The East Gate

Authors: The Eastgaters
Beta: Marigold & Llinos
Final Edit: Llinos

Cast List:
Frodo – Baylor
Samwise – Budgielover
Pippin – Marigold
Merry – Llinos
Legolas – Mainframe
Aragorn – Nilramiel
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker
Gimli – Q

Chapter 2 – Divided We Stand

"Get out! Get out!"

Legolas held his breath as his fingers felt around Merry's neck, frantically seeking the sign of life that he had almost given up hope of finding. 'There! He lives yet!' Relief washed through him as a weak but steady pulse fluttered against his fingertips.

Aragorn's command rang out and without a second thought Legolas sheathed one of his blades and lifted the unconscious hobbit, shifting him to cradle child-fashion in his left arm, Merry's face pressed protectively against the elf's neck while Legolas brandished his right hand weapon and started for the Gate.

Aragorn had charged him with Merry's safety and that was now his first priority. He dodged and parried, slashed and decapitated his way towards the arch of light and eventually stood before the last of Morgoth's creatures that barred him from escape. Though he knew that his chances were slim, fighting one handed and using his own body to protect Merry, he squared his shoulders and charged.

Aragorn was not a man given to panic, or even on most occasions fear, but he could feel the alarm rising steadily within him as he struggled to keep open the way out. He could see that Frodo and the other two hobbits had heard his call; and he could see that they were not obeying it. Stubborn, foolish halflings!

"Get out!" he shouted again, desperation clutching at his heart even as he rendered two more of the filthy orcs headless, "Legolas! Boromir! Gimli! Get out now!"

Legolas at least was coming. Aragorn could see him struggling to reach him through the press of foul bodies. He was fighting one-handed, carrying…it must be Merry. Aragorn could see the other halflings back near the wall, their way blocked by a handful of large orcs.

"Frodo! Sam! Pippin!"

His shouts seemed toneless in the din beating upon his ears. He could not reach them and still hold the way, but neither could he abandon the Ring-bearer. He twisted, impaling another large brute on his sword and stole a glance behind him. Legolas was coming up fast, and Oh! He breathed a sigh of relief; here came Frodo and Samwise as well, running through the gore with unreadable expressions on their blood-streaked faces. But where was Pippin?

As the Ranger searched the throng for the smallest hobbit, Legolas passed by him with his bleeding burden, only to find himself confronted at the Gate by yet another massive orc. Even as the elf ducked his head and charged, Aragorn, with a fury born of grief and fear, swung his great sword, the blade whistling over Legolas' head and decapitating the huge beast as cleanly as a hot knife cuts through butter. The monstrous orc fell outward, through the East Gate, and brilliant sunlight filled the space where it had stood.

Boromir saw Pippin intentionally throw himself into the attackers. Stunned into silence, the man watched as his youngest student employed a manoeuvre he'd never considered. The flying tackle which, in their youth, his friends used while playing Keep The Ball. And more recently, Merry and Pippin had successfully used in practice to bring down not only him, but on one occasion Aragorn as well.

Although Pippin had tackled the orcs on purpose and fully expected his short life to end at any moment, part of his brain was most upset and protested his coming demise with a drawn out shriek of terror as he slid across the slimy floor with two large orcs on top of him.

The shriek rose in volume as, still pinned under the disorientated orcs, he was able to glimpse a horde of the hideous creatures bearing down upon him. Though he could feel the hilts of the two swords miraculously still in his hands, his arms were pinned beneath the hideous creatures and he could make no defence. He was going to die.

He was still screaming wildly when suddenly the two orcs were plucked into the air, there was a sickly cracking sound as the orcs were casually tossed aside and then somehow Boromir was setting him upright again on his own two feet. Pleased at this sudden turn in his fortune, he stared up at his rescuer, wide-eyed and open mouthed, still dizzy and disorientated. Boromir stared back at him.

"That was most surprising, Master Took".

