I'm back! Okay, okay, so it was two months since I posted last, instead of one. Could've been worse. Did I at least get a chance to focus on my job and get my life in order? Nope. But did I use this time to write a ton more of this story? Also nope! But updates will continue to trickle on, and when you least expect them! In any case, sorry for leaving poor Bee knocked out for two months straight. Also, this chapter, as well as the next couple, are going to rely more heavily on the books than the movies, so just keep that in mind.
Thanks to everyone who left reviews—it really does motivate me to write faster, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. To the new followers of this story, don't hesitate to let me know what you think! On the flip side, if anyone found this story back in 2016 and is still reading it, thank you so much for sticking with me!
Chapter 22: Ready to Run
The ground jostled painfully below me, startling me into consciousness. My eyes flew open, and I winced at the harsh sunlight stabbing at my vision. Low voices were shouting near my ears, but I couldn't make out any words. Everything hurt. Darkness swallowed me up, and I drifted away again.
Cold, disjointed images tormented me. Saruman's black eyes flashing as he ripped a tattered book from my hands—a cramped cockpit hurtling toward the ground—the yellow eyes of an orc leaping toward me, sword drawn and dripping blood…then a battle going wrong, all wrong, a cacophony of clashing blades and gunshots and a deep horn blowing, but there was no one to answer its call, it was too late—
Something heavy smashed into my side, and I was fully awake at last. I'd been thrown onto the ground, mud and weeds pressing into my face. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth, my eyes throbbing in my skull. I took in my surroundings, blinking dazedly. All around me were creatures in black armor and heavy boots, a cacophony of grunting voices, the horrible smell of sweat and blood and unwashed bodies.
Suddenly petrified, I leapt upright—or I tried to. Ropes had been corded tight around my wrists and ankles, and I didn't manage more than an awkward lunge before flopping back to the ground.
"Bee!" I turned to see Pippin crouched beside me, his face streaked with dirt and his hands and legs bound like mine. "You're awake!" he exclaimed in a whisper.
"Pippin!" I breathed, relieved beyond words. "You're okay! Where's Merry?"
He jerked his head to the side in answer, and I followed his gesture to where the other hobbit lay collapsed in a heap, his elven cloak draped limply over him. A bloodstained rag had been tied haphazardly around his forehead, and I sucked in a startled breath. The orcs wouldn't have done that if he were dead, I told myself nervously; surely he'd only been knocked out. Still, the sight made me queasy.
"These orcs have been arguing something awful," Pippin whispered to me. "Some of them are from Mordor, I think: the smaller ones there. They don't seem to get on well with those big fellows, the ones with your Texas weapons."
Panic was swelling in my chest, making it difficult to breathe—if we'd been captured, what had happened to the rest of the Fellowship? The last thing I remembered before waking up here was Boromir being pierced by an arrow, the memory making my stomach turn. How long ago had that been?
"They…they came from Isengard, with those weapons," I whispered back shakily, squinting into the dim evening light to see our captors. Pippin was right—an argument was well underway, from the looks of it. The groups were snapping at each other, several of them drawing their swords and puffing out their chests, clearly eager for a fight.
"Why not kill 'em now?" one of the orcs was whining, his lips pulling back to reveal yellowed fangs. "We're in a hurry, and they'll slow us down."
"Orders," another said in a deep growl. "Kill them all, but not the halflings, nor the witch. Bring them back as quickly as possible—alive and unspoiled."
Pippin and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance.
"What're they wanted for, anyway?" demanded another.
"And why alive?"
"Do they give good sport?"
"No!" the deep voice snapped, silencing the others. "One of the halflings has got something, something that's wanted for the War, some elvish weapon or other."
"And the girl? What's she got, then?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping they hadn't noticed we were awake. Still, I could feel their horrible yellow eyes on me, my helplessness twisting my insides into knots. "Witchcraft," the growling voice answered at last. "The halflings may be wanted for the Eye's purposes, but the girl is wanted for the wizard's war."
