I haven't written for so long, I feel ashamed. I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait, and I'll be writing some more over half term holidays. PLEASE REVIEW, it's always nice to hear readers' comments, positive or otherwise. Many thanks.

Chapter 7

'But did she see naught of you boy?'

Gimli had Pippin by the shoulders, and was shaking him rather roughly, trying to get the truth out of him. Beside the dwarf, Legolas had his arms crossed, a concerned frown wrinkling his otherwise ever-youthful forehead. Pippin answered Gimli in the same way he had numerous times before.

'I don't know! Besides, I barely got a glimpse of her myself. She wouldn't have had enough time to see me...'

'I wouldn't be so sure...' Legolas muttered, 'not a lot misses the eyes of a Mordorian, and they're a slippery opponent indeed.' His frown deepened, as he began to pace up and down thoughtfully as Gimli turned to Pippin once more.

'Whatever was the case; you're to be staying with us from now on, where we can keep an eye on you. ...'

For the hundredth time Pippin rolled his eyes.

'I don't need babysitting! And anyway, I'm in no danger here. Surrounded by the soldiers and the Fellowship...'

From behind him Legolas ceased his pacing, turning swiftly round, he grabbed the hobbit's arm. His words were stern and yet desperate.

'Safe?'

His eyes pleaded with the hobbit to understand.

'Mordor is out right now at this time especially seeking hobbits. Any hobbit they come across, they'll hunt down until caught. They'll drag that hobbit back forcibly into Mordor, and they... they do unimaginable things to their prisoners.'

Pippin gulped, the elf had got his attention. He tried to avert his eyes away, eventually ending up staring down at his feet. Legolas paused at the frightened halfling's face. Instantly his voice softened.

'Now... Aragorn has allowed such a person, into our midst. I do not doubt he means with good intentions, and while Gimli and I respect our friend's decisions...' the elf sighed deeply, 'we cannot help but question his one of the Mordorian. She is but a stranger to us. We do not know whether she comes defenceless into our hands!'

Pippin raised his head slowly. Taking a deep breath he said solemnly

'I promise I won't ever try and see the Mordorian lass again.'

Gimli bumbled over. 'Well-said laddie.'

Legolas smiled and glanced up to see the sun struggling to rise over the black horizon.

'The sun rises to a black dawn. We shall be on the move again soon', he said, rather unnecessarily. Pippin peered round the tall elf's cloak.

'I wonder if Merry is watching the same sunrise... quietly alone somewhere in the Houses of Healing...' he mumbled softly.

Behind him, Gimli was strapping on all his various axes and daggers to his back with a meticulous care. Legolas himself walked away towards the Rohirrim party to find his horse among the others. Pippin was once again alone, a single hobbit amid the moving mass of Big Folk.

Mornaundumë woke before Aragorn did.

As vision swam into view and feelings of consciousness returned to her limbs, her hand went straight to her shoulder. It had been bandaged up, she realised, as her fingers touched the soft linen. He must have done it, last night when he had healed her. She turned her head in his direction.

Aragorn slept soundly in his chair beside her, legs crossed, head leaning to one side in deep sleep. Mornaundumë found herself smiling at the scene. It felt somehow... quite pleasant, how this man had taken it upon himself to watch over her, care for her... an extreme contradiction to men, as Mornaundumë knew of them.

Mornaundumë remembered exactly how it was usually with men. She had been in the presence and intimate company of many men in the service of Mordor, in the beginning when she was still a slave. They had all gotten their own pleasure from her, while she had been left feeling as though the very fabric of her soul was being ripped apart. Oh yes, Mornaundumë had thought she knew men inside out.

Except this man had been different.

Mornaundumë frowned. Why was he different?

Watching the sleeping form with utmost scrutiny, she cautiously pulled back the warg-fur blankets on the bed, her bare feet silently stepping onto the floor. The man's breathing remained even. He had not heard her get up.

Ever so slowly she crept across the rug strewn carpet floor of the tent, never once taking her eyes off the Elesser. Stealth had ever been one of her most handy skills. Upon her way to gaining power and rank in Mordor, Mornaundumë had at times, played the spy on vital scouting missions. She knew how to slip past Gondorian watchmen without being seen or heard.

Cautiously, she crept closer to the sleeping man, drinking in every single detail of him, every part that made Aragorn who he was. She noticed the crisp freshness of his fine Elessar clothes contrast the rugged appearance of his worn face, the way in which he sat close to the bed Mornaundumë had slept on and yet not so close to have unnerved or intimidated her with his presence.

He must be new to this position, Mornaundumë deduced, inexperienced with his newfound power. She smiled, relishing the opportunities to exploit. He's probably never thought one unkind thought or devised one ruthlessly cunning plan in his life. Even with the position he has now he wouldn't abuse or manipulate his subjects. Underneath all this, he is just the simple plain and compassionate man that had the heart to care for one of his enemies.

Mornaundumë sneered silently. Weak fool, her mind told her. She had had enough of him, learnt all there was to know. Turning her head towards the tent flap, her thoughts raced onto the other things she had learnt.

The hobbit. Another of the little brat spies the Enemy had been so fond of using lately. Mornaundumë would be getting her hands on him sooner or later. And then she would take him back to Mordor for the proper interrogation, and then...

Mornaundumë paused. Going back to Mordor, going back to her old kind of life...

Some place, some tiny place in her soul cried out then, in protest and hurt, and suddenly Mornaundumë's instinctive Mordorian train of thought was ground to a painful and unexpected halt.

Abruptly, and with an awful clarity to her black mind and heart, Mornaundumë realised that part of her had turned traitor on her, was actually wanting to stay with the Enemy and become one among them.

Mornaundumë's eyes closed, as fiercely she tried to repulse the light, the traitorous thoughts from infecting her mind any further. The internal conflict raged violently within her trembling frame, and without realising it, Mornaundumë's knees were buckling beneath her and she was slipping slowly to the floor.

Her heart was a roar of confused voices each crying out, begging to save her soul, each certain they were on the right side. Mornaundumë grimaced, unsure and so insecure of herself. Gradually her mind was shutting down, unable to take the immense pressure it was under.

Just before she felt unconsciousness take her, Mornaundumë was aware of strong arms lifting her up gently, carrying her away. It was he, come to rescue her again.

'Going somewhere, my dear? If you're going to attempt to escape, you're going to need your strength. Sleep, be at peace.'

Listening to his calm, honest voice, Mornaundumë felt like laughing and crying at the same time.