Listen and Learn
Recaptured – Chapter 128
Author: Llinos
Beta: Marigold
A quick Recap of Recap – as it's been a while.
The Ring, in trying to escape Frodo's intended destruction of It, has managed to transfer much of It's power to a faux Ring, which Gandalf gave to Pippin to try and mislead the hobbit into thinking he was the Ringbearer in order to fool Sauron into also believing this.
Legolas, who has already been blinded and had his speech taken in a mental battle with the Dark Lord, is recovering from field surgery after being injured in battle and is unconscious. Gimli is taking care of him and managed to mindspeak to the elf with Pippin's help.
Éowyn and Faramir are devastated by Merry's kidnap by a fell beast after Faramir slew it's rider, when they were hurrying to the Black Gate to warn Pippin not to go to Mordor, although this message subsequently changed that Pippin should go to Mount Doom and destroy his half of the Ring.
Pippin has been reunited with Smagnu and Co and has been sent off to Mordor with Smag by Gandalf, so that he may destroy his part of the Ring. He was given strict instructions not to attempt to rescue Merry, which, of course, he ignored.
Gandalf, in order to create a diversion for Pippin and Smag's Quest, went to the Black Gate with Bloggin disguised as Pippin. But he was attacked by the Dark Lord with devastating results. Gandalf is down and Bloggin has been taken by the Uruks.
Meanwhile, Gollum has gained a reciprocal insight into Frodo's mind and is aware of Pippin's half of the Ring and has now set off to intercept him so that he can kill him and steal the Precious. Frodo and Sam are pursuing Gollum to prevent this, although Frodo is dubious about how he might react to Pippin having the Ring.
Merry has been snatched from certain death, both in the cage of a fell beast and then from hanging over the Black Gate and is now to be sent to Sauron. He is traumatised by events and the shock has robbed him of his voice. However, his captor, Majdi Rann, a servant of the Mouth of Sauron, has taken pity on him, although there is not a great deal he can do to save him.
Now read on…
Gandalf's mind fled away from the unexpected onslaught of the Dark Lord. His consciousness retreated from the horrendous intrusion and sought refuge. He needed somewhere quiet and dark, a little known and unsuspected place in which he could recover his thought and reason. Floundering around in the void of blackness to which he had retreated he discovered a fissure nearby. It was blank and dark but there was the tiniest spark of comfort in there. It seemed to be a miniscule flicker of something positive and warm. Suddenly the White Wizard recognised the little spark – it was hope and it burnt brightly inside this drear and sad place. Hope and something else? A ladle? What? No! Someone holding a ladle. It was a small orc called Sniggin, he held his brother's ladle, possessively and hopefully, knowing that the other would come back to him so long as he held on to this significant possession.
This was good! This place was safe and unobtrusive, he could rest here and observe and none were likely to deduce where his thoughts and memory and intellect now resided, neither his enemies nor his friends. Gandalf settled incongruously back and watched through Bloggin's eyes as the three armies of orcs bore down on him.
As the first band of orcs, all Uruks, seized Windfola's reins Gandalf watched with alarm as his prone body was kicked at, but the jeering captors soon lost interest and Bloggin hung frantically to the saddle as he was raced along. Although he was close to total panic, there seemed to be a stern voice in the back of his head that stopped him from jumping from the horse's back and screaming for mercy from the marauding band of Uruks. It made no sense, he was petrified and yet he was overcome with a great sense of calm that told him nothing bad would happen as long as he kept quiet and still. Bloggin held tight and waited.
They reached the gate and the leading Uruk rattled the bars ferociously, "Oi let us in! We's got the 'alfling 'ere!"
"Yer can't 'ave!" The skeletal orc snarled through the portcullis, "jest 'ad annuver Uruk in 'ere an' 'e'd got the 'alfling, I saw it wiv me own eyes as I live an' breathe!"
"Yeah an if yer wan' ta keep livin' an' breathin' yer'd best open these fugging gates right now!" The head Uruk slammed his fist into the ironwork again, making a clamour that caused Windfola to rear up, almost unseating the unfortunate Bloggin.
"All right! Keep yer 'ead on!" The skeletal orc motioned to the troll to raise the gate again. "Yer'd better get it over an' put it wiv the other 'un."
"Nah!" The Uruk turned to his companions, "Whaddyer fink boys? I reckon we're gonna keep this 'un to ourselves, ain't gonna get it pinched offen us!" He turned back to the skeletal one. "Where's the best place to stick a vallubul prisnor like this 'un?"
"There's some empty lockups over by them there Nazgûl's stables," the burly Uruk behind the gate pointed, "yer can stick it in there. Just make sure it's empty first or the dragon's'll 'ave it, just as soon as look at it. They's already etten one up so's I'd heard."
'so it weren't a rumour!' Bloggin's mind filed the piece of information. 'the dragon things had eaten one of them halflings.'
Before he had a chance to contemplate this intelligence further, Windfola was jerked forwards again and Bloggin carried through the ranks of orcs, hoping that he would at least not be recognised as an orc himself, let alone as Bloggin, brother of Sniggin of the One-Four-One, Blue Rainbow battalion.
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Éowyn felt a sudden stab of pain in her lower ribs, she let out an involuntary gasp and clutched at her midriff, reaching out with her other hand to steady herself against the nearest support, which happened to be Gimli.
"Milady! What's wrong?" Gimli took her hand and glanced up at Faramir who stepped forward as she faltered. "What ails thee?"
