Hey there! Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter, I really appreciate it. As ever, please forgive any typos I may have made in this one.

Chapter Forty-Six: The Stand of Meriadoc Brandybuck

Heart hammering up somewhere in his throat, Merry tore through the undergrowth as fast as his feet would carry him. A leap and a stumble had wrenched Pippin's hand from his, but he could hear his cousin's heavy breathing behind him, and he knew that he was right behind.

And that the orcs were close behind them.

"It's working, Merry," Pippin called fearfully.

Merry glanced over his shoulder and felt a rush of terror. "I know it's working. Run!"

They thundered down the hill and into the woodland, further and further from the river and the boats, but there was no path to follow, and they were being corralled by the brush. Trees reached out and clawed at them, and Merry had no idea where he was going. Roots and branches hid beneath the fallen leaves on the forest floor and tried to trip him, but Merry could not afford to trip. He could not afford to fall.

He glanced over his shoulder again, and he could not tell how many of the orcs were following. If they were following Frodo instead –

Taking a deep breath, Merry let out a yell, trying to sound shocked, or afraid, and not as though he was trying to lead them away.

"If you're causing a diversion," Nori said, one winter's night around the fire, "never call 'over here!' If your enemy's got more sense than a common troll they might sense a trap."

"Merry!" Pippin cried. "Merry-"

"Keep going, Pippin. Keep going!"

The forest floor cleared, and Merry ran faster, faster and faster until his feet felt like rocks and his legs were screaming, but every time he looked over his shoulder, the uruk-hai were closer. And closer.

And there were dozens of them, and Merry and Pippin could not fight them alone. There were so many.

"Merry!"

"Go faster," Merry gasped, leaping onto a small bridge that spanned a ditch. Pippin stumbled after him, but then grabbed his arm and yanked him to a halt.

"No, Merry, look!" Pippin pointed ahead, further up the hill, and Merry's heart lurched. Sprawling over the hill towards them were more orcs – at least twenty, and their weapons were raised. "What do we do? Merry, what do we do?"

Merry swallowed, and seized Pippin's hand. The orcs were almost upon them –

"This way!" he leapt over the side of the bridge into the ditch, dragging Pippin with him, but Pippin had not been expecting the jump, and he tripped. His hand was torn from Merry's, and even as he scrambled to his feet, an orc leapt on top of him.

With a cry, Merry flew back, but Pippin's sword burst out through the orc's torso, and the younger hobbit scrambled out from beneath the beast, flinging himself at Merry.

But there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.

They were surrounded.

Corralled into a ditch. They were going to die in a ditch.

I don't want to die.

Taking a deep breath, Merry raised his sword, and took up a fighting stance, holding out his left arm to shelter Pippin behind him. He knew it would not do much good, but he could not bear the thought of Pippin being vulnerable.

"Merry," Pippin whispered, but his voice was choked, and he did not seem able to say anything else. "Merry…"

"Brace yourself, nadadith," Merry whispered back. "At least there's not a dragon."

Pippin let out a hollow laugh and raised his sword, and the fight began.

Channelling Dwalin as best he could, Merry lunged at the nearest orc, and in moments it was down, and two more were in its place. Merry twisted and swiped and hacked and stabbed, barely catching sight of his enemy before felling the next foe. But even when three heads had hit the floor, no blade seemed to strike Merry in return. In fact, the uruk-hai seemed almost to be trying to keep their weapons away from the hobbits – but it was too puzzling for Merry to warp to his advantage, so he ignored it, and carried on with his hacking. If he was going down, Merry was going down swinging.

The uruk-hai grappled at him, grasping and grabbing at his clothes and his hair and his limbs, and he found that the more hands he severed, the more came flying back at him. He ducked and pivoted, thrusting his sword up into the back of an orc, and trying to get an eye on Pippin. So far, Pippin was holding his own, and black blood and mangled limbs littered the ground around his feet.

A hand closed around Merry's neck.

Shock shot a jolt of energy through his body, and Merry thrust his elbows back towards his attacker with all the strength he could muster, but they did not hit the orc. Instead, they collided with a metal shield, and pain ricocheted up his arms. With a cry of pain, Merry raised his sword and tried to aim it blindly over his shoulder, but another hand seized his wrist and wrested the blade from his grip.

Merry snarled, and kicked at the uruk-hai in front of him. Then he dropped his weight to the ground in an attempt to wriggle free, but the hand around his neck lifted only to be replaced by a thick, hairy arm. And then he was pulled into the air, and his feet were wrenched from the floor.

"Merry!"

Writhing fruitlessly, Merry clawed at the orc's arm until chunks of its skin were scraping off beneath its nails, but when its blood flowed, the creature began to squeeze. And Merry began to choke.

"Merry!" Pippin screamed, growing blurry as he hacked his way towards the older hobbit. "Let him go!"

A roar answered Pippin, a roar that Merry knew, and then a sword passed over his head, and the arm around his neck slackened, and fell. Before Merry could crash to the floor, another arm had caught him, and set him upon his feet.

"Boromir!" he gasped, even as he stooped to reclaim his sword. But there was no time for thanks – the fight was still going on around them, and with one fell stroke Boromir carved through five orcs.

