Chapter 27

Pippin lay in a dark and troubled dream. He couldn't find Frodo, and hundreds of hideous orc faces grinned at him out of the shadows, hundreds of orc arms grasped at him from every side. He woke. Cold air blew on his face. He was lying on his side staring up at the darkening sky. He turned laboriously over. A white-faced Merry lay beside him, a dirty rag bound across his bow. Beyond him was the still form of Lady Erin, crumpled in a seemingly boneless huddle. Pippin could not see if she was hurt, or just unconscious, or even if she was breathing.

All around them was a great company of orcs.

Of course; they had all run off, like idiots, not listening to a word Strider had said. They had got lost, and run straight in to the arms of the orcs. Good old Merry had given some of them what-for, that was certain. And then Boromir had come crashing through the trees, and driven them off, only even more came, with arrows, and he had last seen Boromir leaning against a tree...Erin had come too, just before everything had got dark. She had been a brave, desperate sight, but the orcs had been too many. But why hadn't the orcs killed them?

Pippin struggled against his bonds a little, but it was useless. One of the orcs nearby laughed, said something in the hideous, guttural orc-tongue to his companion. The he said to Pippin in the common speech "Rest while you can, little fool! Rest while you can! We'll find a use for your legs before long. You'll wish you had none before we get home."

"If I had my way," said the other orc, "you'd be dead now." He stooped over Pippin, bringing his yellow fangs close to his face. "I'd make you squeak, you miserable rat." He shook the long, jagged black blade he held under the hobbit's nose. "Lie quiet, or I'll tickle you with this," he hissed. "Don't draw attention to yourself, or I may forget my orders. Curse the Isengarders! Ugluk u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob bubhosh skai..." he swore angrily, sliding in to his own tongue. All around them were other forces, quarreling- many of them in the common speech. They're different tribes, Pippin thought. They can't even understand each other.

"There's no time to kill them properly," said one. "No time for play on this trip."

"Why not kill them quick, kill them now?" said another. "They're a cursed nuisance and we're in a hurry. We ought to get a move on."

"Orders," said a third voice in a deep growl. "Kill all but NOT the Halflings OR the females; they are to be brought back ALIVE as quickly as possible. That's my orders."

"What are they wanted for?" sneered the yellow-fanged orc who had threatened Pippin. "Why alive? Do they give good sport? Why can't we play with them now?" He grabbed the neck of Erin's tunic, hoisting her up. She hung from his grasp like a rag-doll, unmoving even as the fabric tore open, baring the white skin of her collar-bone and shoulder. Pippin yelled angrily, fighting at his bonds, but the deep-voiced orc had already cuffed yellow-fang roughly away. Erin was dropped to the ground, and Pippin could see the gash across her temple, just below the hairline. It was crusted with blood, dried trickles spreading across her cheek.

"Alive and as captured: NO SPOILING. That's my orders."

Pippin struggled to follow the argument of the orcs; One, Uglak, wanted to go to Isengard the fastest way possible. Another, Grishnakh, called Saruman a fool. Before long a fight broke out, orc against orc. One of them fell over Merry's still form, stabbed as he went down, and fell on Pippin. The fight didn't last long, but as Uglak regained control Pippin felt a gleam of hope. The orc's knife had fallen on his arm. His arms were only bound at the wrists, and, carefully, he pushed the dead orc aside and drew the knot of the cords up and down the blade of the knife. It was cut! Pippin quickly knotted it again in to a loose bracelet of two loops and slipped it over his hands. Then he lay very still.

The orcs began moving, the prisoners slung on their backs like so much baggage. A few times Erin came partially awake to the foul smell of orc and the pain in her head, but mercifully the darkness returned soon each time. A long time later- a day? Two?- she came fully awake at last when she was dropped to the ground roughly. The orcs were shouting, screaming all around- Erin fought to make sense of the chaos around her. She struggled up, wincing, just as the orc that had dropped her was spitted on a long spear. The short scream she uttered, though she bit it back, was still enough to bring the eyes of the golden horseman to her. His shocked exclamation was in a tongue she had not heard before, but when he saw she did not understand he shouted in the common speech; "How came you here?"

"I..." Erin struggled to comprehend what was happening, but there was no time. Another orc came near, and went down under the rider's blade. The horseman turned to her once more.

"Give me your hand!" Erin could only stare at his outstretched palm, think, think, Erin! What is happening? The rider's head turned sharply to survey the battle before his sharp eyes whipped back to her. "Your hand, woman! Else you shall be left!" Erin stumbled forward, setting her hand in his and letting her swing her up on to the horse behind them. He kicked the horse in to motion immediately, and Erin clung to the back of his hauberk and he turned to what was left of the melee.

The last of the orcs were swiftly run down, the long spears of the golden riders moving quick and efficient. Everything was over as suddenly as it had began. The men gathered together, beginning to tend their wounds, and to stare at the strange woman who had suddenly appeared among them. Erin, faint and trembling, was beginning to realize that it had been some days since she had eaten, that her temple and cheek were streaked with dried blood, her tunic torn at the throat and baring her bruised shoulder. Her rescuer slid her down from the great horse, and thankfully another man stood ready to catch her, for her legs would not hold. She was let down gently, but managed not to crumple, and stay sitting mostly upright. The men gathered in a circle around her.