"Surprised it worked." Pippin gasped back. Then the rest of the horde fell upon them, effectively cutting them off from the route taken by Aragorn and Legolas and the other hobbits.

With Pippin on his heels, Boromir roared at Gimli. "Which way!" he bellowed, as he had no idea where he was actually going. He spied a short ramp, which looked promising because it had no wall of orcs pressing down it and prayed to his father's god that the dwarf would be able to pull a miracle out of his pack and get them to a place where they could regroup and plan their own exit. "Gimli, find us a way out! I will draw the remaining beasts from Frodo and the others!" All three rushed into the melee. Gimli had an axe in one hand and a knife in the other; Pippin had two small swords, one in each hand, and Boromir swung his massive blade from side to side as if it were a scythe – cutting down orcs as if they were stems of grass.

Boromir had done a good job training the hobbits, Gimli thought, watching the youngster wield his blades with shocking ferocity if not perfect control. Both Gimli and Pippin were panting with exhaustion and sodden with filth, yet the little one fought as fiercely as the dwarf.

How desperately he battled. The knowledge that even the youngest and the smallest among them was drenched in foul orc blood yet still fighting, spurred Gimli on and a surge of protectiveness swept through the dwarf. That these innocents should be forced to fight! Gimli renewed his attack, determined to do all in his power to save at least this small friend.

They were being pushed up the ramp away from their escape route by the rising tide of orcs. The more they slew, it seemed, the more appeared. Sheltered between Gimli and Boromir, Pippin realised that the way behind them was clear for now, but the orcs still pressed them back. His weary mind was resigned to the certainty that the enemy was without number and would just keep coming and coming and all he could do was hack and slice and parry and try to stay alive as long as he could.

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Still Merry watched from his strange aerial position, but now the scene was changing, he was going out of the Mine. 'No! It could not be! He would not go!' Merry drew himself up and finally stirred his thoughts out of acceptance. That was why he had lingered. He could not leave, not without Pippin. He had the bigger part of Merry's soul in his keeping and Merry knew in that moment that nothing, not Sauron or Ilúvatar Himself, could part them forever. Death would not prevail, he had to live, he could not die – not so pointlessly – not without a fight!

Legolas had picked up his limp form and was carrying him towards the Gate and freedom, but away from Pippin. Merry summoned up the last part of his will and, reaching down inside himself, discovered the greatest strength lay in his deep love for his little cousin. He felt a tenuous silken thread that led back to his damaged body and, although he knew that was the way to appalling pain and distress, it was better than this… this void of despair, of waiting and watching the others fall, watching Pip fighting for his life and perhaps he could still be of use to the Quest, to Frodo.

Merry had not expected the pain to be so overwhelming. It filled his whole being – nothing else was there except unremitting agony. His body was being jolted around and the pain was tearing his body in two. His eyes, already open, began slowly to focus and he realised a voice had whispered 'Merry' close to his ear. A face now became clear and he recognised Legolas looking anxiously into his eyes. It must have been him that had spoken his name.

Merry could not force himself to think coherently, let alone speak with any sense. But he could feel now where most of the pain was coming from – his left side, near his heart and he could feel the jagged knife still in the wound, cutting with every jolt. His hand went automatically to the wound but, as it touched the place, more terrible, fiery red pain engulfed him and he cried out again, his scream ending in a sobbing keen that hitched his painful breathing.

A single thought forced it's way through the unbearable agony – the reason he had come back – to help his cousins. "P-p-pip?" He managed to gasp.

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Backing away up the narrow ramp, Boromir had no more time to consider their escape. He took a short breath, slammed his sword into an onrushing foe and shouted again to Gimli to find a way out behind them, adding "Keep Pippin between us, he's not much longer on his feet". Battling the wave of orcs, Boromir tripped over one foul beast as it slipped in the blood and gore. He went down himself in spite of his frantic efforts to remain upright.