So they were taking us back to Orthanc. Saruman's black eyes flashed out of the gloom of the setting sun, and I flinched. He was going to lock me in that cell again, command me to help him in that horrible inescapable voice, arm himself with gunpowder and lead until all of Middle Earth was on fire—
"The wizard's war!" An orc's sneering voice wrenched me out of my fevered thoughts, though I kept my eyes shut. "She doesn't look so powerful to me. None of them do. I say we eat them now and be done with it, and hang your orders, Ugluk! Is Saruman the master, or the Great Eye?"
"You will follow the path we choose!" Ugluk bellowed. "We are the fighting Uruk-hai! We slew the great warrior, we took the prisoners, and we are the servants of the White Hand, the Hand that gives us man's flesh to eat—"
"Bold talk," the orc interrupted. "Saruman is a fool! The Great Eye is on him, mark my words. You think you have all the power, just because of those shiny sticks he gave you—"
"Oi! Keep your hands off, scum, these weapons are for the Uruk-hai alone!"
"Oh? More orders from Saruman, is it? Give it to me!"
The sounds of a scuffle followed, and suddenly a gunshot rang out. Pippin and I flinched, and all at once, the orcs and Uruk-hai were brawling, swords clattering and guttural voices bellowing into the still air, punctuated by occasional blasts of gunfire.
As terrifying as it should have been, I barely registered their skirmish. We slew the great warrior, Ugluk had said. Who else could he have meant but Boromir? But he could have been mistaken, I thought desperately, clenching my fists until the ropes cut painfully into my skin. Or maybe he was lying, boasting in front of the Mordor orcs. Maybe Boromir had only been injured, or knocked out. But how much damage had their arrows and bullets done? Radagast had been wrong, after all—the Kevlar vest hadn't stopped the orcs' arrows in the slightest. I could only trust that it had still stopped the bullets, that I hadn't let all my foresight and modern technology go to waste.
At least he hadn't mentioned killing any of the others. But what had happened to them? Frodo and Sam were meant to go on to Mordor, weren't they? I racked my brains desperately, but my foresight had well and truly run out now. I knew nothing about the following books and had never seen the second and third movies. Nathan had never even talked much about them, except to assure me I'd love the violin score in the second one, for all the good that did me now. Despair clawing at my skin, I pressed my face into the grass.
The fight died down as quickly as it had started, the Uruk-hai and smaller orcs stepping away from each other as Ugluk, apparently the group's leader, shouted orders at them.
"Get them up!" he barked. "The sun has fallen, and we will run through the night."
Suddenly I was wrenched to my feet by the hair, and I cried out, tears springing to my eyes. With the flash of a bloodied blade, the orc that grabbed me sliced through the bonds around my ankles. I ran to the hobbits on unsteady legs, but one of the enormous Uruk-hai pulled me back by the hood of my cloak. Before I could protest, he shoved a leather flask into my face, forcing a burning liquid down my throat. Coughing, I saw that the hobbits were receiving the same treatment. Merry leaped to his feet at last, choking and sputtering, as the others jeered.
"You're alright!" Pippin cried.
Merry grinned at us both, looking grim but wide awake—whatever the orcs had given us, it worked better than coffee, though it tasted rancid. "Pippin! Bee! So y'all have come on this little expedition too? Where do we get bed and breakfast?"
"Hold your tongues," Ugluk demanded. "No talking to one another!"
We quailed under his commands, but I couldn't help but feel just a bit more hopeful, despite everything. At least Merry was well enough to make jokes—he'd even said y'all, I thought fondly. At least the hobbits were safe, for now. At least we were still together.
Then the Uruk-hai began running, and that little flicker of hope didn't last long.
