Hey there! Thank you to my lovely reviewer of the last chapter, and I'm sorry to keep you all waiting for this one. Nevertheless, here we are now, and I hope you enjoy and forgive my typos!

Chapter Fifty-Two: Isengard

Bróin awoke to the sound of battle.

It wrought the night air and set his hair on end, the screeching and screaming and faint clash of steel on steel, and at first he could not understand what was happening. The noise was perhaps a mile away or so, but he could not understand where it was coming from. He could not remember where he was, or why his hands and feet were tied so tightly, or why he ached like he had been sat on by a troll.

Why was Nelly lying in front of him, with skin as pale as paper, and her limbs bound with a rope that choked a tree behind her?

She took a breath in and opened her mouth, but at once a figure swept down upon her, and a black hand clamped down over her mouth. Orcs. Bróin's own jaw opened, but he, too, was silenced with a stinking, sweaty palm pressed tightly over his mouth. He squirmed, but the orcs fingers clamped his nose shut, and Bróin quickly fell still. To his relief, the orc let go of his nose. He took a deep breath and stared at Nelly.

He remembered running, and falling on the beach, and he remembered the sickly taste of the orc draught, and the strength it leant him. He remembered tracking the orcs, but how –

His eyes widened, and his stomach lurched so fiercely he almost threw up.

He remembered why he had been caught.

Why he had not bided his time as he had intended to, why he had not waited for an opportunity to save Nelly. Why instead, he had instead decided to take on sixty orcs with a couple of rocks and a nearly-broken arm.

He closed his eyes tightly, but that did not get rid of the image. It did not even blur the memory, the sight of the orc bearing down upon Nelly, tugging at his belt, at her trousers…

If they had been beating her, Bróin might have been able to stand it, to wait for a better time to move, but as soon as he realised what the orcs intended there was no way that Bróin could have stood by. None at all.

And as the orc that held him now shoved a bundle of cloth into Bróin's mouth, and then gagged him with a rope that stank of death, Bróin did not regret what he had done. He only wished he had taken out more orcs, or that he had been able to hide better, and be more of a long-term help.

But he pulled his mind from the past quickly. It was needed more here. The orcs gagged Nelly, too, and then Bróin felt something cold and sharp pressing into his throat. He swallowed, and met Nelly's eyes. She looked grim and defiant, but when the orcs pushed a knife to her neck all Bróin could see were the rings beneath her eyes, and how vulnerable she looked without her tunic or bodice. Like Bróin, she still had her elven cloak, but it offered little protection.

"Good," hissed Lurtz, the large uruk that seemed to be leading the group. "If the fight breaks over this way, and we're gonna get beat, slit their throats. Until then, keep 'em silent." He turned his eyes to Bróin, and gave a grin that showed off his pointed, red-stained teeth. "One noise from either of you and you're both dead."

Bróin met Nelly's eyes and her brows lowered in a warning. Bróin raised his own brows meekly to assure her that he had no intention of making a noise, and her face relaxed. Relaxed until it went slack, emotionless. Bróin took a slow, deep breath, and tried to follow suit. They had talked about it before with Nori, talked about how to make yourself as convenient a prisoner as possible, but it did not come naturally to Bróin. He was a dwarf, hot blooded as they come, and he wanted to snarl and thrash and make life a misery for the orcs around him.

"It's all about what you want, kid. Do you want to be a hero, or do you want to live?"

Bróin closed his eyes. He would really rather be both, but with a knife to his neck, he wanted to live.

And in the distance rang the sounds of dying. Horses shrieking, orcs roaring, men bellowing. Metal striking metal. Though the battle could not be nearer than a mile or two away, he could hear quite clearly, because the rest of the forest was quiet as a tomb. The orcs made no movements, save from their eyes, which roamed the dark trees around them. Even their breathing had been hushed, and they waited with a patience Bróin had not known their kind capable of.

The hours passed sluggishly, and the sounds of the fight began to fade, but still the orcs made no move. They kept their stillness, and they held to their silence, until the world was so quiet that Bróin felt that he could hear his own heart beating.

The world around them grew lighter before there came any other sound. Day was creeping into being, and still the orcs did not move.