Pippin's short sword swept by Boromir's ear and into the face of the lunging beast. Pippin found himself on his own knees, thrusting his blade almost between the monster's eyes and the sight made him gag.

The large orc lay dead on the ground effectively blocking its comrades' path as the two warriors knelt, out of breath. Boromir rose to his feet with a mighty "hrumpf". As he stepped back, taking up a wide legged stance, to his alarm he knocked over the hobbit. Pippin had not been able to rise fully to his feet. Reaching down swiftly with his shielded arm, Boromir swept up the young one and threw him over his shoulder. He yelled out to Aragorn, partly to tell the Ranger that he and the other two would hold the defence and partly to keep the attention on them and away from the Ring-bearer.

Gimli still held his position at the man's side. He began arguing about not retreating. Something about Dwarven Honour that he, Gimli, would hold the line and Boromir should remove the young hobbit from the fray. Boromir found himself shouting at the advancing orcs, at Aragorn, and at the stiff necked dwarf. From his vantage point he could see the remainder of the Fellowship slipping out into the light while the three of them were caught, but that was what he had wanted. They were losing ground by the second, though, and if something did not turn events in their favour soon…

Pippin had felt Boromir catch him up and for a moment he allowed himself to go limp with exhaustion. Dimly, realising that he was drifting too far from reality, Pippin forced himself to rouse and demanded that he be put down.

Boromir set the lad firmly down on his furry feet, making sure that Pippin could stand on his own before letting him go.

Back on the slippery ground Pippin was fading fast, but still doggedly fought on. If they could just hold out a little longer! The voices of Gimli and Boromir filtered into his consciousness, raised loudly in argument over the din and Pippin tried to focus on what they were saying. Boromir wanted Gimli to find a way out, and Gimli was being stubborn as usual.

Realising that he was near to becoming a real liability to the two much stronger, seasoned warriors, Pippin let them continue the fight and put his back to the wall, edging up the ramp carefully. He would try to make himself useful by searching himself for a defensible position if Gimli would not.

He hadn't gone more than a few paces when he saw something that nearly undid him. It was blood…red blood, not black. Pippin came close to losing his reason and twisted his head around surveying the cavern, suddenly recognising that he was at the place he had seen his Merry stabbed. A keening whine began at the back of his throat. So much blood, so much…'No! No! No! Not my Merry! Please not!' He could not deal with this, he could not! Frantically he staggered a few steps further up the ramp, faint and dizzy, needing to get away from the pool of crimson.

He reached as deep inside himself as he could, braced himself for one more effort and raised his head, took one more step forward…and saw it – an alcove just ahead, hidden in the shadows, and blocked in the front by a pile of rubble, too high for him to see over, but not too high for the three of them to climb over. They stood a chance of defending themselves indefinitely if they sheltered behind the pile of rubble! He turned and shouted shrilly with almost his last shred of energy, "Boromir! Gimli! Here!" Then he slumped against the wall, still on his own two legs, blades clenched in a death grip in his hands, but with no more strength left to give.

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Closing his eyes against the sun, Frodo ran. He ran until he could sense that no longer did walls of rock surround him. He ran until he saw only the white of forgotten sunlight behind his eyes. He ran until he was gulping in great breaths of clean, cold air, and only then did he become aware that he was sobbing.

He bent over nearly double as his feet finally ceased their frantic pace, clutching his sides. The sobs were dry and harsh and tore at his throat. It seemed to Frodo that the Ring itself was dragging him down, to fall upon his knees in anguish. His body shook with sudden chill, and he bit down on a hand to try and calm his grief.

He had just abandoned his comrades – he did not even know how many, he suddenly realized – to brutal and horrific deaths. Gandalf had fallen. His most beloved cousins, both of whom he had first cradled as the tiniest babes, he had left them to their fate. He did not even know where Sam was.

Drawing in one last, rasping sob, Frodo forced himself to quell his grief. Then he stood and opened his eyes to see what remained of his companions.