"It's… it's nothing, I'm sure," Éowyn straightened up as she gained control of the sudden pang and felt it diminish after the first onslaught, "Legolas has taken back the hurt that is his." Because of his close proximity and their mental link, she could feel the elf's consciousness return and with it his pain before he could take control of his senses and rein them in. Éowyn took a deep breath and smiled at the concerned males, "I am certain he is awake and that is a good sign, is it not?"
"I am not so sure of that," Gimli looked anxiously in the direction of the tent where the elf lay. "He is sorely wounded and perhaps sleep would be a good remedy."
"Perhaps you should lie down My Lady Éowyn?" Faramir offered his hand to escort her.
"I am… that is, I will be all right," Éowyn took the proffered hand nevertheless, more to please Faramir than because she needed the help. The young man brightened at this response, but was dashed again a second later. "We should go at once to see how Legolas fares though." Éowyn started to lead the way.
"Aye, my thoughts exactly," Gimli agreed and hurried in front, nodding curtly to Dysgwr as they entered and heading straight to the elf's bedside.
"Excuse me, I hope you are not planning to disturb my patients," Dysgwr now had a considerable collection of wounded under his care and beds were crammed into every spare inch of the tent. "His Royal Highness, Prince Legolas is yet sleeping."
"His Royal whatness?" Gimli spluttered at the title. He had never heard the elf addressed thus by anyone, not in Imladris, not in Lothlórien and certainly not in Minas Tirith, although it was the case there that Legolas had at one point been in command of that City by some strange default.
"He is the son of King Thrandruil of Mirkwood I understand." Dysgwr stated rather haughtily, "I verify the identity of all my patients, I am very thorough."
"Well yes… but…" Gimli was trying to edge around the healer. "I don't think he would like…"
"It is protocol to address each patient according to his station." Dysgwr added, stepping now to block Gimli's way. "I do not tolerate indiscipline in any establishment in which I am principal healer and in this tent that is what I am. Furthermore, I will not tolerate unscheduled visiting, with non-healers wandering in and out on whatever whim…"
"Gimli! He's awake!" Éowyn had slipped past the officious Dysgwr while he was busy lecturing the dwarf. She had enough experience of the man's pedantic need for protocol when she had helped Merry escape his ministrations. Although she had wondered since if that had been for the best, in view of what had happened to the hobbit. "Look he is moving. Legolas, Legolas my dear, can you hear me? It's Éowyn."
Even Dysgwr was taken by surprise at this news and turned about abruptly in unison with Gimli, who in turn managed to finally make his way to the elf's side. He took his friend's hand and was rewarded with a tight grip. "You are awake! How do you feel? Have you much pain?"
"I shall do the diagnosis Master Dwarf." Dysgwr took the elf's other hand and felt his cheek, testing for temperature. "He is quite cool, no fever still."
"I'm not sure that elves get feverish," Éowyn looking at Gimli. The dwarf shrugged, he was no student of elf physiology either. Just then, Legolas used his grip on Gimli's hand to pull himself upright to a sitting position.
"Your Highness have a care!" Dysgwr put his hand on Legolas's shoulder as though to press him back down, but then thought better of it.
"He seems to be somewhat recovered," Faramir was not sure whether to be glad of this as it meant that Éowyn's attention might be dissipated once more, but on the other hand, at least she would cease to worry about the elf so much. "Perhaps we should leave him to get some peace."
Éowyn smiled at Faramir, but ignored his suggestion, taking a goblet and placing it to Legolas's lips for him to drink. The elf took a long draught then choked and spluttered, pushing the vessel away. Éowyn dragged her gaze from Faramir to look at the drink and sniff it; it was not water but ale. "Aiech! I'm so sorry Legolas," she whispered in her embarrassment. Éowyn prided herself on her healing and nursing skills and frowned, wondering what could have caused her to become so distracted.
Faramir and Gimli had both seen what had happened, as had Dysgwr. "Is it your normal practice to force alcoholic beverages on your newly awoken patients Milady?" The question seemed reasonable, but the tone was scathing. "If so I would prefer in my healing domain you defer to my practice of proffering plain boiled water."
"I thought I had," Éowyn said in her own defence, "why have you got ale here in any event?"
"Ah – that would be mine," Gimli looked suitably embarrassed but, before Dysgwr could turn on him with another lecture, there was a commotion at the entrance of the tent.
"Bring him through, quickly! Make a resting place for the pallet." Four soldiers, two Gondorian and two Rohirrim were bearing a stretcher and at their head was Aragorn.
"Who is it? What has occurred?" Faramir stepped towards the procession while Dysgwr fussed them to an unoccupied corner to relinquish their burden.
"Oh no!" Éowyn gasped in dismay and Faramir took her small hand in his.
Gimli voiced what they had all seen except for the elf, who prompted the dwarf with a squeeze to his hand. "It's Gandalf! He's… he's… I don't know."
"He's breathing," Aragorn turned sensing their dismay, "But I cannot rouse him at all. The little orc is taken along with your steed Milady. I am sorry."
"Oh, but I barely knew the creature My Lord," Éowyn frowned at the news, "I mean I'm sorry he is lost, but the orc was not a particularly close acquaintance."
"I think he means Windfola," Faramir took the opportunity to breathe the words quietly into her ear and squeeze the small hand that was in his.
Éowyn blushed, "My steed is a warhorse who knows his duty – as do I. His loss is regrettable but I do feel concern for that poor little creature."
Faramir sighed, but said nothing.
Aragorn knelt beside Gandalf and placed a hand gently upon the lined brow. "Gandalf? Can you hear my voice?" The Ranger looked up and sighed, "There is nothing, it is as if his very soul has fled his body."
