Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien.

Author's note: Thanks for all the hits I got for the first chapter, and to Jedi Knight247 and fifithepinapplegodess: I will most definitely be continuing, it's turning out to be quite interesting to write, and thank you for the reviews, I really appreciated it.

'But I may say that I know all the lands between the Shire and the Misty Mountains, for I have wandered over them for many years'. (Aragorn speaking to Frodo in Chapter X: 'Strider', Book I, Fellowship of the Ring.)


Chapter 2: Wishful Thinking

His head hurt, it felt as though he had gotten himself completely drunk and now, as a result, had a massive hangover. Tom groaned as he became more conscious, shoving the events that had just happened to the back of his mind for the time being. It had been nothing more than a nightmare and now he would open his eyes and find himself either in his car or in bed.

The headache was all but forgotten as shock rippled through him. He shouldn't have opened his eyes he realised as everything came into focus; he should have kept them shut. The young man tensed almost immediately, becoming suddenly aware of the scratchy ropes that bound his wrists and the throbbing pain in his ankle. Ropes? Why would he be tied up? Were his mates messing about and playing tricks on him? No, they would not be so cruel.

It seemed he had yet to wake up, and hence was still dreaming. It was the only rational way to explain everything. If he closed his eyes then perhaps everything would simply disappear, but then that meant taking his eyes off the things.

Tom took in the sight before him, finding that there were about eight of the creatures, whatever the hell they were, sitting around a fire and talking in their strange, guttural speech. They had yet to notice that he was awake, and Tom found he wanted to keep it that way. Why hadn't he been killed yet? He had no idea what they could want with him; he wasn't of any importance, not even worth a decent ransom, but then it was a dream, and nothing ever made sense in dreams.

Wake up, please, wake up. Come on! he willed himself. If he would only waken everything would be all right. It would be normal. At the same time he tried to move his arms which were tied behind his back. Perhaps he could loosen the bonds and find some way to escape, even if one of his legs was practically useless. Humans could do remarkable things when the need arose.

The teen wanted nothing more than to go home, where everything made sense. Tom had to admit that he was scared, terrified of what might happen to him, he didn't want to die; he only wanted to be home safe and sound. He wanted so much to believe it all was a dream.

The creatures, things, whatever they were, seemed to be arguing over something. Their raspy voices were slowly rising and, Tom noticed as his breath quickened with panic, one of them had raised its sword; the metal glinted wickedly in the fading light. It seemed to be nothing more than a sharp piece of jagged metal; even to him it looked as if it possessed no true craftsmanship. Strange it was that he took such notice of meaningless things when he was likely to be dead in the next twenty-four hours.

Shit! He was going to be sick; Tom shut his eyes and tried to settle his stomach as it threatened to empty. He had not seen what he thought he had, it was his imagination, his mind was playing tricks on him, nothing was real; it had all just been an illusion. But the teen could not stop the scene from replaying over and over again in his mind. One of the creatures had just cut off one of the other's head! It had just murdered another being without showing any remorse, if anything, it seemed to be laughing.

Tom had learnt about beheadings while studying the Tudor period in History lessons, but he had never imagined it would be anything like this...what he had just seen. He had never seen so much blood, and his mind had recorded every moment; how it had spurted, the sound of the weapon cutting through flesh, the sweet, sickly smell that belonged only to blood…Tom swallowed, willing his stomach to settle and refusing to give in to it. He was not going to be sick!

What had just happened meant it was likely to be for real then, for he couldn't have imagined anything like that in such detail, and now he was likely to be next; the thought chilled him. Perhaps they were cannibals, he'd heard there were such people in the world, though this close to England, in England? Tom still wanted to believe he was in East Anglia, in England; he had to for the sake of his own sanity.

Again, he urged himself to wake up, though deep down he knew such a thing would never happen; it wasn't a dream. He wanted to scream out for help. He was going to die, he was going to be murdered and no-one was around to help him; he was alone.

Tom still did not dare to open his eyes, scared of what they might see for the noises were bad enough. Tears stung them as he heard the sound of flesh being ripped; it had to be flesh for it could not be anything else. They couldn't be eating it, surely? He had never been so petrified in all his life. Other fears he had had, seemed mild in comparison, almost childish; this was the first time he had actually feared for his life.

He was going to die, he just knew it.


Aragorn, known as Strider to some, had been diverted from the course he had been taking after coming across the tracks of orcs. Orcs rarely ventured so close to Rivendell, for it was clear that they feared the power of the elves; those who they loathed above all else…Yet here was evidence of them, and recent from the looks of it.

"Why would they be here?" Elladan asked; a hint of anger in his voice as he surveyed the footprints, his eyes far more farsighted than Aragorn's own. It was well known that the sons of Elrond despised the spawn of Morgoth, the creatures had caused their mother to leave for the shores of Valinor and never look upon Middle-earth again.

Elladan and Elrohir had decided to accompany Aragorn on a hunting trip, for it was increasingly rare for them to see their brother these days, the latter was usually far from Imladris, and they had to admit they enjoyed spending time with the mortal. But the twins had not expected to come across such tracks; usually orcs were to be found leagues away.

Aragorn urged his horse into a faster trot, his eyes still scanning the tracks as he answered, "I know no more than you. I have never seen them so close to Imladris. One might find them in Gondor, but here?" He was at a loss; Gondor shared its borders with Mordor, but Mordor was miles from here. The orcs would have had to travel through Gondor, Rohan and leagues further, surely it was impossible for them to arrive so unscathed? It simply did not make sense.