Just in front of him bounded Legolas, covering the rocky ground gracefully and swiftly. In his arms was a small, cloaked bundle that did not move. Behind him followed Sam, blinking back tears in the sudden starkness of the lighted world, Aragorn a mere pace behind, one hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

Frodo shuddered again, and was suddenly overcome with a shakiness that made him crash to his bottom on the nearest rock. There was blood on the bundle in Legolas' arms. Blood on the hobbit-sized body that Legolas carried and bent his head over in concern. The too-bright world grew dimmer and distant. It was difficult to breathe, and his battered sides screamed in agony.

"Gandalf," he thought. "Gandalf, help us," and then shock settled in and he thought nothing at all.

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Pippin's voice captured the attention of the battling man and dwarf. "Boromir! Gimli! Here!" he cried. He was leaning against a low wall of rubble, both blades still clutched determinedly. Gimli realised the youngster was near collapse, and that Boromir was right – they needed a respite, if only to save the youngling. He clambered over the rubble, and pulled Pippin after him, ignoring both the hobbit's attempts to help and his complaining at the rough handling.

"Now listen, young hobbit," he began, but suddenly realised where they were. "This way! You, man, follow me!"

He charged to his right, short legs stumping vigorously through the detritus that years of neglect had mounded in the corridor. And before him he saw, as expected, as hoped, a half-collapsed wooden door. Boromir ran past him, scooping Pippin up, and bounded into the chamber. His head popped back out, and he said, "We cannot shut it!"

"Oh, yes, we can, my lad," Gimli assured him, feeling at home at last. He ducked inside and peered above the door. "That keystone – if I can knock it loose in just the right way," he grunted as he swung his largest axe, flat end toward the keystone, " - will let the supporting work fall."

"Are you mad?" Boromir asked him, moving away from the opening and shielding the hobbit with his body.

"What are you doing?" Pippin whined. "Don't trap us in here!"

"Hush, lad. I know what I'm at. There's another way out, a longer way, t'is true, but dwarves have always built alternate routes. We have too much knowledge of the Deep not to."

"Gimli, friend," Boromir began, but just then Gimli's axe made contact with the keystone in just the right fashion.

"Yes!" he gasped as the supports collapsed, neatly blocking the entrance just as he had planned.

"No!" cried Pippin and Boromir in unison as the squared-off stones continued to fall toward them, and down Gimli went, still grasping his axes, and sputtering in outrage at the stones' betrayal of their master.

Silence. They were locked in the chamber. Gimli groaned, remembering Gandalf reading from the book they'd found in The Chamber of Mazarbul. We have barred the gates. We cannot get out.

'We cannot get out. At least not with me lying in the stones I have brought down on myself,' he thought, peering through the settling dust at his painfully twisted leg. Bloody, exhausted, and bowed, he and his two companions were alive. More than that, he did not know.

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For Sam, exiting the Gate was like entering into a different world, one he had once known but now seemed foreign. Had he once lived in a place with sunlight and fresh air? It must have been so, yet this was a strange and startling landscape that greeted him. Instinctively, he sought out that most familiar of sights – his master.

Frodo sat on a rock a small way down from the Gate, staring vacantly in front of him as he shivered. As Legolas called for Aragorn's help and the Ranger let go of Sam's shoulder, the hobbit made straight for the Ring-bearer, still stumbling a little in the sudden brightness and the weight of unprocessed grief.

"Mr Frodo?" Sam asked as he approached. "Sir? Are you all right?"

Frodo did not answer, and Sam could see how pale he was. "Sir?" he asked again, and took one of his master's cold, limp hands in his own. "Please, sir, it's me. It's your Sam. 'Tis all right, sir. There weren't nothing else to be done. I'm here now, Mr Frodo. You just let me take care of you." Thus saying, Sam struggled out of his pack, retrieved a blanket, and wrapped it tenderly about Frodo's shoulders.