Then came a rustle, soft as the wind, and he looked over Nelly's shoulder. One of the uruk-hai slunk slowly into the clearing, his feet falling carefully only the ground with steps of controlled quiet.

"Mauhúr," growled Lurtz, quiet as the hiss of a snake. "What news?"

Mauhúr shook his head, and the orcs breathed out curses. "All dead. Uglúk led them straight to the noose of the white-skins. Their corpses are burning, and the white-skins ride away."

"Their prisoners?" said Lurtz, and Bróin's heart did an odd jolt.

Prisoners? No, no, no…

"Dead, I reckon, though I didn't get close enough to see for sure," said Mauhúr. "Uglúk was a fool, but he followed orders. He'd've had 'em like that," he jabbed a finger at Bróin and Nelly, "if they ain't burning with the rest I'd be surprised."

His heart beating painfully fast, Bróin wondered who the prisoners were, though he had a horrible feeling it could only be someone he knew. He wondered if he should hope that it was Merry and Pippin, so that Frodo had got away, and he wondered if it was selfish to pray that they were strangers.

Lurtz spat at the ground near Nelly's feet. "Let's go. Pick 'em but, and keep quiet. We don't know if there are more filthy white-skins slinking around."

With that, Bróin and Nelly were hauled from the ground and the ropes around the trees untied. Rough hands pushed and pulled at Bróin's limbs until he slipped his tied arms beneath his legs so that they were in front of him. Then, his arms were looped around Mauhúr's neck, and the pack began to run.

Well, he thought glumly, on the plus side, I'm not running anymore.

That did bring a little relief. His feet were blistered and bruised, and his legs were burning from exhaustion, and from the lashes the orcs' whips had left on his skin. At least now they had a chance to rest.

The orcs continued their silence as they ran. Bróin could hear the heavy thud of their feet, and the clanking of their weapons and their armour. Their heavy pants fouled the air, and they snorted and grunted like cattle, but they spoke no words, and neither did anything else. There was no sign of any other life in this cursed land – no birdsong, no wind, not even running water.

It was as though nothing existed except Bróin, and Nelly, and sixty odd orcs.

That was not a particularly pleasant thought.

The orcs kept low. They skittered around the edge of the forest, lingering in the shade and shelter of the trees, until Bróin saw a great, grey wall on the horizon. His mouth grew very dry, and his eyes grew wide.

He knew exactly where they were going. Where they would be in mere hours, if the orcs kept up their pace.

Isengard.

They began to leave the trees, heading south and running with the speed of wolves. A faint sound began to make its way to Bróin's ears, a low grumbling that he could quickly place. As it grew nearer, and clearer, and he began to recognise the clamour of some sort of forge, and the shouts of cruel voices. It did not bring Bróin much comfort, but it seemed to please the orcs, who began to run even faster.

The sun faded as they drew closer and closer to the great wall, and Bróin felt his toes curl within his boots at the sight of the gate. It was made of black iron, and high as the front doors of Erebor.

It looked as he had always imagined the black gates of Mordor to look, right down to the smoke rising in great plumes behind it.

How did anyone ever think a man living here was a good one? Bróin thought, and he craned his neck to look for Nelly, but she was hidden by the mass of orcs around them. The larger uruk-hai, the Isengarders, seemed all too happy to be home. Great, ugly smiles split their faces in two, and they cackled beneath their breath.

And the gates opened for them, without so much as a sound.

Behind the gate lay a land that Bróin could only liken to the land of the dead.

It was grey and barren, and there were great chasms in the ground from which smoke rose and fires blazed, and the entire land was covered in ash. In its centre, he could see the tower of Orthanc, and its black stone glinting in the dying light of the sun.

If Bróin went through those gates, if he went into that land –

Panic clawed its way up Bróin's throat and he gagged, tugging at his arms to try and get them free. Mauhúr, the uruk holding him, gave a harsh laugh and tugged Bróin's hands back down. With a cry that failed to escape his gag, Bróin threw his body weight from side to side and swung his bound legs into Mauhúr's back, but all his struggles won him were taunts and jeers from the other orcs.

The hooted at him and pinched his arms and his cheeks, and even as hope drained away into helplessness, Bróin kept on kicking.

"He knows he won't be leaving!" crooned a goblin.

