Title: Empathy
Author: freak-pudding
Summary: Companion piece to "Sympathy".
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters; they are the property of JRR Tolkien. Most of this belongs to the Professor, but some bits belong to New Line Cinema. No copyright infringement was intended.
Author's Note: Review replies are at the bottom. I'd just like it noted that a small change was made in the first chapter. A name appeared there, 'Mordithen', and I ended up changing that to 'Berior'. My recommendation is to reread the first chapter, then read this one. winces and prepares for the tomatoes This chapter, unfortunately, was written over several weeks, and I had to stop in the middle for exams. I'm not quite certain how much I like it, but it'll do for now. For all you hobbit-lovers, Merry and Sam make their appearance in Part 4!

- - -

Part 2: I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

The creature could have been a hobbit.

It was stooped, with a misshapen and bent back, and when it stood to full possible height, its knuckles brushed the dusty ground. Its belly-length hair had fallen out in great clumps, and what was left was blackened and glutinous with slime and mud. The hands were overlarge with swollen joints and thick skin that was hard as over-dried leather. The nails were caked in dirt and bitten to the quick, and the fingers were cold to the touch. The feet were awkward, bent and broken so often that it walked on the sides rather than the bleeding and fleshless soles and heels. The skin, stretched tight over bone in some places, cracked occasionally and made the poor creature's limbs itch ceaselessly. The cheeks, deep like little wells on its face, were sunburned and peeling in small white flakes. Eloquent blue irises glittered from the deep black pits that once had been eye sockets. The almost non-existent lips were constantly pressed into a thin, nervous scowl.

It bore no clothing save for a ragged cloth bound and knotted about its middle. The rag had been patched and repatched and so badly frayed that naught remained of the original cloth but a few stray threads. It clumsily hitched the slipping garment back onto its pointed, bony hips.

"'S'all right, though," it was saying. It made a horribly disgusting sniveling noise as it cleared the phlegm from its parched throat. "They tried t' stop me. Tried ter cut me heel-strings, too."

The little creature patted its sinewy shins, indicating the loose, grit-covered bandages wrapped around his ankles. The backs were stained with a brackish-colored blood. Aragorn looked down at the squatting creature with a mixture of disgust and pity.

"I's lucky, I was," it continued, wiping at its dripping nose with one slender arm.

Revolted though he was, Aragorn could not look away from the little thing. It fascinated him by simply being alive. It was thin, starved, beaten, oppressed, and barely coherent, but it was alive. For anyone, Aragorn reasoned, that had to be a miracle. "I got 'way afore they cou' see me."

The Dúnadan glanced over at King Théoden, whose brow was furrowed in confusion and deep concentration. The wizened king was watching the little creature intently, focused on its each word. He bent over in his chair, staring into its (his, Aragorn reminded himself forcefully) face, as if searching for hidden answers.

"When did you escape, Master…?" Gandalf trailed off, indicating the need of a name. Rather than answer, the little one's tiny eyes flooded almost instantly with tears. It gave a wailing howl, pitching forward with its clawed fists pounding the floor.

"Mas-ter?" he cried, giving great, heaving sobs. "Mas-ter, kind sir says?"

"There, there," said the Wizard uncomfortably. One of the men had set a little stool for the creature to sit on, and he pawed his way blindly too it. When he was settled on it, the little creature pulled at his cloth, blowing his nose loudly on the filthy scrap. Little hiccoughing sobs passed his lips every so often, and he kept shaking his head, whispering in dubiety.

"Your name?" inquired Aragorn of the creature, growing impatient at last. Gandalf cast him a reproving look that Aragorn found easy to ignore.

"I's not havin' a name, sir," said the creature. "I's never havnin' name… 'cept o'course what Massers Merry'n'Sam call-ed me…"

"Merry'n'Sam?" Legolas repeated from the corner. "Do you refer to two hobbits by the names of Meriadoc and Samwise?"

"Yes, m'lord!" the little creature nodded vigorously. "Great and terrible, they was!"

"And what did they call you?" said Gandalf.

"Berior," it said, chest swelling in pride. Legolas gave a small laugh.

"'Protector'?" he said, translating with a smile. Aragorn silently agreed with the elf. This little creature— this Berior did not at all look the part of a protector.

They, or more properly, the reconnaissance group, had discovered the small being on a wide westward sweep. He had been walking in the middle of the frozen Rohan plains with no food, no water, and no shelter.

It had shocked the riders greatly, for they expected nothing but Orcs. Being the dutiful soldiers that they were, the men returned directly to Edoras, the current headquarters of the Alliance of the Three Kindreds.

Berior blinked at them, utterly nonplussed.

"Massers alwa's kind t' me," he sniffed. "I's not askin' why they di' 'alf the things that they di'."

