A/N:  As previously, there are lines in this chapter that are quotes from the chapter, "The Uruk-Hai" in "The Two Towers."  They are usually spoken by Orcs but occationally by Merry or Pippin.

It was quiet. Only faint light met Esmeralda’s eyes as she labored to open them. Next to her she could see Saradoc. Her vision was still amuck, he looked out of kilter and far away. He held her right hand to his lips with both of his hands, his head bowed over it. She wished she could speak to him as she had to Pippin. The sound of swishing leaves danced in her mind. "Speak to him." The whisper seemed to come from the leaves.

She sighed and Saradoc’s head immediately came up, his eyes fixed on hers. He shivered. The softness, the glow, the magic of Esme’s green Took eyes was not there. Her irises were pale grey. The pupils were large and dark; empty, as though no soul was there.

"I . . . love . . . you." She knew, this time he would hear her.

He barely heard her words. At least they were clearly spoken. He laid his head beside hers on the pillow as he laid his arm as lightly as he could across her upper chest, hugging her to himself. "I love you too, my beloved Took."

She smiled, chuckling very softly in the back of her throat at him using his favorite term of endearment. It touched her heart. "Not . . . a . . . mad . . . Took," she breathed. "Not . . . mad."

"Then what? What is wrong, Esme." His voice trembled as tears filled his eyes. "Merimas said he has never seen the like of this before." He raised his head to look again into her empty eyes. "Where are you?"

"Not . . . mad. Blessed. Blessed . . . Took." Her eyes closed and he wept onto her shoulder.

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Pippin hit the ground hard, a grunt of air escaping his lungs. He opened his eyes to see the weak crescent moon well on its way to setting in the west. His dry tongue tried to lick his drier lips as the tantalizing sound of falling water played at the edge of his hearing. He ached all over.

Once again, he listened to the angry grumbling of his captors. They had been seen, apparently, by a horseman who was allowed to ride away. The leaders were not happy. "Now we’ll have to leg it double quick," Ugluk growled.

Just as Pippin was wondering what that meant for him and Merry, Ugluk loomed over him. "My lads are tired of lugging you about. We have to climb down now and you must use your legs." As he warned Pippin against trying to get free, or even hollering for help, he cut the cords that bound Pippin’s legs and ankles. Ugluk grabbed a handful of Pippin’s hair to yank him off the ground. When he thought the hobbit had his feet under himself, he let go. Pippin did not come close to standing, instantly falling to the ground like a boned fish. While the orcs standing about laughed, Ugluk again held Pippin up by his hair. Ugluk had no time for playing. He had to try to keep this mixed troop of Orcs under some sort of control while moving the prisoners. If the troops were going to whine about carrying the prisoners then the prisoners would just have to run. Pippin’s feet were barely touching the ground as his head was bent back and a foul tasting liquid was poured into him. It burned his mouth. It burned his cheeks and chin where it ran out of his mouth. But when the huge Orc let go of him, Pippin could stand.

Ugluk went to Merry, giving him a hard kick in the side. Merry groaned but did not waken. Ugluk sat Merry up, holding him as he had Pippin by the hair. He yanked the bandage off Merry’s head then rubbed the wound with a black salve from a small box. Merry screamed, writhing in pain. The other Orcs were having a grand time. The strange little creatures they had been ordered to carry were finally providing some entertainment. Ugluk ignored them. He poured the same burning liquid down Merry’s throat causing him to cough and splutter. He cut Merry’s bonds, pulled him to his feet by his hair and Merry stood, glaring at his captors.

"Hullo, Pippin!" he said when he noticed his younger cousin standing nearby. "So you’ve come on this little expedition too? Where do we get bed and breakfast?" He winked at Pippin. With a fierce order to the hobbits to hold their tongues, the Orcs took off at as fast a jog as the steep terrain allowed.