Mauhúr laughed, digging his claws into Bróin's arms, and stopped dead just outside of the gate. Bróin paused too, holding his breath, and Mauhúr looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Welcome to the land you die in, lordling."

Then he stepped into Isengard.

Terrified, Bróin tried to roar, and thrashed with all the strength he had, but it did nothing. The gag turned his roar to a whimper, and his thrashes did not even slow Mauhúr. The orcs just laughed louder and more harshly, and the uruk carrying him jumped, and began to run with the others. Instinct and pride told Bróin to keep fighting regardless, to keep struggling to retain his honour, but Nori's words and his own fear eclipsed all else, and Bróin fell stopped fighting.

He wanted his Adad.

The uruk-hai around him were letting out victorious yells and punching the air, and the sounds grew louder and louder until Bróin's ears rang, and he saw that there were more uruk-hai pouring from every direction, joining in with the noise. And there were men too, wild looking men and men with dark faces, and they cheered with the orcs, and laughed at the fear on Bróin's face.

These newcomers followed Lurtz' pack, hounding them as though it was some great parade. Bróin supposed that for them it was. By the time they reached the base of the tower, there were thousands of them. Thousands.

We're dead, he thought fearfully, trying not to shrink in on himself. There's no getting out of this…

Harsh hands grabbed his legs and sawed through the bonds, and then Bróin was dragged from Mauhúr's back and thrown him to the ground. His knees hit the dirt, but his arms crashed into the first of the stone steps. Pain exploded from his already battered arms and Bróin choked back a yell. If his arm had not been broken before, it almost certainly was now.

"Get up," sneered Mauhúr, grabbing Bróin's neck and dragging him up onto his feet. Beside him, Nelly was getting similar treatment, but she was bearing it like a queen, with a face as stern and stoic as stone. Bróin swallowed and straightened up, following her lead and staring straight ahead.

Mauhúr grabbed a handful of Bróin's hair and pushed him forward. Bróin tripped, his aching legs uncooperative after so much time lashed together, and he stumbled, but the uruk dragged him up again. Bróin's floundering feet found grip, and when he began the long walk up the stairs. Again, Nelly was beside him, and again she had a great deal more decorum, but she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as they ascended, and Bróin saw a single tear escape down the crook of her nose.

Lurtz and Mauhúr drove them up the stairs, but the rest of the pack remained below, and their clamour fell back into silence. And the silence was worse.

This must be how it felt to walk to the gallows.

Above them, the door to the tower opened, and a man emerged from the darkness, with white robes that shone blindingly against the black and grey of the land around them. He was tall as Gandalf had been, but Bróin knew before he came into sight that his face was cruel, and that his name was Saruman.

He stood in the threshold so that the doorway arched over him, and he raised a single eyebrow as Bróin and Nelly were pushed onto the final stair. The wizard stared at Lurtz, and at Mauhúr, and then turned, beckoning with a single finger, and walking into the tower. Choiceless, they followed, and Bróin's stomach twisted as the door shut behind them, unaided, with a sickening, final thud.

It was very dark inside. No torches had been lit, and there were no lights to speak of to lend beauty to the delicate architecture that must have been the work of great men. Bróin thought that the very stone felt sick. He did not think this was a place built for evil means, and wondered if it mourned what it had become.

If it would mourn what became of him.

They began to climb down again, deep, deep into the base of the tower, until there was a shift in the air that told Bróin they were now underground. Before him, Nelly stumbled, but quickly regained her footing. Saruman did not stumble. He seemed to glide.

It grew darker and darker, until the wizard's white robes were all that Bróin could easily see, but then he saw a light ahead, a hot, angry orange light, that could only come from fire. He squashed the urge to fight again, to drag his ankles and scramble back up the stairs. It would be useless, and do more harm than good, he knew that.

They reached a metal door, with a single, barred window. It was through this window that the light was shining, and the door swung open before Saruman without any sign of being touched. Behind the door was a small chamber with eight walls. On each of the walls was a door, and each door bore a flaming torch on either side. Every door was identical, from the heavy metal it was wrought from to the size of the bars on the identical windows. Through every window, Bróin could see only darkness. Bróin had no doubt of its purpose – as soon as the door behind them was closed, he knew that finding the right door to escape could take hours.

