I'm really sorry about not updating in a month. But seriously, I've had so much to do, I've been exhausted. Projects, essays, tests, homework, theater practice, and let's not even MENTION finals…

But I'm back, and soon it's going to be my first anniversary of joining the site! YAY! Also, it's going to be the first anniversary of my very first fanfiction, Dig Down Deeper. I seriously can't believe it's been that long.

Well, here we start The Two Towers. The Two Towers is my favorite movie but my least favorite book, so from here on out, I'll probably be leaning more towards movie-verse, though there definitely will be some book-elements weaved in there.

ANYWAYS, hope you enjoy! This chapter isn't all that long, and it's mainly filler. Since I now have three different storylines, I'm going to try and have a bit from each character in each chapter. This means that the pacing of some parts may be slightly awkward, as I'm also trying to upload the sections together according to the timeline.

Disclaimer: I only own Hope, Philip, Fern, and Hunter. I also own Chase, but he's…well, you know…

Chapter 27: Endless

"Rock, rock, and more rock!" Philip moaned. "That's all we have seen for the past two days!"

"I reckon that's all we're going to see for these next few days, Mr. Philip," Sam replied as they crested yet another hill. A thick mist hung upon the gray, stony expanse before them, and the very air around them smelled foul. Far in the distance, an orange light blazed, surrounded by malevolent black clouds.

"Mordor," said Fern, gazing resignedly at the light. "Our destination."

"Figures," muttered Philip. "The one place in Middle-Earth we don't want to be is the one place we're trying to get to."

Frodo smiled faintly at Philip's statement. "Come on, you three," he said, motioning down the hill. "We'd best try and find a new path."

The foursome scrambled down the rocky slope, beginning to look for a trail through the treacherous hills. Philip had to admit that Gimli was right; Emyn Muil was an impassible labyrinth. Every boulder looked exactly the same as the last, and oftentimes steep cliffs would bar their way.

They soon found themselves standing on the edge of deep ravine, peering down into the darkness below. No one could see the bottom of the sheer drop through the heavy fog, but there was no way around. The four were forced to clamber down, scrabbling for footholds on the cliff face and clinging tightly to the silvery Elven rope.

"Can you see the bottom yet, Fern?" Philip called down, gripping tightly onto a small outcropping.

"No," came the reply. "The fog is still too thick, and the darkness is not helping."

"Don't look down!" yelled Frodo's voice. "Just keep climbing!"

Philip glanced at Sam, who was right above him, before cautiously continuing his descent. Suddenly, Sam slipped, and a small wooden box fell from his pack. Yelping, Sam reached for it, as did Philip, but both missed. The box plunged into the fog, and Frodo and Fern's cries could be heard as they both grabbed for it. A triumphant shout rang out, but then the rope shook violently. Two muffled thumps could be heard.

"Frodo!" Sam and Philip cried. "Fern!"

A moment later, Frodo's voice came up out of the fog. "I think we've found the bottom."

Carefully, Philip and Sam clambered down the rock face, sighing in relief as their feet hit solid ground. Fern gently pressed the small box into Sam's palm. "What is it, Sam?" she asked.

Sam gazed down at the box. It was very plain and simple, carved out of dark brown wood. Upon the lid was engraved a faint leaf-like symbol. "It's just a bit of seasoning," he explained. "Thought it might be useful if we have roast chicken or something one night."

Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Roast chicken?"

"Where would we find a chicken out here?" Philip laughed, smiling as Sam blushed.

"You never know, Philip," he replied. "Besides, it really is special – the best salt in all of the Shire. It's a little reminder of home."

Frodo smiled faintly. "Oh, my dear Sam." He then walked to the silvery rope still dangling from the cliff. "We can't leave this here. Someone may follow us."

"They'd have to find this ridge first," Philip muttered, "and that's impossible in this awful maze."

"You never know," said Fern, gazing up the rock face.

"Mr. Frodo, that's one of my knots," said Sam. "It isn't going to come free too easily. It's a shame, really – Lady Galadriel gave me that rope in Lothlórien. Real Elvish rope." Sam gave the rope a wistful tug, and without warning, the rope tumbled down, landing in a very surprised hand.

Philip glanced at the rope now coiled in Sam's hand. "What can I say?" He shrugged. "Real Elvish rope."

The four continued their journey, hiking over the jagged black rocks of Emyn Muil. The fog soon began to lighten, until it was no more than a fine mist. The sun blearily shone down upon them. As they walked, Frodo's breath seemed to grow shallower, until finally he had to stop, sinking down onto a rock.

"Frodo?" Fern asked, sitting beside him. "Is there something wrong?"

"It's the Ring," he murmured, gazing at the ground. "It feels as if it's growing heavier." The hobbit shook his head and turned to Sam. "What food have we got left?"

