, courtesy of the adrenaline now coursing through her veins, and she leaped over a broken stone arch, the toughened soles of her bare feet flapping against rock. A long howl went up behind her, others around the clearing joining it, the pack eager and thrilled at the prospect of a hunt.

She continued through the ruins, skirting around trees and boulders, the country side eerily similar to the one she had been running though only yesterday. She jumped off a steep incline, rolling like an acrobat before finding her feet again.

She rarely tired while running, but even now she could feel the uncomfortable sting in her hitching breaths, a stitch in her side as the constant movement aggravated her wounds.

The pain distracted her as she flew around a tree, colliding bodily with an ugly shadow waiting there.

Dots were still spotting her eyes as she felt a weight settle over her and she lashed out blindly, fist meeting flesh with a satisfying crunch. Orcish cursing met her ears as she darted backwards, vision finally clearing enough to see one of the orcs from earlier quickly rising to his feet. He removed a clawed hand from his face, revealing a broken nose and the black blood that oozed from it. She recognized him from the hunting group, realizing that he must have slunk away while his superior was being disemboweled. He grinned at her, teeth flashing. "Mmm," he smacked his bloody lips, "I like 'em feisty."

Repelled, Norolim tried darting to the side, throwing herself back when something sliver whizzed past her head and landed with a resounding thunk against the tree behind her. She didn't dare to look and see what it was, her eyes now locked on the orc as he began to circle her.

"I'ma have fun wit' ya, bitch. 'em Golug females 'r always so pretty when t'e scream."

He moved closer, armor clinking and wretched smile still on his face. She had backed into the tree, terror making her eyes wide as he continued to talk in that horrible tongue.

"T'e won't kill me if I bring ya back. And maybe, t'e let me keep ya." He waved his knife for emphasis and Norolim's mouth dropped open in horror at the implication, her body trying to shift away though there was nowhere to go.

Then she felt something poking into the side of her ribs and she grasped it, tugging at it like a life line.

The orc didn't notice.

He was disgustingly close now, his foul stench filling her nostrils as he raised his free hand to grasp the ruined fabric of her open shirt. She shuddered at his proximity, fear clawing up her spine enough to freeze her in place.

So it surprised them both when she thrust the throwing knife through a kink in his chest armor.

There was a shocked stillness, drowning out the not so distant bark of wargs and comprehension seemed to dawn slowly. His black eyes met hers and a strange gurgling cough left his throat before he fell to one side, dead.

Norolim's chest was heaving, her eyes still locked on the space where her assailant had just been standing, her world turning grey and numb. Her hand still held the blade and when she realized it, she pulled it close, shaking fingers running over its marred surface. It glittered with black blood, the dark sheen fascinating her.

A piercing howl shattered the knife's spell and she forcefully threw it, turning away from the scene of dread with the will of someone desperate to live. She lurched forward on unsteady legs, the rushing in her ears growing louder with each step. Or was that…

The woman ran towards the sound, nearly slipping into the raging water just off the bank of a great river. The rapids were high enough that she wouldn't be able to cross and so she followed the river, hoping for a bridge, a boat, anything. But nothing came and she soon found herself at the mouth of a huge staircase of waterfalls, the wild froth stretching out before her in a long arc as multiple waterways connected, their lifeblood pouring into one.

Norolim squinted against the mist, inching onto a large moss-covered stone as she struggled to see out over the cliff. But there was nothing and she began to panic as the sounds of the wolves tracking her grew over the sound of the rushing water.

She moved to flee back into the forest, ready to propel herself blindly into the dark, when something abruptly occurred to her.

Wargs where faster, by far, than a single woman on foot. She was covered in blood and the moon's bright light was shining down on her. It would not, should not, have been difficult for them to track her down and recapture her. Unless…

Unless releasing her had been the chieftain's plan all along. He was using her, following her like a hunter follows its prey until it finds the den.

He didn't want her. He had never wanted her. He wanted the dwarves and she was just bait.

Norolim's eyes sharpened, their green depths seeming to glow in the darkness as silence fell within the forest, and she didn't bother moving from her spot when the dark shapes cut her off from freedom.

She swiveled on her slick platform, facing the mounted figures defiantly. And though he remained in the shadow of the trees, she could still make out the White Orc's large form amongst the moving darkness and muffled growls. His arms were crossed as he bent casually over his mount, the white warg panting, and both their eyes gleamed in the dark as they watched her, like the creatures of nightmare.

Her fiery eyes met his and she smiled spitefully, the action more teeth and snarl.

Then she jumped.


AN: Ah, so… it's been awhile, eh? *coughs* Sorry about that… Any who! I got it out, though with much difficulty. I was having problems with the plot, etc, etc, and when I finally did work on it…my computer kinda brain farted and I lost half of what I wrote. So it's kinda a big deal for me that I got it posted. Many thanks to all my reviewers and specifically Puffgirl1952 for inspiring me to write this chapter and have it done before their birthday! Huzza! I hope it was up to your expectations, Puffgirl1952!

For those who were confused about the Bolded parts:

The Bolded quotes signify that another language is being spoken, though Norolim can understand it. Un-Bolded is ME's version of common, also known as Westron. Words in Black Speech and Elvish that are not translated are words that she doesn't understand, as her ability to understand languages can be selective and/or fickle. She doesn't remember who she is, so it makes sense that she might have other forms of memory loss.

Languages:

I kinda BS'ed most of it, taking what I wanted and stringing it together to form something vaguely resembling ME's languages.

This is what they mean:

Eldarin- Elvish

Golug-bag!-Elf-shit. Literally: Elf-dung.

Little Norolim- Literally: Little 'Run Fast', combining the separate words 'noro' (run) and 'lim'(fast) to create a name.

Amin, uma lle noro lim. - My, do you run fast.

I would really appreciate constructive feedback on this one, as it was one of the most difficult chapters that I have ever written, including the ones I've written for other stories. Anything: grammatical/spelling mistakes, what you liked, and most especially what you didn't like. Thanks for the support and Please Remember To Review!

Happy Reading,

~Delgodess