Chance Encounter

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

Chapter 17: In the Midst of Orcs

When Balian woke, he found himself feeling disorientated. As his mind slowly regained awareness, he realized he was partially upside down and staring at filthy orc armour; a result of being slung over the shoulder of a particularly large orc like a sack of meal. Slowly, he lifted his head to register where he was and soon realized he was in a strange country and hopelessly lost.

Merry? Pippin? Boromir? Where were they? Were they alright? He remembered seeing Boromir getting shot. Was he still alive? No, he had to be. He would not let his thoughts go down that dark road. Boromir had to be alive. Aragorn would've found him in time. The ranger would have heard Boromir's horn. Yes, Aragorn would find Boromir and Boromir would live. Aragorn was a healer.

Merry and Pippin—he glanced up—were captured along with him. He groaned inwardly. He'd been in this situation before. The only difference was instead of one hobbit, there were two. 'At least the Ringbearer escaped,' he thought optimistically, not feeling very optimistic at all.

"Hey!" shouted one of the orcs. "The scum's awake!"

"Is he now?" said the one which was carrying him. "Well, he can walk!" Balian was unceremoniously thrown to the ground. The impact drove the breath from his lungs and jarred his bones. Rough hands hauled him to his feet and cut the ropes which bound them. The orcs threaded a rope between his bound hands and made a sort of leash. The ones behind him gave him a violent shove and the orc holding the leash jerked on it cruelly, causing the rope to cut into his flesh. "Get a move on!" he snarled. Balian glared at the orc but stumbled along to prevent himself from being dragged.

Balian risked looking backwards to see if the hobbits were alright; Pippin seemed fine and alert but Merry was barely conscious. A gash on his forehead was bleeding sluggishly. Pippin was calling to Merry but the other hobbit did not respond. Frantically, the little hobbit looked around for help. His eyes fell on an orc taking a drink from a water skin.

"My friend is sick!" cried Pippin, daring to risk the wrath of the orcs. Balian was filled with admiration for Pippin's courage and devotion. Merry was very fortunate to have a friend and cousin such as the young Took.

"He needs water, please!" continued Pippin, trying to appeal to the orcs' sense of mercy which, unluckily for the hobbits, was sorely lacking.

"Sick is he?" sneered the orc captain. "Give him some medicine, boys!"

A foul brown concoction was poured down Merry's throat, making him choke and retch. Balian gave a shout and tried to go to the hobbit's aid but was quickly brought to his knees by a hard blow to the stomach.

"No, stop!" cried Pippin desperately. He had only wanted to help and now two of his friends were getting hurt.

"Why?" demanded the orc captain. "Do you want some?"

"No," said Pippin in a small frightened voice.

"Then keep your mouth shut."

Balian was pulled back to his feet by his hair and they resumed their journey across lush green plains dotted with occasional scraggly bushes. He felt dizzy from the head wound which he had received during the battle and his feet were weary. These orcs seemed to have no limits to their energy levels. They pushed on at a rapid pace. He wished they would stop for a rest. He felt he was going to keel over any moment. Only his pride and determination kept him going. Soon, that would not suffice. He needed to find a way to escape.

The orcs would surely need to rest sooner or later. When that happens, he would somehow untie the ropes while the orcs were not looking, take Merry and Pippin, and run. It was not the best of plans but it was all his tired mind could come up with.

Balian's prediction came true. The orcs halted their march in the late afternoon. After a meal of stale bread, of which the prisoners had no share, most of them fell asleep, including the orc who was in charge of the blacksmith. Slowly, the man crept up to his guard and discreetly freed himself from the leash. With his hands still bound, he sneaked up to where Merry and Pippin were dozing. He nudged them awake and indicated that they should go, after they had untied each other's bonds. The orc medicine might've been foul, but it was effective. Merry had regained alertness.

Carefully, the three of them picked their way across the temporary orc camp. If anyone woke, they were doomed. Once they were at the edge of the orc camp, Pippin undid his brooch from Lothlorien and laid it on the ground where only the most observant of trackers could find it. "Aragorn," he mouthed. Balian nodded. It was a good idea to let the others know that they were still alive.

They were about to head off to their freedom when an orc tackled Balian from behind, knocking him to the ground. The other orcs were not far behind. Soon they were surrounded and recaptured, only a few minutes into their escape attempt. They dragged the struggling blacksmith and the frightened hobbits back to the orc captain and deposited the prisoners at his feet. "Trying to escape, are we?" snarled the orc captain. "You need to learn a lesson." He advanced towards the hobbits, but Balian planted himself in front of them. "Pick on someone your own size," growled the man.

"My pleasure," said the orc, grabbing Balian by the collar and lifting him off his feet. He kneed the man in the abdomen then threw him to the others. "What is the punishment for escaping?" he demanded gleefully.

"Eighty lashes, methinks," replied another orc who was unfurling a wicked looking leather whip. He struck down hard. There was a metallic sound as the whip connected with Balian's body. The orc grunted in surprise. "E's wearin' somethin' underneath!"

They divested the man of his shirt to find the chain mail given to him by the elves. It was forcefully removed. Balian was pushed onto his knees, held down by strong, manacle-like hands. His undershirt was torn from his body, revealing skin already marked by another whip.

"So he's tasted the lash before," said the orc captain with a smile. "Good. He can now compare."

The first lash left a stripe of sharp fire. He arched his back in pain and clenched his teeth to keep himself from crying out.

The hobbits watched in horror as the orcs laid into the man. Each expertly delivered lash opened his flesh, leaving a vivid line of red. He grunted with each blow, refusing to let his spirit be broken. He had survived this once and he would do so again. After eighty lashes, his back was a mess of shredded skin and torn flesh. The orcs left him lying in a bleeding heap on the ground and went back to sleep. The doubted the captives would try to escape again so soon.