Sam began to rifle through his pack. "Let me see…Oh yes, lembas bread." He held up a small, leaf-wrapped package. "And look – more lembas bread!"

Carefully, Sam broke a loaf of lembas into fourths and tossed a piece to each of his companions. Philip gazed at the waybread. "Why do I have the feeling that I will hate this soon?" he wondered aloud.

"It's not all that bad, Philip," said Sam. "I don't usually hold with foreign food, but this Elvish stuff is actually quite good."

Fern lightly shoved Philip. "Oh, just eat it."

Their rest did not last long, and soon, they were back on their feet. Sam glanced at a particular outcropping of rock. "That looks strangely familiar," he noted.

Philip rolled his eyes. "It looks just like every other boulder we've passed, Sam."

Fern shook her head. "No, Sam's right," she said. "That does look familiar."

Frodo groaned. "It's because we've been here before. We're going in circles!"

"Oh, that's wonderful," Philip muttered. "Just peachy."

~o*o*o*o~

Hunter woke with a start. A foul stench filled her nose, and her head was throbbing painfully. Something sticky clung to her hair and the side of her face. Her hands were tied securely around the neck of an Uruk, and every few seconds, her body was roughly jostled as the Uruk-Hai ran. Slowly, she began to remember what had happened.

I really hate Uruk-Hai, she thought, struggling weakly against her bonds.

"Hunter!" a voice whispered from her right.

Hunter whipped her head around, only to regret as pain tore through her head. "Are you alright?" the voice spoke again, and this time, Hunter recognized the familiar, comforting accent.

"Pippin?" she called, smiling faintly. The concerned eyes of a red-haired hobbit met her gaze. He too was tied onto the back of an Uruk, but unlike her, he did not seem injured. "Pippin, you're alright!" Hunter sighed in relief. She glanced around at the other Uruk-Hai surrounding them. "Where's Merry?"

"He's beside me," Pippin replied.

"How is he?"
Pippin glanced worriedly to his right. "He was hit on the head like you, I think," he said. "He was awake just a few minutes ago. The orcs tried to give him 'medicine'."

Hunter winced, but she did not reply. Wearily, she leaned her head against the Uruk's helmet and closed her eyes. A faint vision came in her mind – an image of Aragorn bending over a trail in the grass, with Legolas, Hope, Gimli, and Boromir not far behind; the five of them were running, chasing the Uruk-Hai. Desperately, she tried to recall if Merry and Pippin were rescued in the books, but she couldn't remember.

Suddenly, the horde of Uruk-Hai stopped, glancing warily about the ravine they were in. "What is it?" one asked their leader.

The leader sniffed the air, and then snarled. "Man-flesh," he hissed. "They've picked up our trail! Move, maggots! Run!"

As the Uruk-Hai began to race through the ravine once more, Hunter couldn't help but feel a spark of hope flare in her chest. Help was on its way.

~o*o*o*o~

The noon sun beat down upon the Five Hunters as they ran. Aragorn and Legolas were in the lead, scouting the rolling hills that stretched before them. Not too far behind them were Boromir and Hope, and Gimli, sprinting along on his stout Dwarven legs, was the furthest back. For two days, they had raced across the plains, hardly noticing rocks or thorns in their path. Sometimes it seemed that they were so near to catching the Uruks, but at other times, rescuing Merry, Pippin, and Hunter seemed impossible. Yet they pushed on, stopping only when the moon set and they could not run in the dark.

Aragorn suddenly halted, standing atop a ridge. Swiftly, he dropped to the ground, pressing an ear against a rock. "What is he doing?" asked Boromir, gazing curiously at the Ranger.

"He is listening, I think," Hope replied, panting slightly. "The ground groans beneath the hated feet of orcs, and no doubt, Uruk-Hai. It may be able to tell us where they have traveled."

Boromir nodded before turning his gaze to Hope. "And how do you fare, Hope?" he asked.

Hope raised an eyebrow. "I am fine," she answered. "Why do you ask?"

Boromir muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Hope did not bother to ask about it. Truth was, she wasn't entirely "fine". Her sleep was plagued with nightmares – visions of Chase lying dead in Parth Galen, Chase being struck down by arrows. They had been the best of friends, but Hope didn't realize exactly how close they were until he was gone. But she refused to tell the other members of the company; they already had enough to worry about. And so she crushed her grief deep down inside of her, willing herself to forget.

Aragorn turned to face them. "Their pace has quickened!" he cried. "We must hurry!" And with that, he charged down the slope and out of sight.

"Come Boromir, Gimli, Hope!" Legolas called as he raced ahead. Without a word, Hope followed, with Boromir right behind her. Both could hear Gimli's panting as he struggled up the ridge.

