CHAPTER ELEVEN

Our Characters, in order of appearance:

Dilly: Probably the bravest of the Immies, Dilly is stubborn, stoic, and sarcastic. She wears her hair in a thick dark braid down to her hips, and exudes don't mess with me vibes the way some girls exude pheromones. Oddly, the two produce very similar results.

Eredolyn: Her cropped auburn head contains a dangerous – if not outright lethal – combination of cleverness, curiosity and enthusiasm that would make Gandalf's fireworks displays look dull. Being a devoted Tolkien fanatic with an orc-induced concussion does not help matters.

Eicys: Every trait from empathy to optimism to golden good looks conspires to make her stay among Isengard's orcs as soul-suckingly awful as possible.

DILLY

Dilly walked meekly between her orcish guards, head down and hands clasped. To anyone who knew anything about Dilly, this was as good as a flashing neon Warning! sign. The orcs, however, did not know anything about Dilly, which is why they were surprised when she kicked one of them in the shins, punched the other in the nose, and took off running.

She pelted down a long black hallway, skidded around a corner, and dashed down yet another long black hallway. At the end, another hallway presented itself. It was long, and black.

The trend was broken by a staircase, leading down. Unfortunately it was not much of a trend breaker, also being long and black. But Dilly, pursued by shouting, furious orcs, was not in a mood to be picky. She plunged down the staircase, only to find herself facing a veritable maze of passageways. The author will not bother to describe them; an astute reader will have picked up the pattern by now. Dilly picked one at random and hurtled down it, hoping to lose her pursuers in the darkness.

No good. They'd grabbed a torch from one of the wall brackets, and were catching up to her fast. The dim torchlight from behind illuminated only a tiny bit of the corridor before her feet, but slowing down was definitely not an option. She put her head down and sprinted for all she was worth, sliding around corners and jinking around cell blocks until she was as lost as if she'd been dumped on the moon. And still the orcs followed.

Then, just ahead, she heard a clink and a muffled choking noise. A voice, hoarse and incredulous, called out, "Lothiriel?"

Dilly swung to a halt in front of a heavily barred cell. There was a hand gripping one bar; the face behind it was lost in the blackness.

"Lothiriel!"

"How do I get out of here?" Dilly demanded. "How do I get out?"

The man in the cell spoke so fast that the syllables blurred together: "Turn left at the end of the hall, third right after that, up the stairs and – look out!"

Dilly dodged a swipe from a bloody-nosed guard, whirled around to run, and crashed headlong into the second orc. He grabbed her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back. Behind her, there was a metallic clatter and several thumps; the cell door rattled on its hinges. The prisoner was shouting something – screaming, really – but Dilly was kicking and clawing at her captor, and couldn't hear a word. She did make out a few orcish curses, and then a "Jest shove 'er in this one an' 'ave done," whereupon she had her knees kicked out from under her and was flung headlong into a tiny stone cell. She cracked her head hard against the wall, staggered 

to her feet, and stumbled back again as a heavy oak door slammed shut a few inches from her nose.

Dilly lunged at the little barred window set in the door, but the bolt had already been shot home. She rattled the bars uselessly, and the orcs laughed, kicked the door, and set off back down the hallway. The light of the torch faded. Dilly was left in total blackness, bruised from head to foot, and positively smoking with fury.

She could hear the man in the cell across from hers panting raggedly. Only now that he'd stopped shouting did Dilly appreciate just how upset he had sounded: as though he were being tortured or something. She replayed the crash of the cell door and guessed he'd been trying to beat it down.

But now there was only silence, heavy and grim.

"Um. Hello?" said Dilly.

For a long moment, there was no answer. Then, at last, she heard a faint metallic chink, and a muffled groan."I'm sorry," said the man, his voice raw. "Oh, Valar… I'm so sorry."