Another door, the third from his right, opened of its own accord, and Saruman strode into the darkness behind it. The two uruk-hai pushed the prisoners after him, into a cold, damp corridor. It twisted and turned, and Bróin could feel, rather than see, the side passages that split off from the corridor. His heart sank further with every turn they took. Orthanc was not just a tower – its very bowels were a maze.

They stopped, and Bróin heard a metal key turn, and a door swing open. He followed Mauhúr and Nelly inside, and as soon as he passed the threshold the room was lit with cold, green flames that sprang from empty brackets in the walls.

Nelly winced and blinked at the sudden light, but Bróin's eyes were quicker to adjust. They were in an interrogation room – that much was clear. Nailed to the back wall were four hooks, through which chains and shackles hung, attached to what looked like winches. On another wall were hooks and shelves bearing an assortment of old, wicked blades, and other instruments Bróin could only imagine had been invented for torture. Some things he recognised, but others he knew only from Nori's 'Horrible History' stories. Others…

He did not think that he wanted to have an idea what the others were.

Before he could get more of a look, he was pushed down onto his knees, and Nelly was forced down beside him.

Saruman turned, facing them for the first time, and looked hard at the two orcs. "Your task was to bring me the halflings. I see one halfling, and one half grown dwarf."

"Yes, Master," said Lurtz, bowing low. "We caught this one near the Falls," he hit the back of Nelly's head. "Uglúk caught two more, but he got caught by the horseman. He is dead, and so are his captives."

Saruman's eyes narrowed. "You are sure of this?"

"Not completely," said Mauhúr hesitantly. "We could not scout close enough to find out without risking our own captives. The folly of Uglúk is not our fault – the packs were separated."

"Separated?"

"The halflings ran in two different directions, no doubt to scatter us," Lurtz said. "We caught the bitch, Uglúk went after the dogs."

Saruman's eyes narrowed, and he stared at Nelly. She stared back, expressionless. Then, Saruman glanced at Bróin.

"That is not a halfling. Tell me, why is this dwarf still alive?"

"He is a lordling," said Mauhúr, and Lurtz offered Saruman Bróin's severed braid. It churned Bróin's stomach to see his bead in the hands of such a traitor – even more than it annoyed him to see his hair detached from his head. "Of the ilk you sent Lugdush looking for."

Saruman's eyebrows raised, and a cruel smirk twisted the corner of his mouth up. "Indeed? Then that is not as ill as I thought. Very well. Take him away, lock him up. I shall come to him later."

Lurtz bowed and seized Bróin's shoulder, but Mauhúr hesitated. "Master, if you want information from the halfling whore, you should keep him around." Saruman's eyes narrowed slightly, and Mauhúr added something in the Black Speech, something that Bróin did not understand. But the wizard clearly did understand, and his smirk grew.

"I see," he said, staring at Bróin. "Prepare them, then leave us. Lurtz, you are to take a party of warg riders to the place where Uglúk fell. I want the halflings, or their corpses – by any means. Mauhúr, you are to wait in the chamber of doors until I call."

The uruk-hai bowed low, and then dragged their captives to the back wall. Bróin's wrists were released from rope for the first time in a week, only to be encased in iron. The winches were used to pull Bróin's arms up and up, above his head until it began to hurt, until only his toes remained on the floor. When that was done, Mauhúr locked the chains in place. Bróin was not going anywhere.

The gag was removed from his mouth, none too gently, and when the same had been done to Nelly, the two uruk-hai strode out of the room.

The door slammed behind them.

"So," said Saruman, and at once his voice had changed. It was no longer harsh and cruel, but slow, melodic, and calm. It was eerie, almost familiar, and had the feel of a voice Bróin might have heard once, in a gentle dream. "Where is the ring?"

It did not sound like a loaded question. It sounded inconsequential, reasonable, a question that you should want to answer. Perhaps that was how Saruman convinced the world he was not an evil, treacherous slug. But if the wizard was trying to cast a spell, it was not working. Not on Bróin, at least.

And, apparently, not on Nelly either. "What ring?" she asked, a pleading tremble in her voice. "What are you talking about?"

