Thank you so much for the awesome reviews for the last chapter! I really appreciate it. I'm sorry for the delay in this one – work's been crazy, and I found this particular chapter very difficult to write. I think I'm pleased with it now though, so I hope you can forgive the delay (and the typos) and enjoy!

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Uruk-Hai

The whole world was dark, and Pippin could see nothing but smoke and shadows. He was running – or trying to. It felt as though his legs weighed a thousand pounds, and they moved slowly, laboriously, but gracefully, like a great pendulum going back and forth in slow motion. Merry drew further ahead, further away, and Pippin could not see him anymore. He could only hear his frantic breathing, and that was growing more distant. He was leaving, leaving Pippin to the darkness, and to the shrieks of orcs behind them.

"Merry!" he cried, and his voice was swallowed by the clamour behind him. "Merry!"

There was no sound but the orcs. Merry was out of earshot, out of sight – he was gone, gone, gone – and the smoke was rising, and pouring down Pippin's throat and he could barely breathe.

He gasped, and cool air flooded his lungs.

He woke.

At first, he thought that he might still be trapped in a nightmare, for though he could see the twilight world around him, Pippin still could not move his legs. He was trapped on his back, staring up at a starless sky, and he quickly realised that his legs were bound, firmly, at the ankles and the knees, and his wrists were lashed together with a rope that was cruelly tight.

What happened?

He remembered running through the woods – he remembered why. And he remembered that at one point, the orcs had got their arms around Merry, and sent their arrows into Boromir.

Please let Boromir be alright, he prayed, even as panic began to creep around him. Please say Merry got away…

Something blocked his throat – fear or tears, he did not know – and Pippin glanced around. There was a forest of orcs around him, more than he could count, sitting and standing and taking with cruel, guttural voices that made his skin crawl. To his surprise, many of the words spoken were in the Common Tongue, and the use of Black Speech was fleeting. From what he could hear, Pippin thought it likely that there were members of several different clans here, and that they could not, perhaps, understand each other's orc speech.

He had to get away. He had to get away right now.

Trying to think practically, Pippin squirmed and wriggled, testing the ropes that bound him to see if they had any room to give, but they were so tight that all they gave him were friction burns. Nearby, a voice gave a harsh laugh.

"Save your strength, little fool. We'll find a use for your legs soon, just you wait." It was an orc, a great, dirty creature to the right, sitting so close that he could strike Pippin without shifting in his seat. There were more around him, next to him, and some were so huge that he was sure they would tower over even Aragorn and Boromir. Were these the uruk-hai, the tall ones? Pippin did not know. He did not care. What they were did not change the power they had over him. They were free, and armed, and many.

He was bound, defenceless, and alone.

"Bah! Why find use for them? If I had my way, you'd already wish you were dead," said another orc, with a voice bitter as acid in an open wound. The speaker stood, and stooped over Pippin, bringing his face very close to the young hobbit's. Paralysed with fear, Pippin could do nothing but watch as the orc bared his fangs, and touched the tip of a wicked, black blade to the base of Pippin's neck. "I'd make you squeak, you miserable little rat. Just you lie still and quiet, or I might just forget my orders and give you a nice bleed to go with that bruise on your head."

"Leave him alone!"

Pippin's heart leapt and he looked to the right so quickly that the tip of the knife scratched his throat.

Merry.

His cousin was just a few feet away, but before he had been hidden by the orc that now leered over Pippin. Now, Pippin could see him, and he could see fury burning so fiercely in Merry's eyes that his own fear grew stronger.

"Don't you touch him," Merry growled, and Pippin's heart raced so fast that it hurt. Though a small, selfish part of him was grateful that he was no longer alone, Pippin was horrified that Merry was here. If Merry got hurt, if Merry died –

If Merry got hurt or died because he was trying to protect Pippin –

The seated orcs gave hoots of laughter, but the orc with the knife scowled, and grabbed Pippin's neck, pressing the blade into his mouth. Pippin froze at the bitter taste of iron, and the touch of the sharp serrations pressing against his skin. With one flick of the orc's wrist, Pippin would have an ear-to-ear smile forever. "Oh? And what'll you do if I don't? You hold your tongue, Shire scum, or I'll rip his out." The orc stood, and strode back to its seat, pausing only to kick Merry in the chest before he sat down, and blocked him once again from Pippin's view. "I still don't see why we don't just kill 'em."

"No time," said one of the others. "No time to kill 'em properly."

"But they're a nuisance," said the orc with the knife. "Evening's coming on – we'll be moving soon, and they're a curse to carry. I say kill 'em and be done with it."