EREDOLYN

Eredolyn stared admiringly, if a little nervously, around her new chambers. The first was a sitting room, small but luxurious: soft furs carpeted the floor and the walls were hung with intricately-worked tapestries in Rohirric gold and green. Eredolyn didn't recognize a single legend they depicted, however much she stared. Tolkien only brushed the surface, really, she thought. This is a whole world. It's huge, and complicated, and dange…

Oooh… Eredolyn let go of the tapestry she was fingering and took a few steps into the next room, lured by the enticing scent of lavender and roses.

This room was clearly the sleeping room: it was dominated by an enormous canopy bed, which was in its turn dominated – very nearly drowned – in overstuffed satin pillows. The floral scent came from the crisp, turned-down sheets, and wafted toward her along with the billowing gauzy canopy in the breeze from an open window.

Hah! thought Eredolyn, crossing to the casement and peering down. This is too easy. I'll just knot a few sheets together, tie them to the windowsill, and…

And… uh…

Eredolyn sank down on the bed – which in additional to being scented and gorgeous was also sinfully soft – wrestling with sudden vertigo. Orthanc was tall. Very, very, very tall. A small and extremely petrified little voice deep inside pointed out that actually scaling down Tolkien-knew-how-many stories on actual flimsy bedsheets might perhaps be easier said than done. Especially since her head had been throbbing so much on the trip up here that she couldn't walk a straight line.

"Dang it!" Eredolyn muttered. "If I'm in Middle-earth, why couldn't I have gotten the fearless attitude to go with it?"

Well, since she was stuck here, she might as well take a look around. There was certainly a lot to look at, starting with…

Eredolyn crossed the room and stared reverently up at the gorgeously detailed map of Rohan hanging on the wall. "Wow," she breathed. She was a sucker for maps – all maps. But this… it was just like the tapestries: familiar, beautiful, and slightly mysterious. There were places written in that she'd never heard of… hundreds of tiny villages…



Which Saruman is probably ordering burnt to the ground at this very moment, she reminded herself. Don't let all this stuff get to you, Ere. He's still evil.

Another whiff of lavender curled around her.

Okay, fine. Saruman was evil. But would it hurt to take advantage of his hospitality? She was battered and exhausted, and her head hurt abominably. It would be easier to deal with the wizard once she was clean and rested. She reflected that she hadn't done the most stellar job dealing with him just now… translating Rohirric ballads, indeed! Eredolyn crushed a longing sigh. Evil wizard, she reminded herself. She touched her head, and was surprised by a sudden sharp pain. Her hair was stiff and sticky.

Oh, thought Eredolyn, blinking vaguely. Those orcs must have his her even harder than she'd thought. Huh. She hadn't noticed, really: her thinking had been a little muzzy, but she'd attributed that to the shock of finding herself in an alternate reality.

All right, then; she'd clean herself up a bit, take a quick nap, and then get back to escaping. She was in a fanfic now, after all, and everyone knew those were chock-full of unrealistic but highly exciting escapades.

How hard could it be?

EICYS

Eicys ducked out of the mess hall with only a bruise or two from an orc who'd tried to kick her legs out from under her. She sagged with relief once she'd made it past: she had only been here a day, but already she had a sense of what happened to you in this place once you were down. It wasn't pretty.

The orc's mess hall, like most of Orthanc's outbuildings, was built underground. The smoky scarlet light in the cavern cast more shadows than it dispelled, and within about three minutes Eicys had managed to lose herself again. She edged down a side passage, skirted a huge, gaping pit – and pulled up short.

The uruk who'd helped her earlier was sitting on a boulder, hunched up and scowling at nothing. Torchlight rimmed him in blood and flame. One huge, armored fist was pressed against his forehead.

Eicys meant to creep past unnoticed, but something stopped her: he looked so tired. Against her better judgment – almost against her will – she stepped forward and said, quietly, "Hey."

He glanced up, startled. "Hey." He frowned. "What're y' doin' down here?"

Eicys raised her shoulders and let them drop. "Nothing," she said. "Are you all right?"