Guy was exhausted, not to mention extremely irritated. That ranger was leading them on a mad chase. He knew it. Moreover, they had run three days across endless grasslands to rescue two midgets and a cursed blacksmith whom the world was probably better off without. He didn't belong here, chasing after errant and irrelevant … beings.

"Hurry!" cried Aragorn from the front of the long, stretched-out column. "Their pace has quickened! They must have caught our scent!"

He and Legolas sped off, while behind them, Gimli struggled to keep up and Guy lagged at the back. The elf glanced behind him. Guy found his intense blue gaze disconcerting. It was as if the elf could see every thing that was going on inside his mind. "Come, Gimli!" called Legolas encouragingly. "We're gaining on them!" To Guy, he said, "If you don't want to come, we're more than happy to leave you behind."

Guy reluctantly quickened his pace. It would not do for him to be left behind. He would starve in the wild; the others had the rations and he had been foolish enough not to take any before they started the pursuit, believing that the others would share with him, which they did, albeit reluctantly.

He overtook Gimli, who was using his axe as a walking stick and talking to himself, complaining about their progress, or rather, the lack of. Apparently no one had advised him to take off his armour and it certainly did not occur to him that it would make things easier if he took it off.

Night fell. The orcs stopped by the edge of an immense forest. Even they were too tired to go on. Balian collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. His back burned with vengeance. It hurt too much to move. The orcs had given him back his shirt, although they withheld the chain mail. It was now stained with blood.

The prisoners lay on the ground, either too tired or too frightened to move. All around them, orcs were cutting down branches with their axes to start a fire.

A strange groaning sound came from the forest. It sounded like moans of pain and anger.

"What's making that noise?" asked Pippin fearfully.

"It's the trees," breathed Merry in awe. That didn't register very well in Balian's weary mind. Trees didn't make noises like that, at least, the ones in France and the Holy Land didn't. 'You're in Middle Earth, you fool,' he reminded himself. 'Anything can happen.' He thought no more about the trees and closed his eyes to try and sleep while he could.

"I'm starvin'," growled an orc "and we ain't had nothin' but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days!"

"Yeah," said another in a whiny voice. "Why can't we have some meat?" It was one of the smaller orcs, the type which Balian had encountered during his side trip on Caradhras. The orc's yellow eyes fell on the hobbits and Balian. "What about them?" it demanded. "They're fresh."

Balian's eyes snapped open. The orcs wanted to eat them? He was in no shape to fight. If the orcs were really going to eat them, then there was no chance that they would survive.

The orc captain picked up Merry and Pippin by the collars of their shirts and dumped them behind him. "They are not for eating," he growled.

"What about their legs?" asked another with a dark leathery face. "They don't need those. Oooh, they look tasty…"

"Get back, scum!" snarled the orc captain, shoving the other orc hard. "The prisoners go to Saruman, alive and unspoiled."

"Alive?" asked Leather-Face. "Why alive? Do they give good sport?" He began to salivate. Balian tensed. Sport. He knew what that meant and heaven help him if he should let them hurt Merry or Pippin.

"They have something," explained the orc captain. He sounded surprisingly patient. "An elvish weapon. The master wants it for the war."

"They think we have the Ring," whispered Pippin to Merry.

"Shh!" hissed the Brandybuck. "As soon as they find out we don't we're dead!"

Unbeknownst to the orc captain, the orc who had suggested eating the hobbits was sneaking up behind them. "Carve 'em up," he was saying, with his sword raised "just a mouthful…"

The orc captain reacted just in time to save Merry and Pippin. He swung around, and beheaded the offending orc with one swipe. The head flew into the air before landing at Merry and Pippin's feet. The body slowly toppled over. At first, the orcs did not know what to think. Then the orc captain smiled. "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" he roared.

The orcs fell on the body of their fallen comrade, tearing the foul flesh from his body. Entrails were flung everywhere. They forgot about the prisoners as they feasted upon one of their own.

The hobbits' eyes met Balian's then they looked towards the forest. All of them nodded at once and started to crawl towards it.

An iron shod foot came down upon the hobbits, trapping them beneath it. The hobbits glanced up in terror at the sneering face of an orc. It was Leather-Face. "Go on," he hissed "call for help! Squeal! No one's gonna save you now!"

Balian gathered all his remaining strength and flung himself at Leather-Face, knocking him off the hobbits. They wrestled with each other. In his weakened state, Balian was no match for the orc. Leather-face forced him onto his back. Pain paralysed him. If a spear had not come out of nowhere and impaled the orc, Balian's soul would have been on its way to purgatory to be judged.

Confusion erupted. "Go, now!" cried Balian to the hobbits. The hobbits did not need to be told twice. They crawled as quickly as they could between horses' hooves and iron shod feet towards the forest. Balian tried to follow them, but he was not as nimble as they were. Something struck him in the shoulder from behind. One of the horsemen had shot him.

Éomer surveyed the carnage. The battle had been bloody and brief as the orcs had been unprepared. The last of the orcs were being dispatched when one of his men called out to him.

"My lord Éomer! Over here!"

Éomer rode over to where the man was beckoning. A dark-skinned man lay facedown on the ground, one of the haradrim, he deemed. His shirt was bloody and the stump of an arrow protruded from his shoulder. They lifted up the limp body. He still breathed. His face was young and he looked like he was about Éomer's age. "Bind him. We'll see what he has to say when he wakes."

A/N: Here we go. Balian meets Éomer at last. Dun duh duh duh duh dun!! Not that it's much of a meeting. By the way, I have this huge history project so my next chapter might be either late or short. Just so you know. Reviews please!