Esme had stayed quiet in her small corner of her nephew’s mind. Thus far, this time of being awake, he had held his own and had not needed her comfort. The orcs had been moving too fast for the hobbits as it was but when they reached the bottom of the ravine where cool green grass stretched out increasingly level before them, Pippin found out what "leg it double quick" meant. They ran. The Orcs jogging had been hard enough on the hobbits, this was a torture the Orcs weren’t even bothering to enjoy. They kept Merry and Pippin apart, but Pippin caught occasional glimpses of his cousin when Merry’s weariness caused him to stumble out of the beastly line. Esme’s surge of anger and pain on her son’s behalf nearly exposed her presence to Pippin. As much as she tried to pull her feelings into herself, it still added to his own pain and despair.

The stars danced brighter than before. A wild hope nudged at Pippin’s mind. Esme saw a Man, one who had been there at the battle with the troll. Pippin saw Strider looking across rolling hills.

They ran. The moon set, still they ran. It was darkest night and they ran. Orcs bumped him from both sides. One of their guards’ longer strides tripped them from behind, but another guard caught Esme by Pippin’s hair. The hobbit was shoved back onto his feet and he ran.

The stench of sweating Orcs faded in a cool breeze carrying the scent of leaves. Esme was caught up in the dance of the leaves. Pippin saw Strider running.

They ran. The Orc liquor kept the hobbits from collapsing. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, not like the Cordial of Imladris that Gandalf had given them. Pain shot through Pippin’s heart. Best not to think of Gandalf right now. They ran.

The breeze touched his face. Well, it seemed to do so in her mind. Fresh, clean, crisp. Strider was running then stooping close to the ground. Straightening up. Running harder.

They came to where the ground was softer. Esme sighed at the feel of softer ground on Pippin’s feet. Pippin frowned. If the visions were real, what tracks of hobbit feet could even a Ranger find? No. Strider and the others, if they yet lived, would follow Frodo. There was no one looking for the prints from two sets of small, bare feet.

"Yet, perhaps . . . if he is . . ." A soft whisper, light and melodic like the sound of bells heard from a distance, spoke to his heart.

With the smallest of nods of his head, Pippin made a decision. He shifted his weight to the right and lunged past the grasping claws of his guard. He was spotted. But in the time it took for the line to truly halt, Pippin jumped to his feet and ran. He struggled with the clasp on his Elven brooch, pulling it free, letting it drop just as his shoulders and hair were taken hold of by the Orcs. He felt the cut of a whip on his legs but didn’t give the satisfaction of crying out.

"Enough! Make ‘em both run!" He heard Ugluk shouting commands. But before the orders were carried out Ugluk thrust his face close to Pippin’s. "But that’s not all," he snarled, "I shan’t forget. Payment is only put off. Leg it!"

They ran. Pippin shut his mind down as well as he could. There was nothing but pain and running. Esme felt him drifting into his pain as hope lagged behind them, growing ever weaker. He bumped into an Orc, his legs were whipped. Esme ran too slowly, their legs were whipped. The wind was knocked out of Pippin as they pitched forward in exhaustion. They were held by the ropes that bound his wrists then dragged through sharp edged grass, mud and stones. All the strength from the Orc liquor was long ago used up. Set upon his feet again Esme ran until they landed face first in the sod again. Finally, with a snarl of complaint, an Orc grabbed Pippin’s wrists, put his head between Pippin’s battered arms, pulled until the small hobbit’s face was crushed into his neck and ran. Esme welcomed the darkness that came.

They were tossed to the ground. Esme could not lend much comfort to Pippin. Their pain was too strong. Her heart broke for her dearest son whom she could not reach to comfort. Her heart cried for her dearest nephew whom she could not comfort enough. Pippin lay totally motionless. No thoughts reached him except feelings of being twisted and torn asunder. Hands tore at him in his dreams. Hands tore at them as they were once again picked up. Time passed by them until they were pitched from one carrier to another, bringing them just to awareness each time before they slipped away into the blackness again.