"Weren't nothing else to be done," he whispered again to the Ring-bearer as he drew the blanket tighter. "You just keep recollecting that, sir." That Frodo had done all that he could Sam had no doubt, he only wished he could be sure about his own deeds. Could he have done anything different, and if he had, would Mr Merry and Mr Pippin be sitting here beside them, alive and well?

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"Well, that went well..." Pippin began. He quickly staggered back and closed his mouth shut with a snap. Whatever he was going to add was cut off by a hailstorm of small stones and dust as the broken arch settled more permanently into a pile of rubble.

All three stopped to listen as sounds of fury raged on beyond the fallen stones. The orcs were incensed that their prey had managed to put up such a solid wall of defence. A few stones shook and a cloud of dust puffed out as it became obvious the orcs were throwing their bodies against the tumbled rubble.

"Do you think they'll get in?" Pippin asked quietly from his spot at the back of the room. He was still standing, legs splayed, blades clutched in both hands, splattered from head to toe in bloody filth and dust. Boromir did not look back, but kept his eyes on the blocked passage.

"Fear not, little one. They are as stuck out there as we are trapped in here."

"We are not trapped," grumbled Gimli, determined to shake from his mind the exact feeling that they were. "These guard rooms always have secondary exits." The rest of his comment was lost as the alarming bay of demon-hounds sighting a quarry shook them all to their bones.

"They must have spotted Aragorn and the others making their way out. I surely hope those foul beasts do not chase them all the way to the gates of Mordor!" Boromir narrowed his eyes as he strained to hear anything more that would indicate what was happening on the other side of their prison wall.

Pippin's sharp intake of breath did not go unnoticed by the other two, and, although they did not take their attention from the wall, Boromir could feel the dwarf glowering in his direction and instantly regretted his unthinking words.

"Even though the beasts fight in the cavern with the light of day nearby, they would not actually pass the gates into the strong light. Orcs, unlike dwarves, cannot abide full sun. They shrivel and die under its glare." Gimli's matter-of-fact statement calmed the hobbit's already frazzled nerves only slightly.

It was at that moment, the howling intensified and grew into a frustrated keening, frightening even the usually staid man, though he would never admit it. "Their fear of sun is well and good. For it appears that our efforts to draw the orcs away from our friends has worked. If not putting us in a slight predicament ourselves." His sarcasm, never understated, did nothing to improve the dwarf's mood or lessen Pippin's unease. Boromir listened again, straining to hear, knocking a fine sieving of dust from the walls as he pressed up against them.

The silence was broken only by the trickling sound of more crumbling mortar raining down and was punctuated by Pippin's rapid breathing, Gimli's quiet grunts of effort, and Boromir's measured breaths. The rocks shifted again and a knowing look of alarm, barely perceptible in the dim filtered light, flittered over Gimli's face. The rocks looked as to fall again!

Boromir stayed in his place beside the dwarf despite Gimli's best attempts at shooing him away. The man made to put protective hands over the prostrate dwarf, only to have them batted away with a disgruntled "hrumph!"

"Maybe we should try to move him," Peregrin offered.

"The rocks look too unstable to just pull him out."

"Oh, well, then..." but the hobbit just trailed off his sentence rather than offer any more advice.

"It is just a scratch, young hobbit. Nothing more. I'll be up in no time. Just let me catch my breath."

"Still, Master Dwarf, I think Peregrin is wise to suggest you move. You are dangerously close to these rocks and they look as if they will shift again." As if to illustrate Boromir's point, a small rock plopped down between them as the man knelt and the dwarf lay in the debris.

"I've seen more than my share of a little rock dust, man! You need not stand over me like an anxious mother!" Another crack stopped them all and this time, Gimli did not mutter an oath as Boromir quickly knelt over him and took the brunt of a small rock on his shoulder.

'All that fighting and I wind up more battered by an idiotic dwarvish need to do things the hard way than by an opponent's blade!' Boromir thought but wisely did not voice. He'd survived many battles by listening to his senses and right now there was something extremely unsettling about the way the dwarf was not immediately jumping to his feet.