Saruman raised a single brow. "You know of what I speak. Feigned ignorance will not save you, and it will not save your friend. Where is the ring?"

Nelly shook her head, painting a look of pained confusion onto her face, but Saruman's eyes grew harder, colder, and he pressed the end of his staff to Bróin's chest. Nelly stiffened, and Bróin shot her a look.

Don't say a word.

"Where is the ring?"

"What ring?"

Saruman's eyes narrowed, and twisted his staff. At once Bróin's heart and lungs seized, crushed beneath a pain and a pressure that he had never felt before. It was like a metal hand had been thrust into his chest, like iron claws were clenching around his organs while his blood turned into knives that drilled their way through his veins. He bit back a yell, desperate not to put Nelly under more pressure, but the pain began to spread, and he gasped out a cry, writhing hopelessly to get away.

But there was nowhere to go. He had no way to escape from the touch of the staff, and his toes curled up in his boots. The feeling spread, and his stomach crumbled in on itself, and his body began to twist and bend without any thought or reason. His head hit the stone behind him, and he groaned as the pain splintered up towards his collar bone.

"Stop!" Nelly cried. "Stop it, please, I don't know! I don't know where the ring is, I swear, please-"

"Do not lie to me!" the wizard snarled, twisting the staff again. The pain splintered down Bróin's arms and he clenched his teeth together. He could not shout. It would be harder for Nelly if he yelled. But the pain was growing sharper and hotter, and drilling further and further from his heart by the second. No matter how he tried to keep still, his head hit against the stone again, and again and again until it hurt, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Shuddering, Bróin tried to steel himself, but when the pain spread both to his collar bone and the base of his spine, he could not hold in his scream, not even for Nelly. The sound ripped out through his throat, dragging the pain up with it, and he screamed again.

"I don't know!" shrieked Nelly, and he heard the frantic clanking of chains as she struggled.

The pain crawled further, further up and further down, and his knees jerked up towards his chest. At once the chains began biting into his wrists, and his arms screamed at holding his body weight when they were already hurt so much, but it was as if the agony had welded his legs into place.

"Please, please, stop it, I don't know, stop it! I don't know, I don't know!"

"If you are lying to me, he will die."

Panic began to dance with the pain that was reaching Bróin's ankles, and his head. If Nelly thought he was going to die, would she tell? Would she tell this monster where Frodo was? He wanted to yell, to roar or cry or even beg her not too, but his teeth where clenched again, and it felt as though they had been soldered shut.

"I'm not," sobbed Nelly. "Really, truly, I swear, I swear I don't know. Please, please stop hurting him, please, I don't know, I don't know."

There was a pause, and the pain blistered behind Bróin's eyes, and then it was gone.

Just like that.

Gone.

Gone in a moment, and his legs fell slack and his jaw dropped open and he gasped, scrambling for a the floor with his toes to give his arms some relief. As he caught his breath, he realised that the pain that lingered was that he had borne before Saruman had touched him, though his arms throbbed twice as badly as they had before.

But the clenching, stabbing, burning, was all gone. As if it had never been there. He glanced down at his chest, at his hands, and saw no sign he had even been touched. Because he had not been touched. His glance slid down to the staff, which hovered but an inch from his chest. Saruman was sweating, but he was also smiling.

"Let's try another question," he said, his eyes on Nelly. "Where is the ring-bearer? Where is Bilbo Baggins?"

If Bróin had not spent so much time playing poker with Nelly and Nori, he might have blinked at that a little too much, or frowned for the split second it took for him to realise that of course, Saruman had no idea that Bilbo no longer had the ring.

"We don't know," said Nelly weakly, but her voice rose as Saruman made to turn the staff again. "We don't, we don't! We weren't travelling with Bilbo, we don't know where he is! Only that he travels East, that's all we know! We weren't told any plans, or where anyone was going or what they were doing – we don't know, truly, we don't."

"I find that very hard to believe," said Saruman, his cold eyes fixing on Nelly's. "Especially as you, too are travelling east. Especially as you saw him outside the gates of Moria, not three weeks ago. Yes, I know of the fight at the gates. And I told you what would happen if you lied." He touched the tip of the staff to the young dwarf's chest, and Bróin winced, bracing himself.