We ran. And we ran. I thought I'd gained quite a bit of muscle mass after all the Fellowship's walking and running and fighting, but this was something else entirely. The Uruk-hai set a grueling pace and didn't seem to need rest, and the world quickly narrowed to the pounding of heavy boots, the huffing of breath, the blood pounding in my brain. My legs ached, my muscles straining so painfully under my skin I thought my calves might split open like overripe fruit. My lungs burned, unable to get enough air. I couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't—
"Get up!" one of the creatures bellowed, and it took me a moment to realize I'd fallen down, my limbs numb from exertion. Something sharp struck my back—a whip, I realized with sluggish panic, the pain barely registering, distant and dull. I staggered back to my feet, my balance thrown by my bound hands, and kept going.
The hobbits stumbled too, once, twice, three times, and each time the orcs' jeers and whips made my blood boil. Merry and Pippin were so small—bright and cheerful and kind and defenseless—exhausted as I was, I wanted to leap at the Uruk-hai and kick at them, hit them with my bound hands, rip and tear at their foul skin for daring to hurt my friends.
The next time I stumbled I nearly vomited, every muscle and organ in my body writhing in pain, the orc-draught congealing in my stomach like tar. One of the orcs kicked at my side as a whip snapped down onto the back of my calf. I wrenched myself to my feet again, hobbling forward on burning legs.
But at last, our captors seemed to realize we couldn't go on like this. Without warning, almost without stopping, the Uruk-hai hauled me and the hobbits off our feet and slung our bound hands around their necks, in an awful parody of a piggyback ride. And on we went.
Being carried was hardly more comfortable than running, my body jostling painfully with every footstep, Ugluk's voice roaring over our heads as he urged the group onward. Sick with exhaustion and worry, my mind slipped in and out of nightmares, and when I opened my eyes again the sun had come up.
The Uruk-hai stopped at last to catch their breath, though only briefly. I was dumped unceremoniously to the ground, unable to cushion my fall with my hands, and one of the creatures tossed us some food. I grasped the offering awkwardly in my bound hands: a lump of bread that had gone green at the ends, and what looked like pale strips of beef jerky. Ignoring the mold, I ate the bread, but shared a look of disgust with Merry and Pippin at the meat. Not taking any chances, I dropped it onto the ground, pressing it into the mud with my heel.
I opened my mouth to whisper to the hobbits, but all that came out was a cough. I tried again. "Y'all okay?" I managed at last.
"Course," Merry whispered, giving me an unconvincing smile, and Pippin nodded faintly.
They looked horrible. "What happened to your cloak?" I asked Pippin—the little leaf clasp had been torn off. That surprised me—their elvish origin made me assume they wouldn't damage easily.
Pippin's eyes brightened, but before he could respond, the company got to their feet again, and we were slung over the Uruks' backs as their march continued.
"Faster!" Ugluk's voice rose over the cacophony of pounding feet and jostling armor. "Faster, maggots, or the horsemen will catch you! They're coming!"
Horsemen, I thought distantly. Who could they mean? I had studied countless maps with Amarien in Elrond's library, but those memories were so distant now that it felt like another lifetime, and the details were beyond my exhausted brain's capacity to recall. Still, whoever was pursuing us, they seemed to terrify the Uruk-hai. The creature carrying me increased his pace to an unearthly speed, breaths coming labored and quick.
It wasn't long before I understood their fear: without warning one of the Uruk-hai to my right fell like a stone, and I caught a glimpse of an arrow protruding from its back before we left his body far behind. As the day wore on, arrows continued to fly into the company of orcs, the riders closing in clearly talented enough to pick out targets from horseback. I strained my neck to catch a glimpse of them behind us, but I didn't see more than a flash of gleaming helmets and spears in the distance before being wrenched forward.
"Stop your squirming, witch, or you'll slow us down!"
It was the first time the creature carrying me had addressed me, and I obeyed, seeing the sense of his words even as fear bloomed in my chest. Would these horsemen even see me and the hobbits? I wasn't sure how they could—the sun had begun to set, long shadows stretching over the hills, and our cloaks were a dull gray-green that surely wouldn't stand out well amongst the orcs' armor even in broad daylight.