The pale, blood-spattered face looked slowly from one man to the next. Erin did not know who they were or what they might intend, but they were better than orcs. She had no choice but to trust them. The man who had saved her asked something in the language she did not understand. She shook her head. He tried again in the common speech, and his accent seemed similar to what Boromir's had been. "How came you here?"

"I was taken," Erin said, trying to force her weary mind into working out how much she could tell this man, and what to try and hide.

One of the riders muttered something at her answer, but the leader waved him to silence. "How came a woman to be taken? You might be one of our people, but you know not our tongue. And yet you do not speak like a woman of Gondor."

"Nor am I," she said, carefully. "I come from...farther away."

"And how came you to be in the hands of orcs crossed our lands?"

"I was traveling, in the company of others- my sister, and Men- down the Anduin."

"In boats?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, my lord," she said slowly. "Above Rauros we were...we were separated, and attacked by orcs. I was taken, and I know not what became of...of the others..." A violent shudder passed through her and the remains of her strength seemed to vanish. She drew her knees up to her chest and hid her face. A low moan filled the air, soft, but full of agony. Erin sagged sideways to the ground.

When she came to herself, the smell of smoke filled the air. She lay where she had fallen, covered with a green blanket of wool. Her head was pillowed on a folded cloak, and a flask sat on the ground beside her. The blood had been washed from her face, and the gash cleaned. Erin sat up, holding the blanket around her with one hand, and reached for the flask. It was filled with water, lukewarm and stale, but it seemed the sweetest thing she had ever tasted and she drank thirstily. The water refreshed her, and she climbed shakily to her feet to look around her.

They were still at the edge of the forest. Some ways from her she could see the riders, and what looked to be a great bonfire. The orcs, she thought, and shuddered. One of the men saw that she was standing, and spoke to the one she had decided was the leader, who came towards her. Erin stood as steadily as she could and tried to gather herself.

"Forgive me, lady," he said as he reached her. "I should not have questioned you so. I gave no thought that you must have been sore used. Please, sit."

"I am all right," Erin said, but she sat. He sat cross-legged in front of her, but not too close. He kept a respectful yard of distance. In his hands was a bundle wrapped in cloth, which was revealed to contain hard traveling bread. Erin accepted it gratefully.

"I am Eomer, son of Eomund, the Third Marshal of Riddermark," he said. An impressive title for a man sitting on the ground, Erin thought wryly. At least her sense of humor had survived captivity intact. "Who are you?" The question of blunt, but his tone was gentler than before.

"I am Raithnait Erin O'Connor," she said, a little bemused, "daughter of Bran O'Connor. I am called Erin." He was looking at her strangely. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

Eomer shook his head. "Forgive me, Lady...Erin. It is only that you look very much like someone I know."

"I see." Of course- all of these men had light hair and ruddy skin. Vikings, she thought. And they were surprised that she had not known their tongue.

"You said, lady, that you were attacked above Rauros and separated from your companions," he paused, remembering her earlier collapse, but she nodded for him to go on. "What was your destination? How did you come to be traveling such a road?"

Erin thought carefully. "Our paths were not all decided," she said truthfully. "Some of our number intended to go on to Minas Tirith."

Eomer nodded, and Erin wondered what he would ask next. She hoped it would be nothing she could not answer. The long pause strained her nerves, and it must have shown on her face, for she saw Eomer decide to ask her no more. "Lady," he said, "you need rest and care, and my company has not yet completed its ride. There are orcs yet to hunt. Let me send you with a guard to the city of Edoras, where my uncle Theoden King rules. I would commend you to the care of my sister Eowyn. You would be safe, and perhaps we will find tidings of your fellows. Are you willing?"

Erin paused. She had no other source of aid, she did not even know where she was. Eomer was surely not in league with the dark, but who could say what she might find in this far away city? And she would be even farther from wherever her sister might be. But..."I am willing, my lord," she said.

So Erin found herself riding South in the company of three Riders of the Mark. After the skirmish with the orcs, three horses were left riderless, and one given to Erin to ride, once Eomer was assured she could ride well enough on her own. The pace they set on the way to Edoras was easy, while Eomer's eored moved more swiftly away East and South. Three days they wove through fens and bogs, for Erin's guide, a pale, slender young man called Bardhelm, knew the paths, and it was quicker so. The Riders of the Mark were proud men, great warriors, and full, it seemed to Erin, of a kind of barbaric nobility. Some of their manners were rough, but they spoke gently enough to her, and did not chafe overmuch at the slow progress she made. She heard them speak proudly of the prowess of Eomer- to whose household they belonged- of the beauty and high-heartedness of his sister, Eowyn, of the past greatness of Theoden King, and of his son Theodred, slain but a few days ago. She heard them speak also in murmers of the darkness that had fallen over the golden hall, but when they spoke of it they slid most often in to their own speech, and fell silent altogether when they recalled her presence. Foreboding covered Erin, and she wondered what awaited them in Edoras.

Early on the third day the small company came in sight of the golden city. Erin squinted up at the Great Hall, glinting in the sun far above.