"I'm not lying!" Nelly cried, words tumbling over each other in an effort to get out. "I swear, who would tell us anything? A dwarfling and a halfling girl, not even of age? What would they tell us? Please, please…" Nelly seemed to be shrinking in on herself, shivering from either cold or fear, and her wild eyes were flooded with tears. "Please…"

"If you are thought so vulnerable, why are you on the road, travelling with such companions as the Ringbearer?" The final word was pronounced like a curse.

"We just wanted to go home," she said miserably. "We just wanted to help our mountain. We…"

"Go on." The staff pressed into Bróin's chest.

The dwarf's heart began to race.

"We ran away," Nelly admitted, her eyes trained on the staff. It was as though she could not talk quickly enough. "We wanted to fight and Bilbo said we could not, that we were too young, so we ran away. It was at Moria he caught us with his company, but we were separated when the gates collapsed. If you know of Moria you know that I do not lie. Please…"

Saruman stared at her for a long moment, a moment that spilt into minutes. The wizard did not speak – nor did he move or blink. It was more unnerving than Gandalf's habit of sleeping with his eyes open.

The thought of Gandalf poured lemon juice into Bróin's every wound.

At last, Saruman spoke. "Then I have one more question, wench. Perhaps you do not know, but you will give me your best guess. Where is Bilbo Baggins going?"

"I… I don't-"

Pain burst into Bróin's heart again and he cried out, curling in on himself as best he could as the air was squeezed from his lungs by those unseen hands.

"Do not lie to me," said Saruman calmly, coldly. "I know when you lie."

Faster then before, the pain spread, fracturing through his body until Bróin could see nothing but white-hot agony, and do nothing but scream until what breath he had was gone.

"Gondor!" Nelly cried, and Bróin's throat closed off.

He tried to breathe, to suck in even a half-breath of air, but he failed, and he felt his eyes roll up into his head. Despite the shrieking pain in his wrists and arms, his body fell completely slack, leaving him to hang from the shackles. Somewhere in a bed of fire, his heart was fluttering weakly, trying to keep him alive, but it was growing weaker, and the world was slipping away.

"Erebor! Bilbo will go to Erebor!"

The pressure disappeared from Bróin's throat and he choked, spluttering desperately until he felt his lungs expand. Again, the pain seeped away at once, but Bróin could not stand up at once. He was trembling, and his arms felt ready to rip in half, and he just wanted it to stop. To be over.

To be all over.

He barely noticed what Nelly had said, or that she was still talking. Saruman threw questions at her, asking for the size of Bilbo's company, what roots they might take, and Bróin heard only snippets of her answers. Exhaustion was swallowing him whole.

It was only when a heavy bell tolled that Bróin was able to catch his own attention. The door opened, and Mauhúr walked in.

"Take them to the Northern Cells. Make sure they are secure, but see they had food, water. I want them alive."

"As you wish," Mauhúr bowed, but his eyes lingered on Nelly, and he straightened. "My Lord, the boys were wondering if we could have some fun. With the girl."

Weak as he was, Bróin tried to glare, to bare his teeth, but to his surprise, Saruman looked almost as disgusted as the dwarf was.

"Have I not given you enough for your boys to be content?" he asked, peering down his nose at the uruk. "She is a prisoner of importance, not a ragged toy to be shared by the rabble. Save your savagery for Rohan, and you will have your fill of 'fun' soon enough. But the halfling and the lordling are not to be violated. Should they misbehave, by all means beat them, but they are not to be desecrated, nor maimed too deeply." The wizard paused, and then nodded to himself. "Though take their clothes and jewels to my chambers, and give them rags. Let them keep their cloaks, but give them no blankets. Put them in the same cell."

Mauhúr nodded, and pulled a lever on the wench. Bróin groaned as his arms were finally released, and they fell like dead-weights around him. The shackles were removed, and replaced by others, on a shorter chain.

"If they do need beating, make sure you spare their faces. There is no point sending a dwarf his son's head if it cannot be recognised, after all." With one last, cruel smirk, Saruman swept from the room, and Mauhúr grabbed Nelly by the back of the neck.

"You first, maggot," he said to Bróin. "Walk."