The arrows flew more thickly as the sun sank below the horizon, dozens more creatures stumbling and falling out of my line of sight. The riders were closing in on both sides, and the Uruk-hai's fear became my own. I couldn't help but twist around impulsively to seek out Merry and Pippin in the group, terrified that they'd been struck down. But by some miracle, night fell and we were still alive.
"Why are we stopping?" I asked as the Uruk who'd been carrying me dropped me onto the ground.
"Quiet," he barked, turning away without a second glance, seeming all too happy to be rid of his burden. I sat up and looked around, quickly finding the answer to my own question. In the distance, little flickering campfires were visible in the darkness: our pursuers had surrounded us.
There was a small gap in the campfires, though: a forest stood not far away, less than a quarter mile off, its shadow even darker than the rest of the night. I wondered if the Uruk-hai would try to escape into the trees, but they'd showed no signs of heading for the forest. Strange, I thought, since our pursuers clearly wouldn't be able to follow us into the trees on horseback. I stared into the forest curiously, something strange pulling at my chest. Although it was much too far away to see, especially in the dark, I could feel the leaves rustling on the branches, a chill wind tugging at my hair…
"You alright, Bee?" Merry's voice shook me out of my thoughts. He and Pippin had been thrown to the ground near me, and we huddled closer, the cold breeze biting at my skin.
"I think so," I whispered back. Then, before I could stop myself, I added, "There's something strange about that forest. Don't you think?"
The hobbits squinted into the darkness. "I don't know," Pippin said. "It's too dark to make much out. You grew up near the Old Forest, Merry, what do you think?"
"What's that?" I asked.
"Some say the Old Forest is haunted," Merry explained to me in a whisper.
I blanched. "Haunted?"
He nodded. "Some folks say the trees can whisper, talk to each other—even move."
"We did see a fair bit of movement in the Old Forest. It was terrifying," Pippin added. "Though I didn't hear any talking. You think this forest is like that too?"
"I didn't mean strange in a bad way," I said distantly. "I don't know about haunted, at least…"
The hobbits continued to whisper, but the rest of their conversation barely reached my ears. A different voice was echoing in my head instead, a deep, slow voice creaking like branches in a summer wind. I am no tree, just as you are no chipmunk, búrarum—I jumped, my eyes drawn back to the forest.
"Eldest of all, the elf-children," I recited under my breath, the words coming to me from the distant past, their meaning all but lost to me. "Dwarf the delver, dark are his houses…"
"Bee?" Pippin nudged me with his bound hands. "What are you talking about?"
I shook my head distractedly, my eyes unfocused. "Ent the earthborn, old as mountains," I went on, racking my brains to remember. "Man the mortal, master of…of—" of what? The words were slipping away as quickly as they'd come.
A flurry of shouts erupted on the far side of our camp, and we jumped. It seemed some of the horsemen had snuck close to the Uruk-hai, drawing their blades and killing several of the creatures before slipping away again.
"Come on," Ugluk's deep snarl rang out behind us. "Let's teach these horsemen the power of the fighting Uruk-hai!" With the tramp of heavy boots, a group of Uruks marched away toward the edge of our camp. Silence descended once again.
A barrage of gunshots rang out into the night, muffled shouts echoing in the hills. Had they managed to shoot anyone? Or were our pursuers just reacting to the unexpected sound of firearms? I winced, bracing myself for more gunfire, but nothing came. The hobbits and I exchanged nervous glances.
"Enjoying your rest?" We jumped as an orc approached us, a feverish grin on his horrible face. "A little awkwardly placed, aren't we? Swords and shiny sticks on the one side, and nasty spears on the other! Little people shouldn't meddle in affairs that are too big for them." Leering at the hobbits, he began to rifle through their pockets and cloaks.
"Leave them alone!" I hissed, and the orc kicked at me in disgust before turning back to paw at them.
"I don't think you'll find it that way," Pippin said after a moment. "It isn't easy to find."