The conversations drifted eerily through Legolas' mind. He tested his arm by flexing his fingers and stretching his hand, then stopped, too painful yet. Gandalf lay close by, but the elf could not sense his presence. Aragorn was trying to rouse the wizard, but Legolas knew it was futile, Gandalf was not there.
Tentatively he let a wisp of thought stir within his mind, probing and seeking. It would be difficult to reach Mithrandir at any distance. In Legolas' experience the wizard was private and secretive with his spirit and did not communicate easily in his mind.
Painfully, trying to suppress the throbbing ache in his side and his arm, Legolas concentrated all his energy on moving through the darkness that surrounded his thoughts. Too long had he shut off the inward flow into his mind for fear of discovery and, even now, there was much danger.
He found himself floating through a morass of black thoughts that cursed and spat venom with hate filled bile or minds filled with terror that were caught up in a nightmare of darkness, driven forward to certain death like beasts before the butcher's knife. Legolas almost found it too oppressive in his weakened state, but there was a faint glow that he recognised as Gandalf and so pushed onwards.
Legolas could not call out to help his search for that would draw unwanted attention as well. There was a strong possibility that the wizard had faced his great foe and perhaps the Dark Lord was seeking him even now.
Suddenly, through the murk and despair, a soft blue light gleamed. It rested quietly, silent, as if not wishing to draw attention to itself. But Legolas fled towards the glow, certain that he recognised its owner. He did not speak, but rather sat beside the silver-blue radiance; touching it lightly to be sure he had found what he wanted. The light shimmered in and out and blended with another garish blue that did not mix but splattered itself crudely about on the pure essence of the azure shade.
Legolas listened.
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Merry was silent.
There was much activity and noise around him, voices discussing this and that. He heard himself referred to several times, 'that there imp', that was him, he knew. 'The fugging 'alfling', another epithet to which he had grown accustomed. But he could make no sense of any of it. His mind was numb and he no longer had the will to even try to protect himself or to care what happened to him.
Then that voice was in his face. It was the one who had urged him to try and eat and, Merry thought, the one he had clung to, even though he had clouted him several times. There was nothing else to hold on to in this forsaken den and Merry had resigned himself to death and the thought filled him with darkness and dread. He did not think it would be an easy death that would bring peace, even if he were to die right this instant, the trauma of the last few hours made any kind of calm for him an impossibility – dead or alive. Nevertheless, he had to find a way to die before he was brought before the Dark Lord.
But this man was saying that he would rescue him. Why would he do that? Perhaps he was a spy, an interloper, someone sent by Gandalf or Aragorn to save him. Merry had the vague thought that he should ask who the man was and he moved his lips but no words came out, his throat was frozen and he could not speak. He nodded his head instead and the man seemed satisfied with that.
Merry wondered hazily why he could not talk but his mind was too bleary to follow the train of thought. Instead he tried to focus on what the man was saying to him, "Don't be afraid and don't fight, just do as you're told. I will come after you. I think there is only one courier and I have the edge of surprise. I will rescue you – you'll be all right."
Where was he going? Merry suddenly panicked, this was it! They were taking him to Sauron. Frantically he caught hold of Majdi Rann's cloak and gripped it tightly in both fists.
"No, No! Listen to me," Majdi tried to prise the small fingers open. "You have to go now. It is better if you don't put up a fight, they will knock you unconscious or drug you again. Just go with the courier and I will come for you."
Merry's grip did not lessen. The hobbit was petrified beyond being reasoned with and he buried his head in the cloak, frantically clinging on to the man as if he were his parent or, more poignantly, his executioner.
"Listen, creature." Majdi wished he knew the thing's name, but he seemed too petrified to talk, "My name is Majdi – Majdi Rann. Do you have a name? What do they call you?"
Merry just shook his head again, his face still buried in Majdi's cloak. The man sighed and started to go through the hobbit's clothes, checking the pockets of his britches and shirt. Which reminded him, "Hey, you, Phunnie, where's the shiny mail coat this one had on? If you've had it away, there'll be more than me to answer to."
"Oh, yers, ah," Phunnie hesitated, "look, no need to put it back on the 'alfling. We can split…"
"I hope that was a pathetic orc attempt at humour." Majdi left his scrutiny of Merry and grabbed the General by the coat, pushing his face so close to the orc's that he almost puked from the stench. "Get it now and put it back!"
"Right, right!" Phunnie pushed Majdi off, nervous of this man who was aggressive enough to physically face down an Uruk. "I jest took it of'n the brat so as I could wash it proper."
Majdi turned back to Merry, "I want you to keep that shiny coat on, I don't know if it's magic or something, but I think it will protect you, like that weird elven rope does. Now then," Majdi continued his examination of Merry's clothes. "What's this?" He pulled out a folded, battered piece of paper from the hobbit's britches' pocket and smoothed it out until he could decipher the scribbled words, 'Dearest Pip, this is the way out for you and Merry. You must be very careful and look after Merry as it is going to be dangerous for him!
It was in fact the note that Frodo had written for Pippin in the Tower of Cirith Ungol. Pippin had kept it safe until he had reached Minas Tirith and been given new clothes. The note had been folded up in his britches' pocket when last he wore them and these were the britches that Merry had donned in the Houses of Healing when there were no other things available to fit him.
There was much more scribbling on the scrap of paper and what appeared to be a badly drawn map with notes, but Majdi could not read all that was written as the language was foreign to him and the paper was crumpled and the crayon faded. But the first two words were clear enough, the name of the addressee, 'Dearest Pip'.