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Never in the two and a half thousand years of his young life had Legolas been more relieved to be under the warm welcoming rays of Anar. The light welcomed him as the cool, fresh breeze moved through his matted locks, caressing his face and hands as he slowed, then came to a halt at what he deemed to be a safe distance from Moria, out of the range of any orc arrows.

Briefly looking behind him he saw Frodo, dazed and wavering, making his way towards him and his keen vision picked out Aragorn and Sam just reaching the first steps past the Gate. Aragorn's hand was firmly planted on Sam's shoulder directing him as the hobbit stumbled to keep the pace the Ranger set as he took the steps two at a time.

Gently as a mother laying her newborn in a crib, Legolas laid Merry down upon the unkind hard rocks, dropping beside him so that he could continue to cradle the hobbit's head and upper body in his arms. The amount of blood was daunting and Merry had made little or no sound while Legolas carried him, his eyes closed and his body limp.

Now, as he was placed on the ground, the injured youngster began to stir. Legolas was not sure if this was a good or bad thing, but at least he knew Merry was alive.

As Legolas cradled Merry, he noted the hobbit's lips become a thinly pressed line as he began to shiver, brows drawn together as consciousness prickled at him.

"Aragorn! Mellon-nin, Merry has need of your skill!" he shouted and watched as the Ranger outran Samwise and dropped to his knee beside the elf, placing a hand on his back for comfort, though for himself or Legolas the elf was not sure.

Merry had been floating. He had been floating and then he had come back to the ground, but now all was agony! Excruciating, brain-numbing agony.

"Pip… Wh-where P-Pip?" Merry's head rolled from side to side as he tried to focus on his surroundings and memory of what had just happened.

This would not do, he needed to concentrate.

As the Ranger briefly leaned on the elf, he flinched, noting for the first time a slash in his clothing, down to the flesh and past, even as blood warmed Aragorn's hand.

"You are injured!" the man stated with alarm.

Legolas reached behind to probe the length of the gash, determining it as not too deep. "Just a scratch. Concern yourself with the little one. His time grows short, I fear."

Merry felt hands running over him, large hands, human hands. Not a hobbit then, not Pippin or Frodo or even Sam. The hands found the source of the hurt and touched it – probably lightly a voice in the back of Merry's head informed him – but it felt as though an orc had caught hold of the knife blade and jammed it further in.

"Aaaiiieee!" Merry cried out in pure agony, unable to control himself. He heard the scream but the voice seemed unreal to the hobbit, as if it came from somewhere else. It made no sense to him – who was that screaming and why?

Why could he not concentrate?

Legolas watched as the Ranger's frown deepened. They were both startled as Merry released a broken wail, eyes wide open and blinking rapidly, hand desperately clutching the air around him blindly. Legolas moved to Merry's opposite side to give the Ranger room to work, clasping the hobbit's clawing hands and whispering in elvish. Merry seemed to calm at his ministrations, allowing Aragorn to cut away the jacket and weskit when the ornate buttons refused to cooperate with the Ranger's larger fingers.

"Merry? Merry, can you hear me? It is I, Legolas." The elf spoke in a comforting voice yet when he laid a hand to his brow to gauge his temperature the hobbit weakly tried to pull his hand away in growing distress.

"Merry, you are safe." No response and the little hand that had tried to pry his away flopped back at his side all strength gone.

Merry knew he had to stop those hands from causing him more pain. He forced his arms to move and flailed about, trying to capture the intrusive fingers that were probing and hurting, but he had no strength and other hands quickly restrained him. A soft voice whispered nonsense in his ear – it sounded pleasant but he could not make it out.

He had to concentrate…

His eyes began to make out a figure looming above him, the owner of those prying hands no doubt. His coat was being torn off and his weskit too. "No… no, no, no! Don't touch me!" Merry managed to wail as he felt the terrible hands drawing closer to the wound again. Another voice fell upon his ears, someone was talking – to him? No, to someone near him, talking about him.

