Frodo stared around the vast, black countryside. "There are so many of them," he said, spotting the torches thkat marked probably at least twenty orcs apiece. Those spanned the entire rocky ground; there had to be thousands. He could see the eye and the mountain both in the distance. So much ground to cover yet, and he was already tired. The Ring rubbed, irritated, against his neck, weighing down hard.
Sev spoke from beside him. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Yay, we made it!"
"We'll never get through unseen," Frodo mused, worried and grave. "Sev, I don't know how we'll do this."
"Let's get down the hill first," she said, turning to him. "Then we can be depressed about the fact that we are not two hobbits in a big land, or two hobbits in a little land, but a hobbit and an anti-creature in a frying pan."
Frodo blinked, eyeing her warily. "Indeed?"
Sev lifted her hands. "If you'd rather be frivolous getting down there, that's all fine with me, but you look like you want to be depressed." Then she glanced down at the torches. "Frodo, look! They're moving."
"Come on, then." Frodo slid down the slope, catching the base trail with his feet. Sev joined him, and he steadied her arm with a hand. He heard the crunching of orc armor down the trail; they were coming.
Sev turned to the other direction of the trail, staring down it. But to go that way would be to walk right into the center of the Mordor army. She leaped across the small footpath.
"Frodo, we can—," She abruptly stopped. She backed away, shrugging. "We can do nothing."
Frodo paused. Orcs were vicious. He wished he could do something more to protect them, but all he could see was the resource they had as being small and unnoticeable. They could hopefully slip out. He almost considered Sev as at an advantage . . . and then he realized they were almost the exact same size. He pulled her to the side, and he sat casually against the side of the mountain.
Orcs limped and bounded around the bend, clanking and banging like Sam's frying pans, just as dangerous and loud (when being used as weapons) but a little less ruthless about it. Frodo tried to look wounded, exhausted, ignorant, anything, but soon the leader came screeching and raving around the bend, snapping a whip. Sev grabbed Frodo protectively, shielding him from the whip as they were shoved into the shuffling line. Frodo heard metallic bangs as the whip collided with her armor . . . and then the snap against flesh.
The Ring pulled, and Frodo stumbled. Sev grabbed his arm, wrapping it about her shoulders, and she basically carried him the rest of the way. His wrist at the breach of his glove brushed her neck, where a line of throbbing heat grew. She had been snapped.
"Sev, are you all right?" he asked. The words barely escaped him; the Ring's chain sawed into his flesh, and the weight pulled on him. His feet dragged across the ground in heavy increments.
"I'm fine," she said, throwing it off. "We have to get out of here."
Then someone yelled, "Inspection!" as they ground to a halt. He heard grunts, and felt Sev tense up beside him. He sank in her hands. He winced; he had surprised her, apparently, by sinking. She struggled to keep him standing.
"Sev, it's so heavy . . ." Had he been able to think more clearly, he would have simply told her it was no use to hold him up. She glanced down, then gasped. Frodo could feel the blood emerging and scabbing beneath the Ring's chain. And now she could see it. And probably felt pulled to it.
Then Frodo heard a roar.
"Frodo! Frodo, what do I do?!"
Frodo's eyes flickered upward. He could see the inspector. He was charging to them; the hobbit had to think fast. "Hit me, Sev."
"Frodo, I'm not going to hit you."
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. They simply didn't have time. "Hit me!" he insisted. "Start fighting!"
She began weakly kneeing him in the stomach, and he drove her harder. "As hard as you can, Sev!" Apparently she truly had been holding back. The blows snapped pain through him . . . but it vanished almost as immediately as it appeared. She healed whatever she hurt. He breathed slowly.
Orcs roared and fought, and the whip came out. "Now, Sev!" Frodo insisted, and they both ducked away. Sev pulled him into a nearby shamble of a tent. She settled both hands on his shoulders, setting him on the ground.
"Are you all right?" she swallowed.
Frodo's lungs heaved. It had nothing to do with her, and he wished he could tell her that. He could only nod. Sev laid a glove against his helmet, rubbing along it. It was as though he could feel her hand to his head, and so he settled. But he didn't have time for it. She didn't have time for it, either. He tried to stand, but she kept him down. "No," she said. "Stay here for a minute; you need to rest a little."
He shook his head. "We need to keep moving, Sev." He found the strength to say just a little of what he wanted to. "You did well, and I'm fine." He stood, but she looked rather adamant. He paused, waiting for Sev to defy him, but she simply laid his arm across her shoulders, lifting him out of the tent and into the open, deadly air.