Disclaimer- Sadly for me and for you, I don't own LotR! So I'll have to just keep dreaming. Don't sue me for my words - it is not a crime to expand the horizons of a world. Parts of the dialogue in this chapter are taken directly from The Return of the King, by JRR Tolkien, and parts of this piece are entirely AU to the original text.

A/N - This chapter is dedicated to Sakura123 and Xena for their interest in the troll, and to Ailsa Joy because it's full of blood and hobbit torture! Note: if you read this and you are not Ailsa Joy then I assure you it's not as horrible as it sounds!

Chapter 7 - Darkness Embodied

Pippin cried out audibly from his position amongst the soldiers as the Mouth of Sauron produced the possessions that were only too familiar for him. The mithril coat that had saved Frodo's life in Moria; the sword that Tom Bombadil had presented Sam with all those months ago in the Barrow Downs; the elvish cloaks given to them by the fair Lady Galadriel. So much had changed since then... They had seen so much. And lost so much. As the coat glinted coldly in the grey light Pippin realised that nothing would ever be the same again: he was separated from Merry and would most likely die that very day; Frodo and Sam were captured and probably nearing death themselves; he would never see the sun again, or feel the soft grass of the Shire between his toes as he walked about the woods. This was it: the end.

What the messenger demanded for the return of the precious objects, Pippin never did find out. Hatred was building up inside him; igniting like a pile of dry leaves and a falling spark, and then bubbling up like a kettle left to boil for too long.

With a sudden malfeasance for a guard of Minas Tirith, Pippin lunged forward at the messenger, his angry form seeming to take on a strange luminescence in the stifling air. Whether Pippin intended to harm the malevolent being or simply to take back the possessions of his friends, none of the soldiers discovered, for the Mouth of Sauron swept Pippin back with one hand before he got near enough to reveal his purpose. It was as if it was swatting a fly that had been causing it great annoyance, and many of the soldiers stood silently frozen, entranced by the messenger's brutal strength.

Neither Gandalf, nor his close companions were fooled. As Pippin lay limp on the stony ground, dazed by the blow he had been dealt, but unhurt, Gandalf raised his staff and stepped slowly towards the mounted figure.

"These we will take!" he said, with such an authority in his voice that it seemed to those around that the messenger actually quailed, "These we will take in memory of our friend. But as for your terms, we reject them utterly."

At this point, it seemed to Pippin that nothing Gandalf did could surprise him any more. Yet as he lay unobtrusively by the foul messenger, he was amazed by the power that the wizard held over it, using only his voice and that ancient brand of magic he contained. It was as if Gandalf had a light shining from within him, and it was a sight that the young hobbit would never forget.

The messenger shrank back from the light, and Gandalf was able to reach forward and reclaim the objects. It was almost as if it was afraid, but surely, thought Pippin, being afraid would require a conscience... and a soul.

Gandalf retreated, and the Mouth of Sauron turned on its horse, hissing at the crowd of soldiers. No other sound could be heard, save for the nocking of arrows as the messenger became aware of its imminent fate.

Determined to prolong its own life, the horseman snatched up the nearest thing of value: the semi conscious halfling on the floor. Pippin struggled desperately, but his strength proved meagre against the trained warrior, and he was soon restrained by the chilled, bony fingers. The messenger held Pippin in front of itself, and Pippin could almost feel the evil radiating from the skeletal form under the black shroud as it smiled at the waiting warriors. They understood the message instantly: if they killed it, they killed Pippin.

The arrows fell with a clatter on to the rock.

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Pippin bounced uncomfortably on the messenger's horse as the Black Gates rolled shut behind him. He could not remember ever being in greater peril, and now understood why Merry had wanted him to remain behind. Oh, how he longed to see Merry again; for his cousin to soothe him and bathe the many wounds he had accumulated. For Merry to spin him a tale, or to run off into some sort of mischief with him. That would be wonderful, yet even as he had wondered at his fate when the horseman appeared, he had never lost faith. The faith leaked out of him now with the last hope for his future. He had no future beyond this day... beyond this ride.