The uruk blinked. His hand moved slowly away from his face and he stared at her.

"…I'm fine," he said at last, astonished.

Eicys felt a little encouraged. "Do they always give you such a hard time?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Only when there's no one smaller t' pick on. Usually I jus' let 'em; they're too scared of me t' do any real damage."

"What about just now, then?" Eicys asked. She was surprised to find she actually cared. There had been something horrible about the uruk's friendly brown eyes going flat and vicious as he fought back.

He shrugged again. "Tha' was an ugly crowd. It would ha' gone t' blood if I hadn' grabbed tha' maggot an' cooled everyone off. An' then…" He trailed off and rubbed the hilt of his scimitar restlessly.



Eicys squinted at the expression on his face. "You don't like fighting," she realized aloud, baffled. He looked up fast, his face twisted in a snarl – and hesitated. Eicys stood very still as he gave her a searching, suspicious stare. Then he sat back and looked away again: answer enough.

"Can I ask why?" she ventured.

"No," he growled immediately. "Y' ask too many questions as 't is."

"Sorry," said Eicys, looking down at her bowl of glop from the mess hall. After a quick sniff, she decided to postpone the ordeal as long as possible. She set it down, glancing up at the huge uruk through her eyelashes as she did so. He was staring at her intently, but jerked his gaze away again the second she caught him. Eicys tipped her head to one side, curiously. "Are you sure you're all right?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, plainly baffled by her interest. Confusion gave way to cold suspicion, and Eicys marveled at how that brutish face showed every last emotion, clear as day. "Wha' d'you care?" the uruk snarled.

"I was just asking – "

"Yeah, y're big on questions, aren' you? Why don' y' leave me alone?"

"Oh," said Eicys. "Well, fine. Never mind, I don't care. Carry on with… whatever you were doing." She shoved her helmet further over her eyes and turned away, muttering, "jerk."

She'd only gone a few steps before she heard the grating voice call, "Y' forgot y'r… food."

It was a bad sign, thought Eicys, that even the orcs weren't sure what to call that glop. "You can have it," she said over her shoulder.

There was a pause. "Oh," said the uruk. "Er. Thank you." He screwed up his eyes immediately, as though he'd just said something incredibly stupid. "I mean, I… Ah, forget it. Thanks."

Eicys turned the rest of the way around. "You're welcome," she said. She frowned at him. "You know, you're not half as nasty as you keep trying to be."

"Great," muttered the uruk through a mouthful of food.

Eicys grinned to herself. Aloud, though, all she said was, "Hungry?" She'd never seen anyone eat so fast: three seconds in and there was barely a spoonful left.

The uruk paused. "Yeah," he said at last, staring at the bowl. "Y' sorta get used t' it." He gulped down the final bite and scraped out the last greasy dregs with a claw. "Yuck," he said, licking his fingers.

"You don't like it?" asked Eicys.

"'Course not. Would you?"

Eicys grimaced expressively, and one corner of the uruk's mouth kicked up in what might almost have been a smile: yellow fangs gleamed in the torchlight. Eicys winced. Still, progress was progress. If she wanted to survive in this place, she was going to need help, and this uruk seemed the only one likely to give it.

"Hey," she said, "I know you don't like questions, but I've got one more, and it's very important."

A pair of suspicious brown eyes scanned her face. "Well?" he asked sourly.

She gave him an impish smile. "What's your name?"

The uruk went stiff all over. For the briefest second Eicys saw incredulity and hurt flash across his face, and then his contradictory eyes blazed with fury. He lashed out with one gauntleted fist: a crushing backhanded blow. It caught her full in the ribs.



Eicys had a blurred impression of the landscape cartwheeling past, and then she slammed into the dirt once, twice, and a third time as she tumbled limply down a slope toward the yawning pit she'd skirted earlier.

A single thought, made ridiculous by pain and terror, seized her mind in an iron grip:

Oh dear. I'm going to die.