Author's note: I had a very good day's shopping today. I didn't actually
buy anything, but I got some free LotR pictures and trading cards. Meg and
Gemma got the Legolas ones though. Ah well, I've got Frodo, Aragorn, Arwen
and the Argonath so I can't complain.
***
Merry wasn't able to speak to Pippin as they marched. Pippin was behind him, and Merry had to put a lot of concentration into not falling over on the rough ground. It was difficult to keep balance tied up as he was.
He was soon tired, since the pace the army was moving at was one set by men. With their little legs, the hobbits could only stumble along between the guards, almost running to keep pace.
When the army did halt briefly, they sat and tried to get their breath back. They had barely begun to recover, when they were forced to their feet and the march continued. At this pace, it would take only about four days to reach Minas Tirith, Pippin thought, remembering his journey with Faramir. Unfortunately, he didn't know if he could cope with four days of this.
At last night drew in around them and the army halted. Merry and Pippin were still bound together, and the loose ends of the rope were tied to a tree so that there was no chance of them getting away. Pippin didn't think he could have managed to even if he had been unbound and unguarded.
They each sank gratefully to the ground. The guards gave each of them a drink of water that they so desperately needed. When it became apparent that nothing else would be given to them, they both lay down to sleep. They lay back to back on the hard earth, hands seeking and finding the others. They lay there as darkness grew, bound hands gripping bound hands, giving the tactile comfort that they were not alone.
Despite their weariness, the discomfort they were in made it difficult to sleep. Pippin's wrists were sore from the ropes and his shoulders aching from the position they were forced into. Pippin wished he'd stayed in Minas Tirith. He hadn't accomplished anything by coming back. The war he'd hoped to prevent was still going to happen.
Then as Merry's grip tightened momentarily on his hands, Pippin knew he'd made the right choice. Whatever happened, he and Merry would be there together. The way they were meant to be.
***
Aragorn stood giving orders to his generals. They listened carefully to his instructions, and Aragorn could only hope his decisions would be the right ones. If he made the wrong choice here he might inadvertently cause a war he wasn't sure he could afford to fight.
"The larger section of the army is to remain in Minas Tirith," Aragorn said, "I want only fifty men with me, and so I want to best fifty you can offer." The generals nodded that they understood. Aragorn then went on to explain his plan.
When he had finished and the generals gone to carry out his orders, Aragorn noticed Boromir standing beside the door. Aragorn was still angry with Boromir about Pippin. While he could see logically why Boromir had acted, logic didn't permeate through to his feelings. However he waited, willing to listen to what Boromir had to say.
"I want to come with you," Boromir said.
"You're not a soldier anymore," Aragorn replied rather harshly.
"I know that. But it's my fault those halflings ended up in that land. I want to help. I have to be there." Aragorn thought for a long while. Boromir had almost been destroyed by guilt when the orcs had taken Merry and Pippin, and when they thought the two were dead. If anything happened to them now, Aragorn knew that Boromir would feel he was to blame.
"You can come," Aragorn said. He might be angry with Boromir right now, but they were still friends. Boromir needed to be there, and Aragorn wouldn't stand in his way.
"Thank you." Boromir turned to leave, and again Aragorn was left to worry if he'd made the right decision. Boromir might once have been the best swordsman in Gondor, but now even walking was painful for him. He'd been wounded by the orc arrows so badly that even Aragorn's healing skills hadn't been able to help. Boromir would bear those wounds for the rest of his life, and if it came to a battle, he would most likely not survive.
***
Pippin had felt almost as tired when he was woken as when he fell asleep. An uncomfortable night bound on hard earth was not very refreshing. At least his legs weren't aching as much as they had been.
That didn't last very long though. Almost as soon as they were awake, they were on the move again. Merry was marched in front of Pippin, the rope that bound them together still gripped by the guards. The day was one of dreary monotony. They just walked and walked until Pippin's feet was painful. They passed out from under the eaves of the wood and walked onwards across the open plain.
They stopped briefly at midday, and the two hobbits were given a drink. Pippin's stomach was empty, and it growled continuously as they walked. Yet the men guarding them didn't think to give them even the smallest morsel of food. He wondered if he would fade away completely from hunger before this was over.
They marched on, until Pippin's aching muscles were screaming at him to stop, but still he was forced onwards. His vision began to blur, and it seemed as though darkness was growing around the edge of his sight.
He fell suddenly. His legs just gave out, refusing to bear his weight any longer. He lay on the ground, too tired to move at all. His vision began to go dark.
"Get up!" one of the men ordered.
"He's starving and exhausted," Pippin heard Merry protest, but it sounded as though he was far away.
"Get up!" the man ordered again. Pippin vaguely felt something hard digging into his side, but somehow he couldn't care. It would take too much effort to care.
"Leave him alone!" Merry shouted.