"What did they do?" asked Gandalf with interest. Berior looked up at him with wide eyes, chin trembling.

"They saved me," he shook his head slowly, disbelieving. "Most unworthiest— unwantedest— unlovedest—"

"Did they save only you?" Aragorn cut in brusquely. Gandalf cast him a withering glance, and even Théoden looked reproving, even if only for a moment. Berior turned his hazy stare to the Dúnadan.

"No, no, sir," he said. "They's savin' otherses as well, sir."

"Did you see them escape?" asked Legolas quietly. Berior shook his head sorrowfully.

"They's stayin', they sayed," he replied. "They's makin' sure ever'one gots out afore they di'."

"Did everyone get out?" asked Théoden. His voice was kindly and soothing.

"I's not knowin', sir," Berior whispered. Gandalf looked slightly surprised.

"Surely you cannot be the only escapee," he said. "Were you not traveling with someone?"

"We found him alone," replied an anonymous guard from beside the door. "Lying in the middle of a ditch, freezing and talking to himself."

"He looked as though he hadn't had a decent meal in years," his companion added. "We took him in, fed him, and gave him a blanket for the night."

"Have you eaten since then, little one?" Théoden asked, smiling at the creature. It (he, Aragorn reminded himself) shook his head. "Come then, Master Berior; let us find you a hearty repast."

Théoden rose from the awkward meeting, shooing the small creature before him as he left the tent. Gandalf, too, took his leave without so much as a word of parting. Aragorn, unfortunately, realized that that left him and Legolas alone.

"Perhaps you should round up another group of riders to search for other escapees," the King said, rising from his seat. Legolas pushed off from the wall, standing straight.

"You dare to order me, Man?" he scoffed. Aragorn's gaze turned icy. "You've grown bold in your failing years."

"I am not old yet, Elf," he replied softly. "You should be careful. I hold the respect of your father."

"Yes, but not his throne," Legolas smiled slyly. "You are not so mighty yet, King of Kings, that you are beyond your own mortality."

The silence deafened both, and neither flinched in their stare. It was simply another battle in the war of wills that had been waging for many a year. With a soft chuckle, Legolas glanced at the doorway.

"I'll gather up the men," he said, still wearing that defiant grin. Aragorn scowled as the elf-prince brushed past him. Seven years since her death, and Legolas would never change.

"Foolish immortals," Aragorn bristled angrily, stalking away from the tents and towards the high walls. He knew not why he sought the solitude of the battlements; there was nothing to see or do upon those horrid walls. Nevertheless, Aragorn dutifully trotted up the stairs, ignoring the aching soreness of his legs.

The plains of Rohan stretched viciously before him, the dead grasses waving gently in the stiff wind, giving the impress of a great yellow sea. Edoras was a lonely rock island in the center of that sea, burnt and bereft of life. It was as a sea of dirt, crushing, grinding, devouring all in its path. Children, homes, and wives had fallen to its relentless purge, hapless victims to a fathomless gullet.

The dead of winter was savage in Rohan.

The men scuttled to and fro across the frosted hill of Edoras, shoulders hunched and faces bent against the stinging winds. None lifted their voices in song or laughter; none cared to raise their eyes and gaze about them. No one wished to look upon the endless plains, for they were just that: infinite and cold.

Aragorn cast his eyes down as well, undesirous of seeing any remnant of that which he had lost. He elected, instead, to look upon that which others had lost. The Dúnadan's wandering thoughts and memories had led him, at last, to the coldest part of Edoras.

"The cairns were broken soon after we left," said a soft voice. Aragorn turned; it was Théoden.

"I thought you were entertaining the creature," Aragorn replied.

"I was," Théoden grimaced. "But someone gave it a rag with which to wipe its face, and it burst into tears. I grew tired of it quickly."

Aragorn smiled as his fellow came to stand beside him.

"Strangely enough, Théodred's was the last to be destroyed," Théoden continued nonchalantly. "They broke into the others first. Saruman must have been… ahem, gravely disappointed to find nothing but skeletons."

The Ranger glanced to him as the King continued.

"We Men of Rohan hold no fancy ideals of a paradise-like afterlife with need of riches or food or servants. When we die, we are buried. That is all," he sighed.

"Will you raise a cairn for Éomer?" asked Aragorn quietly.

"To what purpose?" Théoden returned. "We have not a body to place within the tomb. Éomer is dead and buried elsewhere, and there shall he stay. Unto the ending of days."

Edoras was covered in blossoms of simbelmynë; they grew on every empty patch of ground. Their harmonious aroma clogged the air, choking the Men and making even the Elves cough and wheeze.

Aragorn cast his eyes down again, and Théoden glanced at him.

"I am not offended by the suggestion, my friend," he smiled. "Why should I not raise one in his honor?"

Théoden bent low, scooping up a handful of the fragrant flowers. He cupped his hands, holding the bunch close to his face and drawing a deep breath.