Concentrate!

It was Aragorn. Merry eyes now confirmed what his ears had told him. Aragorn would know where the others were. "Pl-please Strider… wh- where Pip? Please, is Frodo – is he all right?"

When the hobbit's chest was laid bare it revealed an ugly, jagged knife wound to the left side that still oozed blood. Deep bruises were already blossoming along that whole side until they disappeared from view beneath the waistband of his britches.

"Mellon, is there anything I can do?" Legolas asked.

"Not at the moment, but go and see to Frodo and Sam and let me know if they are injured," the man said as his hands flew over the hobbit, searching fingers mapping Merry from head to toe before refocusing on the most obvious injury again.

Legolas laid Merry on the ground and softly made his way over to where Samwise was quietly talking to a non-responsive Frodo. As the elf neared he saw Sam turn towards him with a pleading look, then quickly turn back to Frodo.

As the elf knelt down in front of Frodo he noted the extreme pallor of the skin where it showed through the gore. The large blue eyes stared straight ahead and held a glazed look. The hand that Sam held and stroked soothingly was limp.

Legolas reached to brush a few of the rich dark locks from Frodo's eyes. Frodo did not respond and Sam murmured some soothing nonsense. Legolas looked down at him. Sam's normally open, friendly eyes, that always held such joy and wonder, were brimming with tears, and were regarding him now with overwhelming distress.

"Sam, are you hurt?" Legolas asked softly.

"No. No, I am not hurt."

"Sam? What of Frodo?" Legolas looked closely at the Ring-bearer, concerned, but he made no sign.

Sam collected himself at the mention of Frodo. "He don't seem to have taken a wound, it's all just been too much for my Master. Poor Pippin. Poor Mr Merry. I should have been able to do more to help them, then maybe Pip wouldn't most likely be dead and Merry wouldn't be…wouldn't be..." He broke off, nearly sobbing aloud, only his worry for Frodo keeping him in any check.

Legolas put a gentle hand on Sam's cheek. "Do not blame yourself for what befell our companions. All fought valiantly and did what they could Sam, you no less than any. Such are the fortunes of war. I will leave you to care for Frodo and see if I can be of assistance to Aragorn. Call me if you have need."

As the elf rose stiffly and walked away he heard Sam resume his one-sided conversation with Frodo.

He rolled his shoulders; they felt stiff. And in that moment an immense weariness washed through him that almost took his breath away and his step faltered until it passed.

'Mithrandir…'

As he neared Aragorn he shook his head as if to help shake the thought from his mind and instead wondered about Boromir, young Pippin and Gimli. Gimli! That infuriating rock-headed dwarf was not among them and, though Legolas would never admit it, he wished that he were here beside him now.

He realised with a start that the dwarf 's banter often coincided with stressful times and it made him wonder if his argumentative way was deliberate. He silently prayed to Elbereth for their safety.

"How are Frodo and Sam?" the Ranger asked without looking up.

"Their bodies are not injured, though I cannot say the same for their hearts," he whispered sadly.

Aragorn's eyes flicked up briefly in understanding before returning to Merry. "So it is in war. Innocence is lost. Friends are lost," he said softly as he worked on and Legolas knew that he was thinking of Mithrandir.

Legolas knelt beside Aragorn. "How does Merry fare?"

Aragorn sighed. "Not well, I'm afraid. We may lose him yet. This wound is deep and has caused much damage. Yet I will put forth all my skill."

"I doubt it not," Legolas answered, and bent to look at the hobbit, then turned his gaze back up to the Ranger. "What happened my friend? Mithrandir fell and it is as if we fell with him."