"Kill them," said a deep voice, "and I will kill you. 'The halflings are to be brought in alive, unspoiled, and as captured.' Those are our orders, and I will make sure they're followed."

"They are my orders too," said another new voice, this one soft, and nothing less than evil. "The prisoners are not to be searched or plundered."

"But not our orders!" protested one of the earlier voices. "We came from the Mines, we came to kill, and avenge, and then go back North. Why are they be wanted alive? Do they make good sport?"

Pippin heard a thud, and Merry grunted. They had kicked him again. Pippin winced.

Why couldn't Merry have got away?

"They have something. The master wants it for the war – an elvish weapon," said the deep voice. "And as for going North, you can wish again. I am Uglúk, and I give the orders here. We return to Isengard by the shortest road."

"Is Saruman master of the Great Eye?" said the evil voice. "We should go back to Lugbúrz at once."

"I don't think so," snarled Uglúk. "You would take the prisoners and the glory, but without us you'd all have fled like the swine you are. We are the fighting Uruk-hai! We slew the great warrior, and took the prisoners. We are the servants of the White Hand: the Hand that gives us man's flesh to eat. We have come out of Isengard and we will return there. I am Uglúk. I have spoken."

Pippin's heart picked up speed. Slew the great warrior? They could not be talking about Boromir? Could they?

Of course they could.

"My, my, my," said the evil voice. "I wonder how they would take your words in Lugbúrz. They might think your shoulders need relieving of a swollen head, or that your precious master grows too tall in his stone tower. I think they might agree with me, with Grishnákh, their trusted messenger. And I say that Saruman is a treacherous fool, and his folk all the more so, but the Great Eye is upon him, and we, its true servants, will be rewarded come the end of the fight. Come lads! How do you like being called swine by the slugs of a dirty little wizard – one who feeds his slaves orc flesh, I don't doubt!"

Great yells and clamouring rose around them, and Pippin heard blades being drawn. The seated orcs were all on their feet now, and clutching weapons, and he could see Uglúk and Grishnákh, and put hideous faces to the names. Uglúk was large, larger than any orc Pippin had ever seen, but Grishnákh was more twisted, with arms that hung almost down to his ankles. Smaller goblins crowded towards Uglúk, but they seemed hesitant to attack, and when Uglúk let out a yell, Pippin could see why.

At once, a dozen uruk-hai charged to their leader, but already Uglúk had beheaded two of the braver goblins. In almost the same moment, Grishnákh melted away into the darkness, and the smaller goblins scattered like ants. Another head went flying through the air, and the body landed on top of Pippin. It was the guard – the one with the awful knife who had kicked Merry, and that awful knife was still in his hand. And pressing into Pippin's arms.

"That's enough!" shouted Uglúk. "We'll have no more nonsense – put down your weapons. We go west from here, and we'll go down the stair, and to the downs, and the forest, and we will march day and night!"

A thought sprang into Pippin's mind, and he glanced around. There was still a ruckus around him, the orcs were slow to quell, and for a moment he was unwatched. He swallowed, and shifted so that the rope around his wrists was pressed against the edge of the blade. Hardly daring to breathe, he began to saw through the knot as best he could. He knew he would have mere seconds, but the knife was sharp, and the dead hand held it in place. It sliced through the cord, and then through Pippin's forearm, but that was just a scratch, and Pippin had more important things to worry about.

As deftly as his shaking fingers would allow, Pippin formed two loops with rope and knotted it, slipping his hands back through. He gave an experimental tug, and they stayed in place.

Pippin let himself breathe.

It still looked as though his hands were bound, and at a glance it still looked tight, but he would be able to worm them out of the rope if he had the chance. That was something.

That was something.

He pushed the corpse off of him and looked to the right, but he could not see Merry through the legs of their captors. He could not see Merry at all.

"Pick up those prisoners," called Uglúk. "But no games! If they're dead when we get home, you'll be dead too!"

To be honest, Pippin did not find those orders all that comforting. An uruk hoisted him into the air like a sack of potatoes, and put its head through Pippin's hastily retied hands. Its claws felt like iron nails digging into Pippin's arms as the uruk dragged them down, stopping only when Pippin's face was crushed against its neck. The claws of the uruk dug into his arms like iron nails, and Pippin squeezed his eyes shut as they jolted forwards.

He half expected memories of Mirkwood to arise, to drag him back into the past as they had done before, but they did not – at least not in the way that he was used to. He was not surrounded by his memories, nor was he thrust into reliving his nightmares. Instead, he thought of his Papa, and his Fíli.