"So your name is Dearest Pip, is it?" Majdi asked. There was a slight response as the halfling looked up at him, a spark of recognition in his eyes at last. "Pip, Is that what they call you? All right, you listen to me Pip. You have to go with the messenger, but I will come after you and rescue you. I am not afraid of Uruks and will kill one as easily as look at one. So you go along and don't be afraid little Pip. Understand?"
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Bloggin kept his face well hidden as told, although he probably would have in any case, without the instruction. There were far too many things happening to him that ranged from mildly unusual to terrifying. And even mildly unusual was enough to upset this particular little cooking orc especially without his brother around.
For one thing he was not accustomed to being the centre of so much attention. There were orcs all around him and they were all talking about him, prodding him and snarling at him and he was the only one on a horse. He wondered why they didn't pull him down off the animal. These orcs seemed to think he was something special, another unique experience in Bloggin's life, no one had ever considered him special before, not even Sniggin. Of course, he reminded himself, that was only because they thought he was someone else, they thought he was the odd little halfling with the speech impediment. Now where had that thought come from? Bloggin was very confused, he kept having thoughts that definitely did not belong to him. Some of the thoughts even had words in that he didn't understand, such as impediment. What the slug's breath did that mean?
It means 'difficulty' his mind told him.
'thank you, sir,' Bloggin told his mind, still as confused as ever.
'You're welcome,' thought Gandalf, his volume carefully adjusted to just below that which he used for the hobbits. 'Now keep your head down and be quiet.'
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Gollum skittered over the black rocks, moving faster now that he had a purpose. He stopped every so often and sniffed the air. He could not tell where the hobbit with the Ring was from the airborne information, just that vast swathes of orcs were this way and that Barad-dûr was the other.
But he knew from an unspoken thought in Master's head that the other hobbit; the little one that didn't hear or talk – The Pippin – would be coming from this direction, from where the orcs were.
"Master doesn't say so," Gollum muttered as he ran, "Oh no – Masster's trying not to think it hisselfs now! But iss too late for that. Why my Precious? Because we heard him! We ssaws I'ss mindses! He's thinking and thinking! Ohho yesss Precious! Thinking where the little hobbit isss and bringing the other Halveses! The Ring – The Precious, isss very clever, very clever My Precious! Puts Itselves in two Halveses and then hobbitses can never break It. Not unless theys do it altogether. Ohho and we thinks thass too much for even clever hobbitses." Gollum chortled, "and theses are not the clever hobbitses – are they Precious!"
The creature slid down a sharp incline and splashed through a black murky stream. "No times for fishsess, not now, not until we finds him." Gollum stopped suddenly and, sitting down in the middle of the water, put his hands to his head, "No! No! Masster, you stay, stay there. Why does he follows us! It's not fair! Trying to stop Sméagol! He won't catches uss! Masster can't run so fast as us and the fat hobbit can't run at all! Haa! Hee! Sméagol going to catch the little hobbit and… Grrrrrrruuumm!" He let out a low growl and made a neck wringing action with his hands, "We'll break his pretty neck. We hates the little hobbit – The Pippin! He was meant for Her, but She lost him. Sméagol won't lose him, not this time. We'll catch him and kill him and roast him and toast him. Then the Precious will be ours again!"
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"Don't be afraid little Pip." The words rang in Merry's head, but somehow they did nothing to allay his fears. The man had told him his name, Majdi, and then said he would come and rescue him. But then what? Would he let him go or did he want him for some evil purpose of his own?
Merry wanted to thank the man, to tell him he was grateful and to ask him if he meant to hurt him, but all he could do was tremble and hold tightly to his cloak. Then the Uruk who had washed him arrived back with the mithril coat and the man and the orc forced it over Merry's head. After which the hobbit was stood on his feet and Majdi guided him to the door and along the winding corridor, his hand firmly holding the hobbit's upper arm.
Merry tried to look around as he was marched along. He frantically did not want to go, but he saw no way out and his inert senses refused to let him so much as utter a plea for help. They passed several large orcs but none stepped forward to claim him and finally Majdi stopped by a heavy door and pulled it open.
Merry tried to squeak with fear at the sight of the massive beast that was waiting for him, but still no sound escaped his lips and he tried to move as far behind Majdi as he could, clinging tightly to the man's cloak.
"You the courier for the halfling?" Majdi had to look up at the Uruk, as he was a good head taller than the man. "You got papers?"
"Nah," The Uruk turned away and spat on the ground, "I got the other one, see. An I bin told to take 'em both right away."
"Yers, 'e 'as an all!" The orc guard waiting with the Uruk confirmed. "I seen it all right, left it outside, but 'e's got it right enough!"
"Well you take this one, and be careful of it." Majdi pulled Merry forward. "You probably know, but there's to be no spoiling or looting of it. You do any damage and the Great Lord will know that you have and then you'll wish yourself never out of your pod!"
"I knows that," the Uruk growled, "bin 'andling these liddle rats before I 'ave. Now gies it 'ere, I ain't got no luxury to pass the time o' fuggin' day!"
"And you mind your manners with it, too." Majdi did not like the tone of this great brute. "It's in a delicate state and it could do with something to eat, so have a care with it."
The Uruk took hold of Merry and wordlessly prised his fingers off Majdi's cloak. "I'll get it there in one piece, that's me fuggin' job innit?"
"Well have a care for it, oh and by the way," Majdi added as an afterthought, "I think it's name is Pip."
"Yeah, yeah," the Uruk muttered as he lifted the halfling up on to his great shoulder, "I know."