"I am an old man, Aragorn," he sighed. Aragorn cast him a grin. "Well, old amongst my people, at least. I am bereft of youth, of love, and of hope. All that I loved has passed before me. I am the last of the House of Eorl. But soon, that house will have ended."

He opened his palms, letting the stinging gale whip the flowers away, down the hill.

"No," Aragorn shook his head. "There is one more."

"Ah, yes," Théoden smiled warmly. "How fairs Estel?"

"You would do better ask me that," said Legolas, coming from behind. "And he is well. Did you not see him upon the Pelennor?"

Aragorn scowled deeply, but only crossed his arms. The Elf came to stand on Théoden's other side.

"No," sighed Théoden. "I arrived but two days after he was returned to your father's halls."

"A pity," Legolas replied amiably. "You would marvel at how he's grown these past years."

"Indeed?" asked Théoden with a smile.

"He's so tall," said Legolas fondly. "It still amazes me. I could blink, and he would have grown a foot! How fast time passes for mortals."

Théoden glanced at the frigid Aragorn and sighed. Aragorn stared stonily forward, seeming to contemplate Théodred's decimated crypt.

"Well, I must return to our little friend. There is more of his tale that must be told, I fear," he said, clapping Aragorn upon the shoulder. Aragorn focused all of his attention on the crumbling stone slabs before him as the King departed.

"Do you not care to hear of Estel?"

Legolas's tone was mocking and uncouth.

"I would indeed, but not from you."

"Why not? I know him best. Do you know what he calls me?"

Aragorn's face darkened.

"He calls you 'Ada'. I know this."

"And does it bother you, Ranger?" Legolas asked. He was slowly provoking Aragorn to anger, as always. "That he shows affection to another? Or that he shows affection at all?"

"Can you not let the dead rest, Elf?" asked Aragorn wearily.

"And let the living be forgotten?"

There was silence then, and it was charged with familiar rage. At last, with that same small laugh, Legolas turned and went up to the city.

Aragorn remained still beside the cairn, wondering at this little Berior (he had determined to ignore Legolas's newest taunts). It seemed within him to reveal all that had befallen Merry and Sam. But would he know also of Frodo and Pippin?

The Ranger fervently hoped this as he followed Legolas after a while. Fires sprang up across the small mountain as the sunlight dimmed. The shattered windows of Meduseld filtered the orange, flickering rays of bright firelight into shafts and pinpricks of eerie glow. There was a rumbling of voices, and Aragorn quickened his pace.

When he entered, he found all gathered around the great hearth, set in the center of the hall. What was left of Théoden's throne had been pulled up beside the dying embers, and the aged King sat in it. To his left side was set two chairs; Legolas and Gimli sat upon these. Two more were upon his right, one occupied by Gandalf, and the other meant for Aragorn. Berior sat, hunched over upon a stool directly before the others.

Aragorn crossed the floor unhurriedly, fully aware and yet ignorant of Legolas's trenchant stare.

"You's wantin' t' hear 'bout Massers Merry'n'Sam," the creature said timidly when all were seated. He stared down at his hands, rubbing the rough palms with bloodied fingers. "I's not knowin' much, but I's gonna try anyhow…"

"Tell us what the slaves did for Saruman," Gandalf said. "What was your job at Isengard?"

Berior shuddered.

"We's workin' for little, sir," he replied. "We's workin', cuttin' and sowin' for Sharkey."

"Sharkey?" repeated Théoden. "Another name for the wizard?"

"Likely," Gandalf agreed. "What were you cutting?"

"Trees," said Legolas suddenly. He looked around at them all. "Quite obvious, isn't it? We can only imagine the number of Orcs Saruman needed to furnish with weapons and food. Weapons cannot be made without forges, and forges must be fueled by fire."

The Elf turned, looking Berior up and down.

"Am I correct in saying, Master Berior, that this 'Sharkey' used these trees to fuel his fires?" he continued. Berior nodded sullenly, making his abhorrent sniffing noise.

"That would explain the massive amounts of machines we've been seeing," Théoden mused. "Saruman was skilled in all manner of deathly inventions."

"Tha's what the Massers tol' us ter do," said Berior quietly. "And we's did jus' what we's tol'."

"The Masters?" asked Aragorn. "Who were these?"

Berior shuddered and made no reply.

"It is likely that they were Orcs," said Gimli between puffs of pipe smoke. He offered the treat to Aragorn, who took a quick pull and returned it to the Dwarf. "What else could he use? Surely not any of the captives."

"They was Men, too," Berior muttered. "Big, mean, nasty Men they was."

"Do you know where they were from?" asked Théoden sharply.

"Surely none of your noble men, my lord, would have given in to Saruman," Gandalf said, with the faintest of smiles. Théoden glanced at the Wizard with a half-grin.