What Pippin had been through in Mirkwood was nothing compared to what they had endured – the exhaustion, the hunger, the torment. Fíli had been but hours from death when they were found, and though his injuries were less, Paladin had not been far behind. Yet they had survived. They had protected each other, carried each other.

If Fíli and Paladin could escape, there was hope for Merry and Pippin too. It was not a very big hope – Pippin was sure that there were more orcs here, and they were caught up in an awfully big mess, but it was hope all the same, and he clung to it with all that he had.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was woken by being thrown to the ground. His eyes flew open as his back hit the stone, and he could not help but cry out, but he barely had time to land before an uruk loomed over him.

Uglúk.

"Get up!" the uruk growled, stooping down to cut the bonds around Pippin's legs. Then, he grabbed Pippin's hands and wrenched him to his feet. Unfortunately, Pippin's legs did not seem to want to cooperate, and he fell straight back to the ground.

The surrounding orcs jeered, and out of the corner of his eye Pippin could see Merry struggling in the arms of another orc, his eyes fixed on Pippin. Uglúk snarled, and seized Pippin by the hair, pulling him back onto his feet. Then, he jammed a flask into Pippin's mouth, and tilted his head back. But the second the foul liquid touched Pippin's tongue, his throat closed up, and he spat it out as quickly as he could.

All over the face of Uglúk.

Well. That had not exactly been the plan.

The orcs around them howled with laughter, and Pippin's heart and courage both began to stumble. Uglúk's hand twisted deeper into Pippin's hair, and shook him roughly. Then, without a word, the uruk clamped Pippin's nose, and jammed the flask back into place. The sentiment was clear. Drink, or you will choke.

With a grimace, Pippin swallowed, and the draught burnt down his throat and seared his taste-buds, but it also sent warmth through his body, and the pain vanished from his legs. He could stand.

The flask was wrenched away, and Uglúk grasped the front of Pippin's shirt, lifting him into the air and drawing the hobbit close to his own, ugly face. Pippin's legs hung uselessly above the ground, but he knew better than to kick. "Believe me, scum, you will pay at the end for that trick. He knows how to make you pay – you'll wish you'd never been born before he's through with you, but when he is, my Master will let me play. So you best behave. My boys are tired of carting you around, so run, little rat. Run. And perhaps if you stay in line, you'll get a swift end on the other side."

With that, he lowered Pippin to the ground, and struck him once across the face, before shoving him into the throng of orcs and striding over to Merry. The older hobbit had learnt from Pippin's mistakes, and he did not fight against Uglúk's awful draught. But he also gave a smile, and winked at Pippin.

"You alright, Pippin? I don't think much of the service here, to be honest."

"No talking!" growled Uglúk, pushing Merry's head downwards. "You'll get service enough to make you sick, before long. Run!"

The pack began to move, clambering down a rocky hill, and to Pippin's dismay Uglúk ensured that there were at least half a dozen orcs between the two hobbits, meaning that Pippin could not even see Merry, let alone speak to him. Every time he tripped, Pippin remembered choking, remembered a noose tightening around his neck with every stumble.

Well, there's no noose now. That's something, I suppose… he thought, but it did not bring much comfort.

"The scouts have returned!" an orc shouted.

"And?"

"Nothing!" squawked a shriller voice, more like to the goblins of the North. "Just one white-skin on a filthy horse that scarpered at the very sight of us."

Uglúk let out a roar. "Fools! You should have shot him – the horse breeders will hear of us by morning. We'll have to leg it now, double quick."

"But the sun's coming up!" protested the squawker. "We can't run in the sun!"

"You'll run with me behind you," growled Uglúk. "Run, curse you, or you'll never see your filthy holes again."

When they finally reached the bottom of the hill and set foot on green grass, Pippin's heart rose, but the reward of being away from lifeless stone was short lived, as the orcs picked up the pace, and dragged Pippin along with them. Soon, his lungs were protesting, and his empty stomach was gnawing at itself, but the orc liquor still burnt hot in his veins. For now, Pippin could keep up, but he did not think he would manage it forever.

Papa managed for days, he thought, and his courage rose a tiny notch higher. And he had not been trained by the dwarves of Erebor.

He wondered who these 'White-skins' were. From what little geography Balin had managed to hammer into his brain, he gathered that they were probably in Rohan by now, or at least thereabouts. He tried to recall what he knew about the people of Rohan, and supposed that he really ought to have paid more attention in school to these things.

Merry and Frodo knew them more than well enough, I had no need to know.

Yes, well, he argued with himself, you have need know now. So think.

The people of Rohan bred good horses, and they were kin to the people of Lake-town. That should be good – but did Legolas not say that he was unsure of Lake-town's loyalty? That New Dale would stand with the mountain, but that Lake-town might be swayed? And Rohan was even further from Erebor. That was less hopeful.