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Bloggin scurried to the far side of the small cell as he was pushed inside and heard the key turn in the lock. He sank down against the wall and lifted his head just enough that he could take in his surroundings. The prison was not so much a cell as a cave with railings and an iron door across the entrance and beyond the bars Bloggin could see several little orcs scurrying about. Mostly they seemed to be carrying pots of liquid, which splashed, and sploshed over the sides as they hurried about. 'mmmm' Bloggin thought, 'stew!'
But no stew came his way and, after several boring minutes of waiting for something to happen, he decided to investigate the interior of his accommodation. He was not sure why he wanted to do this, nor why he thought about it in those strange long words, but, nevertheless, he began to explore the darker nooks and crannies of the cave.
In one gloomy corner he found a pile of rags and pulling them apart, discovered a couple of pairs of britches, mostly torn beyond repair and a leather jerkin, also ripped. There was a helm that would be several sizes too big for him and was badly dented and what had been a long belt, but was now two short belts. Various other assorted shreds of cloth turned out to have possibly been shirts of cotton or velvet in their original form. Bloggin sniffed each scrap trying to discern how recently it had been worn and if it would be possible to recycle it as clothing and if not, was it edible?
His clothes sorting complete Bloggin continued on around the cell and found a little depression with several bones, mostly splintered and jagged and two small skulls. There was an assortment of teeth, obviously not from the same creature as some were pointed and others round and… and 'they are cuspids and molars', his mind told him, 'and put them down, there is no time for making necklaces or soup his mind went on to say.
"I wasn't – honest!" Bloggin told his interfering mind out loud. To be truthful the thought had crossed his mind but he knew it was neither the time nor the place. He continued his investigations. In the farthest, darkest corner, Bloggin found something much more interesting and close to his heart, a little heap of cooking utensils. There was a tin mug, almost rusted beyond recognition, a small billycan, and, of all wondrous things, a battered and bent ladle. He picked up all three items and pottered back to where the teeth were and had a little think.
'No soup his mind told him sternly. His mind was really getting so bossy just lately.
"Well what does I do now?" The little orc asked his mind petulantly, "No soup nor no jewellery – I dun't know what else!"
'Hmm his mind replied. 'Listen carefully, this is what I want you to do. Make sure no one is watching, then take off those clothes, no just the top things, and dress yourself in some of those rags.'
Bloggin frowned at these instructions, "why's I gotta do that? I likes these things and all, they's the best clothes I ever had."
'You keep them on and you'll be the best dressed orc corpse in Mordor' his mind told him scathingly. 'Now you take them off and get some of those rags on!As Blogginsidled off to obey his imperious mind, he obediently looked both ways to make sure he was not observed and then, as quickly as he could, he shed the grand tabard, the mail and, his greatest regret, the fine little helm and clad himself in the smelly rags. 'Good, that's good,' his mind was full of praise, 'now hide the things you've taken off… that's right… bury them in the heap on the floor. Now go and pick up the little cooking pot and the cup and, listen to me carefully.'His mind barely gave him a chance to think about this before continuing, 'I want you to rattle the bars with the mug and attract the attention of one of those little orcs.'
"Are they going to give me some stew?" Bloggin asked his mind enthusiastically. "'Cause I could really eat some o' that now."
'No, his mind told him sternly again, 'I want you to tell them that you were feeding the prisoner and that he escaped and locked you up in his place. Do you understand?
"No, Sir," Bloggin told his mind, "I'm the prisoner, how can I escapted meself?"
'Well,' his mind gave a deep sigh, 'you're going to pretend. Or rather you're going to stop pretending. You're not the halfling any more, you're just plain old Boggin…'
"Bloggin, Sir," Bloggin reminded his mind.
'Yes, yes, Bloggin,' his mind continued. 'So you pretend that the halfling escaped when you were bringing him some food. Now do you understand?'
Bloggin sat down, his head between his hands and thought very, very hard. His mind sat with him and waited patiently.
Eventually, the little orc jumped up and grabbed the pot, the mug and the ladle and ran to the bars, rattling the mug to and fro across the railings. "Help! Help! Lemme out o' 'ere! That there 'alfling's gone and escaped and lockt'ed me in. Quick lemme out!" The panic rose in his voice until one of the smaller orcs came over and peered in.
"Wassup?" the little orc snarled. "Wot you doin' in there?"
Before Bloggin could reply, his imperious mind took over, without so much as an excuse me nor nothing. "I wuz feedin' the 'alfling an 'e jumped me. Escaped 'oo knows where! Quick, lemme out o' 'ere or we'll all be fer it! You an all – best ta keep right quiet 'bout this, jest say yer dun't know nuffink!"
"Yeah right!" The little orc was in fact in charge of the feeding of prisoners and his heart went into overload panic with this news. He quickly spun the keys around his neck and unlocked the door, letting Bloggin slip quietly through, "an' you better keep yer gob shut an all, ifn' yer knows what's good fer yer! I'll wring yer fuggin' neck meself if yer breathe a word. Now get on wiv it."
Bloggin did as told and quickly scurried away to try and get on with whatever it was the orc thought he should be doing.
His mind breathed a long sigh of relief. 'Leave that,' it ordered once it had finished sighing, 'we have to go and find Merry, he'll need rescuing now.'
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"'Ere!" The Uruk that had captured Bloggin had just come from locking up his prize and was contemplating silently how he could claim the halfling all for himself – the bounty was bound to be worth plenty. "Ain't that the uvver one? Yer know – they said at the gate some berk had already got one?" He pointed his companion, a smaller Uruk with a flattened nose, towards Pippin waiting patiently on Shadowfax.