"Dwarves are natural sprinters," he puffed. "We're wasted on cross-country!" Gimli then noticed Boromir and Hope watching him from the top of the ridge. "Well, don't wait for me!"

Hope shook her head and began, once more, to run. Soon, she had caught up with Aragorn and Legolas. Both were standing in a rocky ravine; Aragorn was crouched low on the ground with Legolas staring over his shoulder. Curious, Hope leaned over to see what they were looking at, and what she saw caused her face to brighten for a moment.

"A leaf brooch," she whispered, gazing down at the emerald clasp.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," said Aragorn, nodding.

Boromir caught up with them just then, and when he saw the brooch a smile spread across his face. "They may yet be alive," he said, a hopeful light in his eyes.

The company raced out of the ravine, emerging out into a wide plain. Golden grass waved in the wind, surrounding the gray boulders scattered across the fields. In the distance, mountains rose high above the hills. "Rohan," said Aragorn. "Home of the Horse-lords."

His gaze drifted to far across the plains, where a black blotch could be seen staining the land. "Something gives speed to these foul creatures, sets their wills against us."

Legolas raced ahead, cresting the hill before them. "The Uruks have turned westward!" he cried. "They are taking them to Isengard!"

Boromir paled. "To Saruman?" he asked.

Aragorn nodded. "But we will not let them reach the White Wizard." His voice held a promise, and for a moment, he seemed like a king, determinedly leading his comrades on. But soon, the image faded, and he was no more than a Ranger.

~o*o*o*o~

Hunter did not know how many days had passed. One moment she would be lying on the ground, the next she would be back on an Uruk. Occasionally, she would have whispered conversations with Merry and Pippin, but most were quick, ending with either her or Merry falling back into unconsciousness.

Night had fallen on what Hunter believed was their third day captive. The pale moon shone above them as the Uruk-Hai charged on, but Hunter could feel their pace slowing. Suddenly, she was unceremoniously flung onto the ground, Merry and Pippin shoved down beside her.

"Get a fire going!" one of the orcs screeched. "We're not going anywhere until we've had a rest!"

Hunter glanced around as the orcs began to make camp. They had decided to stop right on the edge of a dark, dense forest. In the fading moonlight, Hunter could see drooping leaves and branches hanging low to the ground. Within moments, the orcs had begun hacking at many of these branches, tossing them into the small fire one of them had started.

Suddenly, a loud groaning echoed from somewhere, and some of the forest began to sway, though there was no wind. "What is it?" Pippin asked, his eyes darting frantically around the camp. "What's making that noise?"

Merry lifted his head up from the ground, gazing curiously at the forest. "It's the trees."

"The trees?" Hunter's brow furrowed in thought. "Oh, yes, I think I remember now…"

Pippin stared at his cousin in disbelief. "You mean…like in the Old Forest?"

Merry nodded, leaning back. "I think we made a mistake in leaving the Shire, Pip," he murmured.

"I wish I never had to leave Rohan," Hunter grumbled, shaking her head. She wondered how Éomer, Éowyn, and Théodred were, if Wormtongue had been banished from Edoras yet. Oh, how she longed to see Meduseld again!

An Uruk's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I'm starving," he growled. "We ain't had nothing but maggoty bread for three stinking days!" With a snarl, he threw down the dark, moldy loaf he had been given. "Why can't we have some meat?"

"Yeah!" one of the orcs cried. His dark beady eyes landed on Hunter, Merry, and Pippin. "What about them? They're nice and fresh!"

"And they are NOT for eating," the Uruk captain snarled. "They are prisoners, not food!"

The orc frowned, but not for long. "What about their legs?" he asked, a manic glint in his eyes. "They don't need those!" Hunter quickly tucked her legs in as close to her body as possible. The orc lunged forward, but he was stopped by the Uruk.

"Get back, scum!" the Uruk roared, shoving the orc. "They are to be delivered to Saruman alive and unspoiled!"

"Alive?" the orc sneered. "Why alive? Does Saruman want them for sport?"

"They have something the master wants," the Uruk replied. "So stay BACK!"

The orc growled, suddenly leaping forward. "Just a mouthful! Just a piece of-" His sentence was cut off as the Uruk's sword pierced through the orc's body, spattering dark blood on the grass. The orc fell dead onto the ground.

Cheers rang out from the Uruk-Hai. "Meat's back on the menu, boys!" one cried. The horde charged at the body, grinning hungrily. Their frenzy was interrupted, however, by the thunder of hooves echoing across the plains.

"Riders!" Hunter whispered, smiling hopefully. "Riders of Rohan!"

Well, hope you liked it.

Please review!