Aragorn drew a deep breath and dragged his eyes momentarily from the ghastly wound in the little hobbit's chest. "I have never felt such deep despair, I know not where to find the strength to continue. Boromir, Gimli and Pippin lost, Merry dying – but as long as Frodo lives and bears the Ring, the Quest continues. That is our oath and our duty. Although divided – we must try to stand together!"

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TBC

Author's Notes

Hi Llinos in the chair. So glad that so many have checked out this story. At the time of posting chapter 2 we have received over 700 hits – which is wonderful – hope you all come back for the rest of the story. We enjoyed working on it – and it's still not quite finished – yikes!

The characters have insisted on answering your review comments in person and I'm not about to argue with them. This time it's Merry and Pippin.

See you in the next chapter,
Llinos

Questions and Answers from Merry and Pippin

Hobbitsand kilts This is an interesting twist to take. Poor Merry.
Merry: Twist indeed. Poor Merry indeed! Why must we hobbits suffer so! Oh because that's what readers like – fair enough.

Unhobbity Hobbit: And you can't be killing off Merry because that would mean Llinos is only in the first chapter.
Merry: Well dead or alive, I have to stay in the story to stop Llinos sulking – although I'm not out of the woods yet!

Samwise The Strong: Good story, people!! Good to see that a group writing works out well with some.
Merry: Well we are a Fellowship bound in duty and honour – so we had to kinda get along.

lovethosehobbits Oh! Loving this, cant wait for the next chappie. Tree
Merry: Me neither, this is very uncomfortable – ouch!

lindahoyland: This is a beautifully written and exciting story. I just can't wait to read more!
Merry: Why thank you kind reviewer!

Ainu Laire Oh, God, a character death? Poor, poor Merry.
Merry: Yes I do suffer a lot at the hands of Llinos – damn I wish I'd got Baylor to write me!
Ainu Laire: While I'm at it, poor Pippin!
Pippin: Indeed! Wait until you see what I have to endure in this story! And without my poor, poor Merry, sniff!

Thehobbitgirl: Poor Pippin. He'll be so alone without Merry.
Pippin: It's so heartrending, isn't it? I am only a tweenager after all. Maybe eighteen or so in human years…but I will do my best!

Pipspebble WAH! WHY do we have to wait? Why, why, WHY? This is sweet torture, this is!
Merry: I'm sorry about you having to wait, but just think how hard it is for some of us, with large daggers stuck in our chests, having to wait all this time.

nitedancer: Oh My poor, poor Pip, He's gonna be heartbroken!...Can I cuddle, and hold him, and squeeze him, and kiss him, to make him feel better please?..Huh?..CanI?...Can I?...
Pippin: Um…yes, please. I am free this weekend if you have no other plans…

Melilot hill: Oh no, this looks like another thing I'll get addicted to!
Merry: There are clinics you know – but I wouldn't recommend them – we like you addicted!

Lindelea1: I was wondering where Legolas was... and I didn't "see" him when Merry's spirit was looking down at the action
Merry: Patience, patience! I have just been mortally stabbed you know – it's difficult to keep track of every one! Oh and this is a serial – you know there will be more next time.

Anso the Hobbit: The hobbits are so brave, and they fight so valiantly…
Pippin: Yes, I am and I certainly do. Thank you for noticing!
Merry: Hey! I did my best! Not my fault that troll found me so irresistible.

Elwyna: Please don't tell me that Merry is really dead - I'll scream! Other than a possibly slain hobbit…
Merry: I've been called some things, but a possibly slain hobbit is a new one! But thank you for your kind concern, more than I get from certain Ring-bearers who shall be nameless!

Shirebound: Omigosh, I can't wait to find out what happens next.
Merry: I'm afraid you have very little choice in this matter – I'm dying to know too (opps excuse the bad pun).

Auntiemeesh: Ouch! I don't want Merry to die!
Pippin: Neither do I! Oh, now you have made me cry!
Auntiemeesh: Although I do kinda like his spirit lingering to watch and find a way to say good-bye to Pippin.
Merry: Well you can't get rid of me that easily.