"Nah – I dunno," Flatnose offered, "It dun't look proper – not all dressed up smart in armour like what ourn wuz!"
"Yeah well, I'm gonna mek sure as sure," Bloggin's Uruk declared, "Look, best not to take no fugging chances. We can grab thisun and stick it in the cell wiv the uvver. 'Sides," the Uruk pointed out, "T'ain't our fault if some fugging idiot leaves theys property laying about all over the fugging place!" He strode purposefully over to the halfling and went to reach up and grab him.
"Oi, Mister!" The little orc left to mind the horse and prisoner dared the challenge. He was afraid of this Uruk, but then again the other one was even bigger and more frightening. "My boss says no one ain't to touch that! An' the 'orse'll 'ave yer if yer goes near it."
"Fug off!" explained Bloggin's Uruk and reached up again.
It was one blow! But it was straight to the head and Shadowfax's hooves, whilst not shod were sharp and deadly. Pippin clung frantically to the great horse's mane as he reared up and downed the Uruk.
"Oh shit!" Flatnose was impressed. This was obviously the right halfling after all, a shame his companion would not be able to claim it. "'Ere you!" The Uruk wondered if he could lure the valuable prisoner down with his charm. "Come down orf that 'orse an' I'll give yer summat!"
"No thankering," Pippin offered politely, as he regained his composure and balance aboard Shadowfax once more. "We dursent not needing no things just now."
"'Ere you," Flatnose grabbed the minder orc by the ear, "get that there body cleaned up. Dun't you know nuffing?" The minder orc was always happy to respond to the latest orders and started to drag the inert body away.
"Look I knows they got nuffing good planned for you." Flatnose tried again, "They gonna take yer to Barad-dûr, to see the Great Lord Sauron. Come wiv me an I'll get yer out o' it somehow."
"We not got go with no ones," Pippin felt fairly secure on board Shadowfax, but the attention from this Uruk was most unwelcome. "You got goes somewheres not here now please."
"Wot?" The Uruk wondered if Halflings spoke a different language. "Wot you saying? Git down off the 'orse and 'splain it ter me."
Pippin scratched his head. This Uruk's accent was so distorted he could barely understand a word he said, although he appeared to want him to get off Shadowfax. "We not heared you saying no things. We got waitering here at We Smag… We meanted We Uruk go take We round go bout heres. Not for you get We's. You got going not be here please We think."
"Wot yer saying?" Flatnose stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it about. "I can git 'e a right fair 'nuff scoff ifn yer comes down now." He wondered if food might tempt the creature down. "Gies yer 'smuch's yer can hold in yer belly. Cmon littlun, I'll ketch yer ifn yer jumps." And he held out his arms in offer of the catch.
"We not got go listering at you no mores now." Pippin turned his head firmly in the other direction, although he had wanted to watch the door where Smagnu had vanished, he found the arm waving of the Uruk scared him it was so threatening. "We can't not knowing no things what you is sayering. Pleases be go not here!"
"Well wot's it yer sposed ter 'ave any road?" Flatnose decided to try another approach. He knew the halflings possessed some kind of magical artifact and if he could get his hands on that, maybe that would make his fame and fortune. "Yer dun't want it. Gies it to us an' have away wiv it."
Pippin wished frantically that Smagnu would hurry up with Merry. He had no idea what this odd Uruk was saying but he was certain it was nothing good. He was probably angry that Shadowfax had laid out, and possibly killed his companion. "We not meanering get friends go not live! It big mistrake. We thinkering Shadowfax mostly sorry but he big one Ruruk go touchering We and We Shadowfax not go likering that too much or even a lot."
Just then there was a frantic shout and another Uruk came running across the compound and clouted Flatnose across the back of the head. "Wot yer done wiv it, yer pigfaced snout?"
"Wot?" Flatnose pulled himself up and rolled out of the way of the next blow. "Done wiv wot?"
"The fugging 'alfling – thass wot!" The new Uruk aimed a kick at Flatnose and pulled a knife. "Yer fugging 'alf inched it when yer thought no one wuz lookin'!"
"Fugging dint!" Flatnose was on his feet and grabbed the other in a headbutt position, before hammering home his skull, just as the other plunged the knife into Flatnose's unfortunate guts.
Both attacks rang true and before Pippin could blink there were now two dead Uruks at Shadowfax's feet. The minder orc returned at this opportune moment and looked dolefully up at the halfling seated silently on the great white horse. Sighing deeply he began to cart the first body away, "Three dead bosses in as many minutes!" He nodded at Pippin. "Fer such a little fing, yer don't arf cause a lotta trouble!"
"We not caused no trubs," Pippin applied his most innocent wide-eyed look. After all, Smagnu had told him to behave. "We not do no things – just sittering here and minds We owns businesses."
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Merry tried desperately not to let go of Majdi, but the Uruk was too big and powerful and, once he had prised open the hobbit's fingers, he lifted him easily over his great shoulder. In spite of a tiny voice at the back of his consciousness telling him to stay calm, Merry had been through too many traumas at the hands of orcs and Uruks in the last few hours and reason had fled.
Being captured was of course fear-provoking and both he and Pippin had been taken prisoner many times during the Quest. But being seized and toyed with as a potential meal was beyond frightening and poor little Merry was still reeling from the experience, when he had been dragged from the jaws of death only to be knocked about and then strung up over the main gate into Mordor, where Pippin could see him. Then he had been abruptly pulled back and roughed up again, shouted at, made sick and now he was to be sent to the Dark Lord in the hands of this terrifying abomination of a creature. The Uruk's long black stringy hair matched his long black stringy face and the numerous piercings and protruding yellow fangs did nothing to alleviate his general air of evil and malevolence.