The orc's eyes widened eagerly, and I sucked in a sharp breath—of course, the orc thought they had the Ring! Go Pippin! I thought eagerly as the hobbit made a coughing gollum noise in his throat. Maybe if we could trick the orcs into—
"You there, witch!"
One of the enormous Uruk-hai lumbered toward me, and the orc that had been accosting the hobbits leapt out of the way like a cringing dog.
"These have stopped working," the Uruk-hai barked, and suddenly a rifle was pointed in my face. I flinched away. He pulled the trigger and I cried out—my heart hammered wildly for a long moment before I realized I was unhurt. "You see? Why does nothing happen?" he snarled, clicking the trigger again furiously and throwing the gun onto the ground.
I looked up at the Uruk-hai, my pulse still racing. "You…you're out of bullets, I think," I said, my voice small. How much had Saruman told them about their new weapons? Not much, it seemed.
"Make them work again," he snarled, wrenching me up by my hood, so violently that the little leaf clasp came undone and the elven cloak fluttered to the ground. "Unless you want to be killed by these horselords in the night!"
"I can't, not if you don't have any more bullets," I protested, but the creature ignored me, dragging me away by the arm. Desperately, I twisted back to see Merry and Pippin. Merry gave me a small, pinched smile, even as the orc crept back toward them, eyes gleaming like a cat's in the dark. Then they were out of sight, and I was surrounded by a group of Uruk-hai, all examining a pile of firearms on the ground.
"Well?" Ugluk's deep snarl rang out. "What have you to say, witch?"
I forced myself to meet his eyes squarely, though my whole body was shaking. "If you're out of ammunition, I can't do anything for you."
"You can't, eh?" Suddenly an enormous hand wrapped around my throat, clawed fingers digging into my skin. I scrabbled at Ugluk's hand in a blind panic, my blood pounding hot in my skull, my eyes bulging. "Surely you can do something—make more ammunition! These are your people's weapons, aren't they? Make yourself useful and work your witchcraft!" Ugluk released me, and I sank to the ground, gasping, as the other Uruk-hai laughed.
"Alright, alright, I'll try," I said, coughing. "Let me see the guns, then." My head was spinning. Maybe they had extra bullets, I thought dimly. I had the vague idea of loading a gun and turning it on the Uruk-hai, though even if I could figure out how, I didn't see how it would help me or the hobbits escape—there were too many of them.
Ugluk gestured impatiently at the pile of guns on the ground. Saruman really hadn't armed them well, I thought—less than two dozen firearms for such a large group? The wizard had stockpiled way more weapons in his storeroom than this. And I didn't see any extra ammunition after all.
There was, however, a familiar army-green box laying among the weapons: the flare gun I'd taken from Saruman's storerooms! The Uruk-hai must have picked it up in the forest—I'd dashed out to find Boromir while carrying all my things, after all. I wondered what had happened to my other possessions, and my heart stung at the thought of these horrible creatures smashing my elven violin. I flipped over the box of flares with my bound hands, thinking hard.
"What is that, then?" one of Uruk-hai demanded. "Can we use it against the horsemen?"
I hesitated. "I'm not sure. I'll need my hands free so I can take a look."
The Uruks bickered amongst themselves for a moment, then one of them stepped forward and sliced through my bonds. "Don't go trying anything, witch," he grunted.
I massaged my wrists, the skin rubbed raw, and opened the case. Before I could do anything, one of the Uruk-hai shouldered me aside and grabbed the black plastic gun from the case, pointing it upward and clicking the trigger. "See? It does nothing," he snorted, throwing the gun back to the ground. "Don't waste our time!"
Four flares were still nestled in the box, and I eyed them cautiously. Clearly Saruman had thought it too much effort to teach the Uruk-hai about ammunition—either that, or the lessons hadn't stuck. "That's because only a witch can use this weapon," I said slowly. "In anyone else's hands, it doesn't work."
Crouching over the case to hide my movements, I loaded one of the flares into the gun, pressing the other three into my pockets. Shakily, I got to my feet.