"Shut up!" The last thing Pippin heard before he slipped completely into unconsciousness was the sound of fist meeting flesh.
***
Author's note: Not too evil, compared to normal.
***
Merry wasn't able to speak to Pippin as they marched. Pippin was behind him, and Merry had to put a lot of concentration into not falling over on the rough ground. It was difficult to keep balance tied up as he was.
He was soon tired, since the pace the army was moving at was one set by men. With their little legs, the hobbits could only stumble along between the guards, almost running to keep pace.
When the army did halt briefly, they sat and tried to get their breath back. They had barely begun to recover, when they were forced to their feet and the march continued. At this pace, it would take only about four days to reach Minas Tirith, Pippin thought, remembering his journey with Faramir. Unfortunately, he didn't know if he could cope with four days of this.
At last night drew in around them and the army halted. Merry and Pippin were still bound together, and the loose ends of the rope were tied to a tree so that there was no chance of them getting away. Pippin didn't think he could have managed to even if he had been unbound and unguarded.
They each sank gratefully to the ground. The guards gave each of them a drink of water that they so desperately needed. When it became apparent that nothing else would be given to them, they both lay down to sleep. They lay back to back on the hard earth, hands seeking and finding the others. They lay there as darkness grew, bound hands gripping bound hands, giving the tactile comfort that they were not alone.
Despite their weariness, the discomfort they were in made it difficult to sleep. Pippin's wrists were sore from the ropes and his shoulders aching from the position they were forced into. Pippin wished he'd stayed in Minas Tirith. He hadn't accomplished anything by coming back. The war he'd hoped to prevent was still going to happen.
Then as Merry's grip tightened momentarily on his hands, Pippin knew he'd made the right choice. Whatever happened, he and Merry would be there together. The way they were meant to be.
***
Aragorn stood giving orders to his generals. They listened carefully to his instructions, and Aragorn could only hope his decisions would be the right ones. If he made the wrong choice here he might inadvertently cause a war he wasn't sure he could afford to fight.
"The larger section of the army is to remain in Minas Tirith," Aragorn said, "I want only fifty men with me, and so I want to best fifty you can offer." The generals nodded that they understood. Aragorn then went on to explain his plan.
When he had finished and the generals gone to carry out his orders, Aragorn noticed Boromir standing beside the door. Aragorn was still angry with Boromir about Pippin. While he could see logically why Boromir had acted, logic didn't permeate through to his feelings. However he waited, willing to listen to what Boromir had to say.
"I want to come with you," Boromir said.
"You're not a soldier anymore," Aragorn replied rather harshly.
"I know that. But it's my fault those halflings ended up in that land. I want to help. I have to be there." Aragorn thought for a long while. Boromir had almost been destroyed by guilt when the orcs had taken Merry and Pippin, and when they thought the two were dead. If anything happened to them now, Aragorn knew that Boromir would feel he was to blame.
"You can come," Aragorn said. He might be angry with Boromir right now, but they were still friends. Boromir needed to be there, and Aragorn wouldn't stand in his way.
"Thank you." Boromir turned to leave, and again Aragorn was left to worry if he'd made the right decision. Boromir might once have been the best swordsman in Gondor, but now even walking was painful for him. He'd been wounded by the orc arrows so badly that even Aragorn's healing skills hadn't been able to help. Boromir would bear those wounds for the rest of his life, and if it came to a battle, he would most likely not survive.
***
Pippin had felt almost as tired when he was woken as when he fell asleep. An uncomfortable night bound on hard earth was not very refreshing. At least his legs weren't aching as much as they had been.
That didn't last very long though. Almost as soon as they were awake, they were on the move again. Merry was marched in front of Pippin, the rope that bound them together still gripped by the guards. The day was one of dreary monotony. They just walked and walked until Pippin's feet was painful. They passed out from under the eaves of the wood and walked onwards across the open plain.
They stopped briefly at midday, and the two hobbits were given a drink. Pippin's stomach was empty, and it growled continuously as they walked. Yet the men guarding them didn't think to give them even the smallest morsel of food. He wondered if he would fade away completely from hunger before this was over.
They marched on, until Pippin's aching muscles were screaming at him to stop, but still he was forced onwards. His vision began to blur, and it seemed as though darkness was growing around the edge of his sight.
He fell suddenly. His legs just gave out, refusing to bear his weight any longer. He lay on the ground, too tired to move at all. His vision began to go dark.
"Get up!" one of the men ordered.
"He's starving and exhausted," Pippin heard Merry protest, but it sounded as though he was far away.
"Get up!" the man ordered again. Pippin vaguely felt something hard digging into his side, but somehow he couldn't care. It would take too much effort to care.
"Leave him alone!" Merry shouted.
"Shut up!" The last thing Pippin heard before he slipped completely into unconsciousness was the sound of fist meeting flesh.
***
Author's note: Not too evil, compared to normal.