Merry shook with fear and, although his power of speech seemed to have deserted him, he managed a small frightened whimper as he struggled valiantly to wriggle away from the great beast carrying him further into Mordor. To the Dark Lord – a fate that he must kill himself rather than face – and, even more devastatingly, further away from Pippin, his dearest cousin and friend, who he would never, ever see again.
It was only then that Merry's stilted thinking registered something he had heard. Majdi had called him 'Pip'. Vaguely Merry wondered why he had done that? Did the man think he was Pippin? If so, how would he know his name?
Then he recalled that the Uruk had muttered that he knew his name was Pip. In fact the big creature was petting him gently on the back of the head, ruffling his curls quite gently. That made no sense! That's not what orcs do. He was talking to him as he walked. Merry tried to make his muddled brain focus properly, to hear what the dreadful monster was whispering to him.
"It's all right," the creature crooned in a gruff, surly tone, "don't you worry New Little Pip, we've come to rescue you, stop fighting me now – come along, just calm down. Little Pip is waiting for us."
Merry almost fainted with shock and delight. He wrapped his arms around the Uruk's neck and hung on tightly, actually nuzzling his face into the gnarled skin. He managed to let out a tiny gasp of relief and opened his eyes as he realised he had just seen dear Mr Smagnude for the first time. Tears of relief and bewilderment ran down Merry's ashen face as the Uruk heaved him up onto Shadowfax in front of Pippin.
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To Be Continued…
Author's Notes
So long! I've been distracted, mainly by shiny things, but occasionally by mundane, have-to-do things as well. Lots of time mucking about with Knittedhobbits, EastGate oh and actually finishing Moria's Revenge. Dabbling in Slashy Role Plays and piddling about on live journal, to say nothing of RL writing projects, running with Jake and root canal tooth surgery.
Nevertheless, the main distraction has been East Gate and I have that mostly under control now, so I am hoping to give Recap a lot more attention. This does not mean anyone is allowed to stop reading and reviewing East Gate because it has cost me real blood!
So enough of my problems – on to yours:-
Dreamflower: I have to admit I was a little doubtful about starting this one--it's so very AU, but just a few chapters in and I was hooked, but good!
Llinos: I didn't mean to be AU – I didn't even know what AU meant when I started. Still at least it's not a MarySue – at least I don't think Smagnu is a MarySue – on the other hand…
mariposa: If you do I promise I will review every chapter, long, luscious reviews, dripping with details!
Llinos: Aha – you've said it now and a promsis is a promsis – I mean promise.
SeskiLexi: I love this. I'm still rather surprised I managed to read it in under 24 hours... I guess that's just how good it is.
Llinos: Or shows what a very fast reader you are! :D
SeskiLexi: I think I'm more addicted to this than Pip is to his poppies.
Llinos: No – not possible. Although he's getting better – it must be Ring addiction.
Sheildmaiden: Poor Merry! Sorry I haven't reviewed, this is my first opportunity to. I love it, but it's so sad!
Llinos: Oh dear – I'll try and cheer up a bit.
auntiemeesh: Yay! I've finally caught up. Now you won't get three and four reviews a day from me any more...lol.
Llinos: Rats!
auntiemeesh: Can't wait for the next chapter of this terribly addictive story!
Llinos: No need – here it is! :D
Birch tree: You promised me an update very soon... So? :)
Llinos: Eh voila!
Shirebound: I'm so worried about Merry! He's been through so much trauma, I don't know how he'll ever recover.
Llinos: Oh he'll manage.
storyfish: Wo! I just spent the past week reading Recap from beginning to end.
Llinos: There's an end?
storyfish: I think what impressed me the most about this fic is how much your writing has improved from chapter 1 to chapter 127.
Llinos: Confession time. I don't think my writing has actually changed, it's just that when I realised people were actually reading this thing I started to give it some attention.
storyfish: From the start, you've had the knack for these wonderfully twisted plots, but your description, characterization, and overall maturity of writing style have evolved from the run-of-the-mill fic on to something as powerful (and addictive!) as the Ring itself. ;-)
Llinos: Wow – that's nice. Although I'm not sure I'm up for maturing – I'm already a little over-ripe in that department. :D
storyfish: I've also enjoyed the comments you've posted to reviewers at the end of each chapter. I don't know where you came up with that idea, but your relationships with your faithful reviewers became almost a real-life subplot to the story itself. I especially thought it was cute how Marigold snuck in as one of your most devoted reviewers and ended up your beta, and then your muse!
Llinos: She also ended up as my best friend and had moved from LA to live in Marlow-on-Thames, around the corner from me.
storyfish: However, one part of your story that really blew me away was actually something you wrote about Frodo. When he put on the Ring and teased the evil gollum-capturing men with rhymes, afterwards, he said something about how it made him feel like Bilbo. Those lines made the difference between Bilbo's light-hearted adventure and Frodo's nightmarish quest all the more poignant--and just about broke my heart.
Llinos: It always struck me as poignant, the difference in tone between The Hobbit and LotR and even the earlier part of LotR with the later chapters. Which is why my favourite part of the book is Scouring of the Shire – simply because it brings the story full circle to hobbits being hobbits, albeit matured and capable no-one-messes-with-us-after-what-we've-done hobbits.
SarahSweetie: 1.) where's the eowyn/faramir (you know i love it lol)
2.) I wonder what that aragorn mindspeak would be like...prolly kingly and proper or something.
3.) I hope merry stays safe keep safe mer-mer.