"Oh it doesn't, eh?" Ugluk wrenched the gun out of my hands. "So if I were to pull this lever here," he said, pointing the gun at my chest, "nothing would happen?" I froze, unable to answer. "I think you're lying, little witch," he said.
I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from shaking. Bold—you're bold, remember? I met the creature's black eyes as evenly as I could. "If I am, you'll have to explain to Saruman why you killed me, the greatest weapon in the wizard's war."
Ugluk glared down at me for a long moment before snarling under his breath and lowering the flare gun—then he turned and fired at one of the Uruk-hai across the camp.
A jet of red flames erupted from the gun, sparks and smoke radiating outwards as the Uruk-hai shouted and scrambled away, a kicked fireant hill exploding to life. The red flare lingered in the air, bright enough to blind me, though I could just make out the outline of the Uruk-hai who'd been shot, his body lying still on the ground.
"Little sneak!" A fist connected with my jaw and I fell to the ground, ears ringing. "Bind her hands again!" Ugluk roared.
The world was spinning, indistinguishable sounds rising in a crescendo above my head—but none of the Uruk-hai approached to drag me upright. It was as though they'd forgotten I was there. Apprehensively, I forced myself upright and looked around.
The camp was descending into chaos.
The horsemen, who had been lying in wait in the hills, seemed to take the turmoil of the flare gun going off as their chance at an ambush. Horses thundered into the camp from all directions, spears tearing through the bodies of Uruk-hai left and right, swords clashing and horses screaming and orcs bellowing.
"Merry!" I cried. "Pippin!" I spun around wildly, trying to make sense of the battle raging around me, then screamed and ducked as a horse nearly barreled into me. The horse leaped aside at the last moment, its rider turning in surprise and shouting something to one of his fellows.
In answer, another rider wheeled around and steered his horse in my direction. Before I could scrabble out of the way, the man leaned out of his saddle, nearly parallel with the ground, and grabbed me around the middle. With a cry of alarm, I was yanked off my feet and hoisted sidesaddle onto the horse's back in front of the rider.
"Hold on to me," the man ordered, steering his horse away from the Uruk-hai's camp. I had no choice but to obey, grasping at his arm and trying desperately not to fall off. I glanced up at him in the dark, but could make out little more than an imposing helmet and shock of snarled blond hair.
The rider didn't take me far, pulling tight on the reins at one of the campfires I'd spotted in the hills surrounding us. He dismounted swiftly, the sudden imbalance nearly toppling me off the horse's back.
"Easy there," he said, grabbing me around the middle again and setting me onto the ground. "Are you injured?"
I honestly wasn't sure. I swayed on my feet, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm alright," I managed at last.
"Good, good," he said hurriedly, clearly eager to return to the battle. "Stay here. We will dispatch these beasts promptly, fear not."
"Wait, my friends are still out there—" I began, but the man had already leapt back onto his horse and disappeared. "Damn it!"
"Bema help us, did those creatures take you captive, little miss?"
I spun around in surprise—I had assumed the campfire had been abandoned in the battle. But one man remained behind, leaning against his saddlebags and struggling to wrap a bandage around a wound in his leg. He was middle-aged, his blond hair mixed with gray, and his armor bore an insignia of a rearing horse, white on green. Saddlebags were strewn around the campfire, and two horses milled about a small distance away, clearly unnerved by the sounds of the fight nearby.
"I hadn't known orcs to take prisoners," the man added, gritting his teeth as he forced the bandages tighter. "Are you hurt? I'm afraid there's little I can do for you."
I meant to answer him, but I couldn't stop shaking, and I pressed my face into my hands, trying to gather myself. The horrors of the last several days were catching up to me in a bitter wave, the continuous sounds of the battle nearby not helping in the slightest, horses screaming and deep voices shouting and metal clashing against metal. My chest was tightening painfully, and I doubled over, struggling to breathe.