"I's not knowin', sir," Berior replied.

Aragorn noted the way that 'sir' came out more like 'suh' in this little creature's dialect.

"And where are you from, little one?" he asked. Berior stared at him sourly, as though offended by the question.

"I's born in the fields, sir," he said, as if trying to see just how quiet he could be. "I's not havnin' home or fam'ly or anythin'."

"You didn't even have parents?" asked Legolas, surprised. Aragorn scowled at the pity emanating from the Elf's tone.

"No, sir."

The burning question, Aragorn thought, was one they would never ask. But he knew one that he could.

"How did you come to know Samwise Gamgee and Meriadoc Brandybuck?"

"I's tol' you. Massers Merry'n'Sam saved me," the little creature replied. "They's sayed they's foun' a way out. They took us and showed us t' the Gate."

He said this last word with an odd reverence in his voice, as though speaking of some holy or exceedingly beautiful thing.

"The Gate?" repeated Gimli. "The Gate of Isengard?"

Berior shook his head, smiling in veneration, and sniffed again. Aragorn winced in revulsion at the sound.

"Massers' Gate," he said contentedly. "Massers Merry'n'Sam foun' it, they did."

"Was it a tunnel?" asked Legolas. Berior shook his head lethargically.

"Did you ever meet," began Gandalf hesitantly, "any creatures calling themselves 'Pippin' or 'Frodo'?"

Berior blinked vacantly at Gandalf and shook his head.

"Juss th' Massers."

The group shared a vaguely disappointed, albeit sad, look, and Berior stared.

"Tell us, please," said Aragorn, "all that you know of Merry and Sam, then."

Berior spoke in his slow manner for a few hours, filling in the details of stories that had found their ways across deserted plains and fathomless mountains to a lonely outpost in a dark forest. The stories were finished sometime near the middle of the night, and the group dispersed to find rest. Aragorn left Meduseld, opting for a lonely walk. He did not sleep anymore.

When the next morning dawned, the strange little creature was nowhere to be found. Long they combed the streets and outlying plains of Edoras, but to no avail. The air was filled with the unanswered cries of every soldier that could be spared as they searched.

"Berior!" they called. "Berior! Come back, little one!"

All the long morning the company wasted in pursuit of the small slave. When noontime came, the men retired to dinner, and Théoden-King sought out the single person who did not aid in the hunt.

Aragorn stood on the terrace of Meduseld, facing west with his hand resting lightly upon his sword hilt. His face was drawn and serious, and his eyes saw everything and yet nothing.

"When did it leave?" the Rohan King asked quietly, for he knew full-well the heart of his kinsman.

"I stood upon the battlements at dawn," replied Aragorn, stirring as if from a dream, "when I espied a little awkward creature slinking its way through the unmanned gates.

"I leapt down and confronted our little friend. Berior cowered and shrunk back into the shadows of ever-present night.

"'I's not takin' more'n me needs,' he said, cradling a small bundle of cloth to his chest. 'Jus' enough ter get me there. I's took a few bits of bread'n cheese'n one piece o' fruit.'

"As he spoke, he gestured to the mountains in the southeast. There was a terrible fear and great longing filling his eyes, and his voice trembled. I stared at him for a time.

"'Why?' I asked, and a great weariness seemed to drop suddenly upon my shoulders. Berior glanced with great trepidation to my sword and then with painful desire to the plains just beyond me. He flinched as I moved, but I merely took my water flask and gave it to him. Then I backed away, hands held up in a sign of surrender, and let him pass.

"Berior smiled at me and made that appalling noise of his.

"'Ya've got ter understand,' he said. 'I's laid me burden down. Juss like Massers Merry an' Sam sayed. I's goin' ter be free now.'

"He laughed, and, taking a broken spear shaft for his crutch, he began walking south. There was the strangest of bounce to his clumsy gait, and he sang. It was a tuneless melody, soft and mournful, like the dirge of a dying nightingale who knows what peace lies beyond this life."

Théoden gave a sad smile.

"Will it survive out there?"

"Probably not," Aragorn reasoned thoughtfully. A brief, sorrowed smile graced his lips for only a moment. "But at least he'll be happy. Even if only for a little while."

- - -

Author's Note 2: Ahem. Anyone confused yet? cowers I'll explain the whole time line thing in the next chapter.

Cm: Well, thank you first of all! Thranduil gets more time in Part 3, and he interacts quite often with Legolas. Merry will get his much-deserved screen time, but not for a while yet. grins Oh, just you wait... You'll probably kill me...

Earelwen: There's nothing better, right? Yeah, I couldn't really find anything to fit for a summary. You'd best update "No Escape" soon! I need my Merry & Pip eye twitch

Jemintra: Sam and Merry will come back soon. Hang in til then!