Elrohir looked up at the sky, "It appears they have been travelling through the day, though night now draws in. It is unlikely they will stop," he stated quietly. The sun was slowly setting though it was barely evening, as it did so early in autumn. It would not be too long before the land was completely masked in darkness; perhaps an hour or two at the most. Was it so wise to hunt them in darkness? Elrohir could not help but wonder.

Why were they here? What had drawn them so close? Aragorn could not tell from the tracks how many of the creatures there was, though there seemed to be no more than twenty, fewer perhaps…why would such a small band travel so far? The questions seemed to be multiplying.

"Aragorn!" Elladan had moved ahead, and now turned his stallion back round, beckoning for his brothers to see what he had found, a sense of urgency to his voice as he dismounted swiftly.

"What have you seen?" Aragorn asked as he drew level with his brother, Elrohir immediately beside him as their horses shifted nervously, sensing their rider's mood.

Elladan lifted up what seemed to be a piece of footwear, though Aragorn had never seen the likes of it before. "It seems the orcs came across something, or someone," the elder twin answered.

The footwear seemed to be made of leather though it was not a boot or one of the light shoes elves sometimes favoured. The sole was made of some material Aragorn had never before come across, though it had a texture similar to that of leather; tough and sturdy.

"What do you think it belongs to?" Aragorn asked as he continued to study it.

Patting his horse's neck, Elrohir shrugged, "I know not. A Dwarf?" He could not hide the distaste that crept into his voice. There had always been an animosity between Dwarves and Elves; for ever cool was the friendship between the Naugrim and the Eldar, even before the Noldor returned to Middle-earth.

Elladan shook his head, "I do not think so. I only know that we are wasting time trying to find out to whom it belongs. We are more likely to find the answer among the orcs."

Giving the shoe one last look, Aragorn discovered that there was some sort of text on the base, though it was neither Dwarvish nor any form of Elvish he knew. "You are right, Elladan," he said, putting the shoe in his saddlebag and asking his horse to move forward once more.

The trio continued to follow the tracks, Elladan occasionally scouting ahead to check for any danger. After one such trip, he came back at a canter, reining his stallion in as soon as he came level with his brothers. "I've found them," he said, "I think we should leave the horses here and continue on foot."

Elrohir nodded, his eyes looking ahead in the direction Elladan had come from. "Do you know how many there is?"

"I did not have clear view, but there seemed to be no-more than fifteen, perhaps less. It seems, though, that they are in the middle of an argument. They should be easy to surprise." It seemed more as if Elladan was merely discussing the weather; the elf seemed to be extremely calm. "It will be better if we approach on foot."

After dismounting, Aragorn tied his horse's reins in a knot so it would lessen the chance of the animal becoming tangled up in them. He did not wish for any harm to come to Roheryn, the animal had been a gift from Arwen.

His brothers did the same to their own mounts'; the animals could be trusted not to get into any sort of danger. Aragorn strung his bow so that it would be ready to use, and then once finished he looked to see if his brothers were ready. "Any specific plan?" he asked.

"Approach where they are camped from different directions," Elrohir replied, "That way, we have a better chance of surprising them more if arrows were to come from three different directions."

It was agreed; Aragorn felt a twinge of nervousness that came before every orc hunt. He knew they had faced greater odds before, but it was the same with every hunt; one wrong move could mean death.


The situation had yet to change, Tom had tried vainly to loosen the bonds though he had only succeeded in making them cut into his wrists. The seventeen year old felt he would need more than a plaster if he ever got free.

He had finally dared to open his eyes, finding that the creatures were still there, and it had appeared they had eaten one of their chums. Just thinking about it made Tom want to vomit. He was sure he could still see the dark blood staining the ground, though it was slowly getting darker as it dried.

Tom was far from religious, but he swore if he ever got out of the situation he would attend church every Sunday for the rest of his life without complaint. He had to get free, somehow, someway.

His hairs stood on end as one of the foul creatures turned its attention away from the fighting, and instead looked at him. This was it, he was going to die. Tom could not help but notice the things eyes again; no-one had eyes like that. There was undoubtedly something evil about it, almost as if it were some sort of demon come from hell. It smiled at him, revealing a row of sharp, jagged fangs which were black with blood…Black blood? Since when did anyone have black blood?

Being more than ready to admit he was a coward, Tom shut his eyes once more, too frightened to stare death in the face. He wanted his family, his friends; anybody. He had never thought he would die so alone and so helpless.

Something whistled through the air, followed by a thump as it hit something. There was a gasp of surprise and pain, and the next moment Tom found that the creature's body had landed upon him, it was heavy and stank, but he dared not move. Maybe the search party had finally found him, and were shooting at the beasts with guns. He had not before felt so much hope.

The things seemed to shake off their surprise and retaliate, there were grunts and the sound of combat, sword striking against sword. The guttural shouts made his hair stand on end, yet he kept still, barely daring to move, the weight of the body still upon him.

Silence soon reigned. Tom cracked an eye open, scared of what he might find. All the things were dead, fallen on the ground, some with arrows protruding from their backs. Oh, he was definitely not in England…but perhaps he had travelled back in time. Yes, that could be it, even though it was far from a comforting thought.

He opened his eyes fully and looked up, trying, at the same time, to push the corpse off him. Tom stopped suddenly, his brain finally realising what exactly was lying on top on him. A dead body, a corpse! Before he could stop himself, he let out a startled shout, trying desperately to get away from the thing as far as possible. His stomach yet again threatened to empty its contents. He was going to be sick, he knew it.

The teen looked about him wildly, panic controlling his body as he looked for somewhere to escape to. Tom froze as his eyes came to rest upon something that was most definitely not good; three people were pointing rather sharp looking arrows at him. Maybe he was still going to die.


TBC.