A chill crept through Pippin and he began to tremble: both with fear and with the cold of the messenger who now held him in front of itself protectively. The shudder increased as the messenger started to speak:

"A pretty prize we have here. We shall take you to your friend-"

"Frodo..." breathed Pippin.

"You shall deliver a message... telling him of the tragic fate of your friends - how you murdered them by revealing them to the enemy..."

Pippin cried out once again in anguish, and bit hard into the messenger's not-flesh. He could not do that to Frodo - not ever.

The messenger was distracted. It shook the helpless hobbit hard, holding him up so that he drew level with its face. Behind the Mouth of Sauron, Pippin was able to see the forms of Beregond, Legolas and Aragorn, their swords and knives drawn, afraid to shoot. Flailing wildly, Pippin kicked hard, making contact with the chest of the messenger. The cry of pain was enough for the rescuers to strike.

Beregond made the first blow, stabbing the messenger in the back, aiming to wound but not to kill. Black blood hissed and dripped from his sword as he withdrew it to harm again. In its pain, the messenger let go of is prize, and Legolas was able to catch Pippin as he fell, running hard with him towards the Gates. They had to get out before the main onslaught began.

"Are you hurt, mellon nin?"

Pippin was still trembling hard, but he managed to answer: "No, Legolas. I'll be all right this time."

The mouth of Sauron disposed of, although still alive, Aragorn caught up with the pair, with Beregond limping after him. The soldier was wounded, but Pippin did not think it looked deadly.

"We have to leave."

~~::~~

Even as the four exited the realm of Mordor, the signal sounded. A single note, blown on an ancient horn; a horn reserved for purposes such as this. The soldiers assembled hastily into long arranged formations and waited for the onslaught. Pippin and Beregond rejoined the guards of Minas Tirith, and Pippin was able to thank Beregond for his actions when he was in the hands of the messenger. They were even now.

The enemy came as an avalanche, rolling in from all sides, smothering the soldiers until they surrounded them completely. A thousand arrows were fired at them, yet still the enemy kept on coming, simply trampling over those in their ranks who had fallen. They showed no mercy.

Pippin stood calmly in the throng of the soldiers of Minas Tirith. He was not afraid anymore: this was his moment to fight, his moment to try and save Middle-earth. If he was going to die, he would go down fighting. He thought of Miran's words, and looked to see the small soldier a few places away.

The sky darkened as the Nazgûl circled overhead, casting their shadows on the heads of those fighting. A single shaft of sunlight broke through the shadow that replaced the sky.

"Pippin!" cried out a hoarse voice. It was Beregond, trying to warn him of something. He looked up to see a towering being, at least three times his height, with its foot raised to pulverise him into the soil. Pippin slipped out of the way and looked desperately back to Beregond, who was in combat with a great orc. What could he do? He was no match for a troll. The troll raised its foot again, and stamped down just as Pippin ran a few paces to the left, crushing the unfortunate orc who Beregond had been fighting only moments ago. Angered, the troll went for a third attempt, this time with its great smashing fists. Pippin unsheathed his sword, the sword containing some of the ancient power of the Westernesse, and stabbed as hard as he could into the troll's iron hand. The troll writhed in agony at the cut inflicted on it, and threw its fists back, arching its head back to the sky, before toppling over as an arrow hit its mark of the being's heart.

Pippin saw the troll falling towards him, but found himself rooted to the ground. His peril had reached him at last, and it seemed that he had no choice but to meet it. As the troll hit the ground, Pippin fell under it.

"Goodbye." he said simply, before falling into an oblivion of dreams and wondering. The last conscious thought he had was that he would never see Merry again.

Around him, the battle raged freely; men and orcs alike falling constantly. At the head of the battle, a faint voice cried out.

"The eagles are coming."

TBC

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A/N - As you may have guessed, we are approaching the latter stages of this tale. However, I still have at least one chapter's worth that demands to be told, so you won't be getting rid of me too quickly!

Thank you to everybody who reviewed - you sure know how to put a smile on my face!

If anybody is interested in reading Merry's side of this story, then feel free to check out 'Everything Goes, Everything Stays' as they run parallel with one another!

Updates coming as soon as I write them!

Please review me!

Rachel x