"Here." The injured man dug through the bag behind him and proffered me some bread and a leather flask. I took them woodenly. "Sit down, little miss, there you go," he added, and I sank to the ground in a boneless lump. "Can't have you fainting, now."
"I need to find Merry and Pippin," I said when I was able to find my voice, though I was still shaking.
"Who?"
"My friends—they're still out there." I turned to look back down the hill toward the battle. Taking a deep breath, I stood again, legs shaking. "I need to help them! They're wearing those elven cloaks, your warriors will never see them in the dark—"
"Whoa, now!" the man cried, looking at me as though I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. "You can't go rushing back into that battle! Dead on your feet, you are, and unarmed to boot. Lord Eomer found you quickly enough, didn't he? You must be patient—whoever else is out there, our men will find them, you'll see. Now go on, eat, and have a drink," he added, gesturing me on.
Unenthusiastically, I sat back down and took a sip from the flask. "Ugh, what is that?" I coughed—I'd been expecting water.
He chuckled. "Wine. Go on, you look like you could use it."
It was the worst wine I'd ever had, but I forced some more down. "I'm Beatrice," I said at last, passing the wineskin back to him.
"Ah—where are my manners?" he said lightly. "I am Alfric, son of Alsige. It is a pleasure to meet you, Beatrice. You'll forgive me, I think, for not getting up," he added gesturing to his leg.
I followed his gaze. "That looks awful," I admitted. Blood was already soaking through the bandage he'd tied above his knee. "Can I do anything?"
"Are you trained in healing, by chance?" The man sighed as I shook my head. "Well, then fear not, I shall manage on my own. Our poor medic, Paga, was less lucky than me."
"What do you mean?"
Alfric gestured to the other side of the campfire. What I had taken for a few saddlebags, thrown into shadow, was actually—"Oh no," I whispered, seeing the outline of a face, pale and still. "He's…dead, then?"
Alfric nodded. "Like thunder, those weapons. I've never heard their like, and I've been fighting longer than you've been alive."
"It was the guns? They shot you?"
"Guns, you called them? Aye, they did. Paga died quickly, at least, small blessing though it may be." Alfric's voice had gone grim, and he was silent for a long moment. "Whatever the projectile the guns used, it passed through my leg cleanly enough. So no need to give me that look, little miss, I'll be quite alright," he added at last, shaking his head at me.
"Are you sure?"
He smiled, but didn't meet my eyes as he waved my words away. "Of course, of course."
"Okay," I said reluctantly, and we sat in silence for a while. "Sorry, but who are y'all?" I blurted. "I mean—where did you come from?"
"We have ridden from Edoras. Your band of orcs has given us quite the chase, I can tell you."
"Edoras," I repeated faintly. It rang a bell, but once again the maps I'd studied in Rivendell wouldn't come to mind.
"The Riddermark, little miss," Alfric explained patiently. "Rohan, foreigners might call it; for, from your accent, you're not from these parts, are you?"
I shook my head hesitantly, unsure how much I should say.
"Ah, poor girl," he muttered, shaking his head. "You've been through a great deal, like as not. You need not speak of it now. But I do hope you weren't a captive of those foul creatures for long."
I nodded gratefully, and Alfric and I sat in relative silence as the night wore on, the sounds of the battle raging on below us. I inched closer and closer to the dying campfire, freezing without my elven cloak.
Anxiety was swelling painfully in my chest, and I was about to reach my breaking point and storm down the hill in search of Merry and Pippin when a flurry of horns erupted from the camp below us. I jumped up, suddenly alert. "Is it over?"
"Aye, it seems that way," Alfric said. "And look there, Beatrice. The sun is rising."
And so it was: at long last, the night was melting away in the east, where the first rays of the sun were spilling liquid gold onto the grassy hills.
The pounding of hoofbeats rattled the ground below us. Some of the riders were approaching our campfire. I squared my shoulders determinedly. I may have been torn away from everyone else in the Fellowship, but I wasn't going to lose Merry and Pippin. I couldn't.