On the other hand, he seemed to remember something about dignitaries from Rohan coming to the mountain. He could not put his finger on it. When had it been? It was not often that men-folk other than those from New Dale or Esgaroth came to the mountain…

The thought of the mountain stung Pippin like a whiplash across his heart. His dwarven family were so far away, and there was no chance that they would come to the rescue. They did not even know there was anything wrong. Rescue could, perhaps, come through Nelly and Bróin and Gimli – but no. The others would have – should have – gone with Frodo. Had they not promised it, after Moria? Had they not sworn to put the mission above all else?

But perhaps, if these horsemen were allies, there might come a rescue from strangers.

Narrowing his eyes, Pippin forced himself to think harder. Rohan, Rohan…

The only image that came to mind was of a young boy, perhaps ten years old, with hair as gold as Fíli's, and a playful smile. What was his name, Theodore? Theobald? Theodred! That was it. He had played dominoes with Merry and Frodo, and then stood the tiles on end to let Pippin knock them down.

It had been many years ago – they had only recently moved to Erebor, and Pippin was but a toddler. He was rather pleased that he had remembered it at all. And it seemed hopeful. When nobles of any race visited the mountain, it tended to be a good sign if their children were allowed to play with the young hobbits and dwarves of Erebor.

The final factor that Pippin considered was the fact that the orcs seemed afraid of the horsemen, and any enemy of the orcs would be welcome at this point.

But how will they know we're not orcs? He thought, and his heart sank. They won't even know we're here. What sign of two little hobbits is going to survive the trample of these orc feet?

A whip curled around his legs and Pippin gasped, speeding up. An image came to his mind quite unbidden – an image of Aragorn behind them, stooping over their path. Even if Aragorn was following – which he surely should not be – how would even he be able to see any sign of Merry and Pippin?

As if the world wished to agree with Pippin's despair, the ground sloped beneath them into a deep depression, and a thick mist hung close to the ground. The uruk-hai ahead seemed to disappear completely. Once things were a few feet away, they were out of sight.

A wild, very foolish thought burst into Pippin's mind, and before his fear could stop him, he acted on it. He dove to the side, ducking under the clutching hands of his guards, and sprawled onto the grass. Quick as Nelly, Pippin scrambled to his feet and ran, but the orcs were right behind him, and he knew that he had no chance of getting away. He clawed at his collar, ripping the elven broach from his cloak, and he let it fall just as a goblin grabbed his hair from behind and yanked him back.

Unable to stop himself, Pippin yelped, but another orc arm wrapped around his throat, and held him in place as the guard lashed at his legs. Pippin gritted his teeth, but he could not fully stifle his cries, and they escaped each time the whip landed.

"Pippin!" Merry called desperately, but Pippin could not see him anywhere. "Pippin! Stop, please, Pippin-"

Merry's voice cut off.

"Enough!" roared Uglúk, storming through the crowd towards Pippin. "That's enough – he's got a long way to run yet. Use the whip as a reminder." Leaning forwards, he took a fistful of Pippin's hair, and lowered his voice. "But believe me, payment is only postponed. I cannot wait until my Master gives me what's left of you, but hear me now – one more move from you, one more toe out of line, and I will flay your little friend alive. You will watch, and join us as we feast on his flesh. Now, move it!" He wrenched Pippin out of the grip of the other orc and threw him back into the throng, and Pippin ran.

He should not have done that.

He should not have done that, he should not have tried – he knew what orcs did to prisoners that disobeyed. He knew what price Ned the Ranger had paid when Pippin, Gimli and Aragorn escaped in Mirkwood. He knew what happened to Fíli after Paladin got free. If something happened, if they thought he had fought back a third time, Merry – Merry –

Pippin gasped back a sob, and kept running. When days and nights bled together, and his feet began to bleed as well as ache, he kept running, and when the world blurred before his eyes and his head span he ran faster. Because he could not stop. He could not let them hurt Merry. Not his Merry.

He could not stop.

Not when his throat rasped with each attempt to breathe. Not when his heartbeat grew so shallow that a hummingbird's heart would drum faster. Not when the world fell into darkness beneath the noon sun.

Pippin lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

I hope you enjoyed that chapter! 'The Uruk-Hai' is quite possibly my favourite chapter of any book ever, so it's been a struggle adapting it, but I'm fairly happy with how this turned out. Do let me know what you think if you have the chance, I'd really appreciate it.

Thank you very much for reading, and I hope to see you again very soon – Monday as usual, with any luck.