"Merry. Merry!" Pippin whispered as loudly as he dared. If he were not quiet, the Orcs would hear. He and Merry had been thrown unceremoniously to the ground in the middle of the Uruk-hai camp, with sentries posted all round them. The rest of the Fellowship was nowhere to be seen.
The other hobbit had not stirred. "Merry!" Pippin called again.
One of the sentries heard. He flicked his whip at Pippin. "Shut up, you!" The lash just barely missed him.
Pippin did not dare try to wake the unconscious hobbit again. But he did not need to. Merry groaned once, quietly, and then his eyes blinked open. Sitting up, he glanced casually around at Pippin.
"Hullo, Pip. I say, when d'you suppose we'll be getting breakfast?" The fact that they were captured, bound hand and foot, separated from the Company and lying in the middle of a camp of Orcs did not appear to bother him at all.
Pippin was amazed by his fellow hobbit's temerity. He had not the time to reply, for the Uruks instantly pounced upon them both. They were all enormous compared to the hobbits, all heavily muscled black limbs and stout, barrel-chested black bodies. Some had blue or green eyes, and Pippin shuddered to think what poor Elf had been turned into something so hideous. Their fangs were yellow and dirty, their voices harsh and guttural. All of them had blades of some sort, and a few of the larger ones carried whips.
"Don't move, and no talking," the biggest of them growled. His Common speech was barely understandable. "You won't need to, where you're going."
"Then make us," Merry said suddenly, standing up.
The Orc pushed him down again with one clawlike hand. "Shut up, rat! Any more trouble, and He'll hear about it, mark my words!"
Merry was not cowed. "Who will? Saruman? That filthy slug you call a master!"
"Quiet!" The Uruk was obviously fighting to hold his rage. "I am Kashgûl, captain of this patrol, and you will do as I say!"
"Or what?" Pippin taunted, sounding much braver than he felt. "You'll punish us? I'll say you won't; Saruman won't like his prize that way, now will he."
Kashgûl shoved his face closer to Pippin's. His voice grew harsher, more menacing. "Last warning, little rat. Shut up!"
"No!" Merry shouted back.
That was too far. Kashgûl cracked him over the head with the handle of his whip, and then lightly flicked his lash at Pippin. Orders to the others streamed from him in his own foul tongue. Pippin caught one last glimpse of Merry on the ground, being gagged and blindfolded as the Orcs surrounded them both. Then a blindfold descended over his own eyes. A fetid-smelling rag was shoved into his mouth, and all the world grew dark.
ειδαсαг
Legolas awoke doubled up in pain. Seeing the Elf was conscious, the leering Uruk standing over him kicked him once more, for good measure, and then called to his captain in the harsh Black Speech of Mordor. The foul words stung the archer's sensitive ears, and he flinched. Though he could not understand a word, he was reasonably sure that some part of the phrase was insulting. Even Orcs understood sarcasm, apparently.
"Kashgûl! The hai-glob búbhosh has awakened!"
The Orc-captain was there instantly. Leaning down, he grabbed the barely-conscious Elf's slender chin in his hand, and Legolas could not suppress a slight wince when his neck twisted. The Uruk sneered at him. "I'll make the rules clear to begin with. No talking, no resisting, no trouble, and things may go easier for you at the other end." So saying, he slapped the archer across the face and strode away.
Dazed from the slap and from whatever had previously knocked him unconscious, Legolas did not have the presence of mind to respond. He was on his knees, hands bound around a pole behind his back. His head throbbed. The Elf took stock of his injuries: a long slash down his back, what was probably a large bump just above his ear, an ugly-looking gash on his upper arm, and some heavy bruises on his ribs from the Orc guard's kicks. The archer shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
Where in Arda was he?
Kashgûl's voice had awakened a memory. But he could not quite recall it. Closing his eyes, Legolas let himself fall through his mind, to remember.
We were in Moria. Merry, Pippin and I were last…Aragorn and the others were ahead of us. Dark shapes, closing in out of the shadows. One cries, "Find the Halflings! Take them—and take the Elf!" That is Kashgûl. Orcs surround the three of us. Merry and Pippin draw their little swords, but they are no match for the Uruks of the White Hand. Pippin cries out, voice shrill with fright, but is quickly cut off when an Orc clamps a hand over his mouth and picks him up like a sack. They are all around me, and I am the only one left. The space is too narrow for arrows, so I draw my daggers. We fight. Eight I slew…but then something struck the side of my head, and blackness fell.
And now I am alone.
What had happened to Merry and Pippin? Legolas wondered. And Gimli and the rest? Did they escape, or were they captured as well? Merry and Pippin had certainly been taken, he remembered that. But why weren't they here? The Orcs had all borne the White Hand, which meant that presumably all prisoners would be brought to Isengard, to Saruman. Apparently that was not so.
It began to rain, an icy, heavy downpour that left the Elf drenched and shivering. At least it cleansed his wounds, though they burned still. To take his mind off it all—the cold, the wet, the questions, the pain, and the loneliness—Legolas began to sing a song of his people in his own language. How good the sweet words felt on his tongue!
Namárië lissë kemen ar formenwa menel,
An voro laitanë, an sinome né caita
Ar sinome hroanen tyelca né
Nornoroa undu Isil, undu Anar,
Lúthien Tindómerel
Yanta vanima i fírima lambë voro nyarë.
Nan ilya an atalantë lantanë Ambar
Ar né úcarna ar nanehortanë
Úcarna undumënna enwina,
Né cáralarya mára,
I histen, i ara, i kemen, i Eär
I Lúthien lúlin núva.
He ended, and for a long time sat and watched the stars wheel overhead. Elbereth! Gil en-gilgalad nunthi…Tua amin. The prayer to the queen of the Valar lightened his heart and helped to quell his loneliness. With hope again alive within him, Legolas let himself—forced himself—to drift off to sleep.
And was then rudely awakened.
ειδαсαг
second chapter's up…but unless y'all're really shmart, you'll need some translations. Chronological order:
1) 'great-people fool' (when said sarcastically, it could cast an insulting light on things, but you kind of have to think about it for it to make sense. i actually meant to say something like…like…i dunno, but something more obviously provocative. o well. translators have their limits, after all.)
2) Who Lúthien Was (this is the song title; Legolas never said it)
Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,
For ever blest, since here did lie
And here with lissome limbs did run,
Beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun,
Lúthien Tinúviel,
More fair than mortal tongue can tell.
Though all to ruin fell the world
And were dissolved and backward hurled
Unmade into the old abyss,
Yet were its making good, for this
The dusk, the dawn, the earth, the Sea,
That Lúthien for a time should be.
3) 'Elbereth! Shine the starlight downward…help me.' a prayer to Elbereth, queen of the Valar, and it's a fairly common Elven supplication, minus the 'help me' part.
as to reviews—thank you so much to the ppl that wrote them. i said this in my bio too…just thought i'd better be clear. y'all're awesome. (i know, i erased them all—but it was an accident, i swear! when i was uploading the next chapter something went wrong and i had to delete the whole story, and the reviews went with it! y'all don't know how much i'm kicking myself for that.) and pls e-mail me if you have questions/comments/etc. that are too long for the little review box or whatever. i'll respond, promise!