Yet even before that, the uruk-hai fell upon him with a violence unlike any Merry had ever seen, and soon the man was surrounded. And while the orcs continued to attempt to grab Merry and Pippin, it was their blades that they thrust towards Boromir. With skill unrivalled, he dodged and parried their blows, and Merry and Pippin backed towards him. They were surrounded, a triad back to back in a sea of black foes, and still the orcs kept coming. Again, and again, and again –

Boromir took his horn and raised it to the sky, letting out an almighty blow that rang through the woods like a dragon's roar, and the onslaught faltered. Merry pressed forward, forcing the orcs back, and Boromir and Pippin did the same, but the moments bled by and no help came.

An uruk-hai began to laugh, a grating, cold sound, and then they charged again. A booted foot hit Merry in the stomach and he was flung backwards. He crashed into Boromir, who stumbled blindly, and then Merry hit the forest floor. Boromir let out a yell of pain, and Merry's head snapped up.

The man staggered backwards before Merry could warn him, tripping over the hobbit's body and falling to the ground with another cry. Curling in on himself, Boromir cradled his arm to his chest, his face growing pale as his sleeve turned red.

Behind him, an orc raised a sword to deal a death blow.

Merry leapt to his feet, but before he could even move Pippin was there, black blood splattering over his face as he drove his sword into the orcs chest. His force tore through the beast's armour as though it were made of cotton.

Pride bolstering his heart, Merry sprang at the next threat to Boromir, stabbing at its neck and forcing it back, and the enemy began to stumble over the corpses of their comrades.

With a groan, Boromir rose to his feet, and Merry saw that the man had bound his sword arm to his chest with his belt. He took his sword in his left hand and adjusted his grip, before letting out a growl like a wounded boar, and downing two orcs at once.

But more were coming. More – at least another dozen, and Merry's muscles were screaming for rest, and Boromir's steps were more like stumbles.

A shadow appeared over the hill, and for half a moment Merry's heart leapt. Aragorn –

No –

His blood ran cold.

It was not Aragorn. It was an orc, taller than any he had ever seen, and it was raising its bow. Aiming.

"Boromir!" Merry yelled, but it was too late, and the arrow struck the man in the shoulder.

Boromir's eyes widened, and he peered down at the arrow as though it was merely a surprise. He swayed for a moment, and then another arrow glanced off his neck, and Boromir fell to his knees.

"No!" Merry cried furiously. He could feel his strikes become less polished, more desperate, but concentration was slipping through his fingers faster than sand from a broken hour glass. He could see the orc on the hill taking aim again, and he seized a rock from the ground, darting out of the melee beneath the shoulders of a pair of orcs and leaping back up onto the bridge.

He knew he would have but a second, and he drew his arm back, throwing the rock with as much might as he could muster in the same moment that the archer released his bow. The arrow landed somewhere behind Merry with a sickening thud, but the moment Merry's rock hit its mark the archer fell. And did not rise.

A mad grin played on Merry's lips for a second, and he whirled back towards the fight. There were already three orcs climbing towards him, but he leapt back off the bridge and onto the back of another, stabbing his knife into the flesh above its collarbone. With a surge of horror, he remembered that was where the wraith had stabbed Fíli.

He twisted his knife for good measure, and the orc fell. Beside it was the body of another orc, an arrow lodged in its neck. Merry breathed a sigh of relief that it had not struck Boromir, but when he looked up, it was to see another red shaft sticking out from the man's chest.

And Pippin was staring, wide eyed.

And not seeing what was behind him.

"Pippin!" Merry screamed, throwing out his hand, but he was too far, and it was too late.

The uruk-hai brought its shield down upon Pippin's head, and Merry's little cousin crumpled like a paper doll. He fell atop a headless orc, his eyes closed, and he did not move.

"No, no!" Merry's fear rose into his burning throat to choke him, and he fought through the crowd as fast as his frantic sword blows would allow, but it was too late – Pippin was slung over the shoulder of an uruk twice Merry's size, and half the group were peeling away. Carrying Pippin away.

Boromir's eyes bulged from their sockets, and he drew himself up onto shaking legs. One step, two steps, and then he ripped the arrow from his chest and jabbed it through the eye of a nearby orc. He began to stagger after Pippin, but then a blow struck the back of his head, and Boromir landed face first in the dirt.

Merry did not see him move.

And Pippin was almost out of his sight.

They were going to take Pippin away, he was going to lose his little brother again, and this time Pippin would be alone. There would be no Glorfindel or Aragorn to save him. And Merry might die here, with honour and valour that would be sung of in Erebor, but Pippin would die alone and afraid, and the very thought froze Merry's soul.

There was only one thing to do.

For a heartbeat, he did not know if he would have the strength to do it, but then he saw Boromir's fingers twitch, and he saw Pippin disappear between the trees.

Hands trembling, Merry gasped, and let his sword fall from his fingers.

In an instant, and uruk had its arms around his neck, and Merry turned his mind from the teaching of his dwarves, and he stopped fighting. The arms tightened, and again Merry's eyes began to blur over, and the last thing he saw before the world went dark was Boromir, alone in a ditch among the of orcs, reaching after Merry and Pippin with a trembling, bloodied hand.

I hope that you guys enjoyed that chapter and that it wasn't too bloody for you! :/ Please do let me know what you think, and where you think the story's going to go from here.