Llinos: 1. here, 2. macho and unshaven, 3. he'll try.
Baylor: The Mouth of Sauron is turning out to be an interesting character as well -- did we ever find out in the book what happened to him? I presume he died in the last battle, but I can't remember if we're specifically told.
Llinos: No one said, (Tolkien no one? Excuse me!). Although I understood his ambition, had they won, was leaning towards Isengard.
Baylor: "Lord-Cap'n-Master-Wizard Sir" -- be careful, Gandalf's soon going to be requiring everyone to call him that!
Llinos: And why not?
Baylor: And now I get to the end of the chapter and am chuckling at your cleverness -- of course, it's Smagnu come to fetch Merry! Can't wait to see how this turns out!
Llinos: "Sometimes you wanna be – where everybody knows your name!" (Even if they do get it wrong!)
Merrylad: Beautiful story, keep up the great work. Eagerly await the next chapter.
Llinos: Thank you – sorry about the long wait – normal service will be resumed asap.
ssj3 Thomas: poor bloggin and where in the heck is everybody else, shouldn't they be helping
Llinos: I think poor Bloggin has got all the help he can handle right now.
Tigertale7: I love how Pippin said he had a plan and then events simply fell into place the way they did. Poor Smagnu, assuming his Little Pip is controlling the outcomes.
Llinos: It's like magnic!
Tigertale7: Are these little hobbits going to help everyone they meet change for the better? ;-)
Llinos: Quite possibly – even me!
Sam: Bad Pippin, going against Gandalf's orders and leading his Uruk astray.
Llinos: Oh but Pippin is sure Gandalf really meant him to rescue Merry! No?
hobbitsandkilts: See after reading this story for longs as its been up I finally remember to leave a review. Silly me keeps forgetting about that.
Llinos: Yes and reviews give authors something good to read too!
Scarlet Angel4: Great work, though it seems shorter than usual... ãeyes you suspisiously (whoa way wrong sp!)ã
Llinos: No – it just looks that way in this light.
Scarlet Angel4: ãMRã
Llinos: Done and done!
Poppy Muddyfoot: Of course, knowing you, that won't be for awhile yet. Patience was never my strong point, and you do a great job of stretching it. (Not like I have any choice BUT to be patient, darn it!)
Llinos: I know, but I have had other things that needed to be done – like lots of mucking about on lj, playing with the Knittedhobbits and fiddling around with Eastgate – sigh – real life is such a trial!
Poppy Muddyfoot: But the part that struck me the hardest was your answer to Lindelea's comment-the suggestion that Gandalf might have planned all this. OMG!
Llinos: Who knows? Not me, that's for certain.
Hai Took: Oh, dear! All anxious over if this charade will work! Can't wait to find out!!
Llinos: Well all charades must be discovered in the end or they wouldn't be charades. Or perhaps they aren't and we don't know because they've never been discovered! Maybe all life on earth is a big charade! Arrggghhhh!
HoorayTheWeird: I am Orange
Llinos: Would it help to say I am Blue? Oh right! Orange, I remember.
Arte: I was rereading the story and just barely realized you'd updated again! I don't remember half of what happened before so bear with me here. ;)
Llinos: I frequently have the same problem.
Arte: Maybe hobbits are enchanted.
Llinos: No, they're just like you and me – only shorter, well like you anyway. I'm more like Smag.
Arte: Ooh, what would happen if they caught Bloggin thinking it was Pippin?
Llinos: They gotta catch him first! Oh they did well and keep him.
Arte: Pippin. You. Are. So. One. Minded.
Pippin: We go be in two minds at now.
Arte: I was trying to get some friends of mine to come read this story, and I declared you the goddess of M&P fanfic. Hope you don't mind, because you are!
Llinos: I'm delighted. Did they come?
Arte: Is it illegal to publish fanfic?
Llinos: Yes – but that never stopped anyone.
Marcee: snip many good observations on plot development
Llinos: All right – step away from the plot and no one gets hurt! (But glad to see you are paying so much attention!)
Pipwise Brandygin: Wow, I was enjoying all this so much I didn't even notice that there was no Pippin until near the end.
Llinos: Well now, I just started reading through these comments and realised I had left Pippin out of this chapter completely. So I went back to see what he was doing while he waited for Smag – just as well I did I think.
Breon Briarwood: Can't have their plans come off without a hitch, hm? oh, wait, Frodo - Gollum? There's the catch!
Llinos: Oh I think they've still got plenty of catches to go.
pipinheart: Pip sure isn't doing as Gandalf asked...
Llinos: Did you truly expect him to?
Samwise The Strong: Oy, when's Merry gonna get outta it? This is kinda like Roseblades fic, it may not be Legomance, but it's too long for comfort.
Llinos: My apologies for making you uncomfortable – you could always sit in the waiting room until it's over.
melilot hill: A new chapter! That was a nice surprise. You sure know how the write stories that "capture" my heart :)
Llinos: Ah, thank you An. :D
NekoHitori: yes, i have returned!
Llinos: Welcome back.
NekoHitori: haha! this was a nice chapter. so nice, in fact, that the wait is forgiven.
Llinos: Phew – thanks!
NekoHitori: I feel sorry for Gandalf, falling and hurting himself like that. but, he did have a Dark Lord in his head at the time, so he can't really be blamed for his mishap, now can he?
Llinos: No but is it fair to climb into Bloggin's head?
NekoHitori: I hope Bloggin doesn't get into too much trouble when the orcs discover that he is, in fact, NOT a halfling.
Llinos: Or if they discover he's got a wizard in his head!