Too tired to fight, Bróin did as he was told. He let Mauhúr prod him left and right and ahead and up, until he thought another step might take the last of the strength in him. Finally, they reached a wing of what were clearly prison cells, and Mauhúr took the rest of their clothes from them. To Bróin's immense relief, they were given rags at once – scratchy, grey tunics that came down below their knees – and after searching them and removing the elven broaches with a disgusted scowl, the uruk returned their cloaks.

Then, Mauhúr took his hands to their hair, pulling out every bead and clasp he could find, and taking Nelly's necklace and Bróin's rings, until they had nothing left. Nothing but their cloaks, and their bodies, and Saruman's filthy rags.

Bróin was pulled into the cell first, and his ankles were encased in iron. The chain attached to the shackles was soldered to a ring built into the wall, and Bróin did not much like his chances of pulling it loose. Nelly was bundled in beside him, and chained to the same ring, but in an act of mercy that Bróin had not expected, the orc unbound their hands. Then, he tossed half a chunk of stale bread into the cell, and a mug half full of dirty water.

"Don't worry," he said, a sickening grin on his face. "The Master will get bored of you soon enough. Then, we will play."

Apparently satisfied with his dramatic exit, Mauhúr turned and left. The second he was out of sight, Nelly flung herself at Bróin, and he wrapped his arms around her so tightly that his arms burnt. She held him back tighter, her fingers weaving into his hair.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry, Bróin, I'm so sorry."

"What for?" he mumbled, burying his face in her hair. Just feeling her there made him feel a little safer, but she was trembling, and so cold, and his fear for her grew.

Nelly whimpered. "He hurt you, Bróin, he hurt you, and I – I couldn't lie, I couldn't, I couldn't kill you Bróin, I couldn't, so I, I told him – I told – now he's going to go after Bilbo and the others, and Dís – and they, they got Pippin and Merry and – and – and if they're not dead then Frodo and Sam are and we're, we're all… I'm sorry…"

"Me too," Bróin said, squeezing his eyes shut. "They, they might have escaped. They might not be dead."

Nelly just sobbed. Bróin sank back against the wall, making sure to keep his arms around her. He was so tired. So very, very tired.

"Thank you," he murmured. Nelly pulled back to look at him, and he offered her the strongest smile he could manage. "For saving my life. I appreciate it."

She gave a weak smile back, and wiped her nose on her arm. "'ts was best friends are for, isn't it?" She paused. "How bad is it, Bro? Your injuries? Your arm's looking pretty black."

Bróin glanced down. Sure enough, his arms were covered in sleeves of bruises, and his left arm was beginning to swell. He sniffed. "Not good. But I'm a dwarf, Nell. I'll recover. Given the chance…"

"Well then, let's make sure you get that chance," she said matter-of-factly, taking the hunk of bread and splitting it in two. They nibbled, and grimaced, and nibble a little more, and the bread was gone. The water they left. For now. Then they sat together, cuddled up like children, with her head on his shoulder, and his head on hers.

"Well," Bróin said. "This is awful."

She gave a hollow laugh. "You think? I don't think there's quite enough 'macabre' going on." Then Nelly paused, and her voice softened. "You should get some sleep, Bróin. You need it more than I do, I'll watch first."

There was no need to argue for the sake of etiquette, no need to ask if she meant it. Not with his Nelly. His best friend. He smiled weakly at her instead, and gave a little nod.

"Thank you. I love you, Nell."

She smiled back and kissed his forehead. "Love you too, Bro."

Nelly began to hum softly, a Shire melody that Bróin did not know the words to, and a lump grew in his throat. The tune was lilting and gentle, and at last Nelly and Bróin closed their eyes on their tears.

I hope you enjoyed that chapter! It was a great challenge to write given the new stuff and my first time writing Saruman, but I enjoyed it. Even if Bróin got a little whumped again - he isn't having the best time, but he has reason to be hopeful ;) I promise that from in the next couple of chapters there will be some lighter scenes to make up for it :)

So, I'm dying to think what you reckon is going to happen, how this will change things, if at all? Any feedback at all is truly appreciated, but I also appreciate your reading this at all, so thank you!

I shall see you next chapter, probably Monday, and until then, take care!