A/N: Once again, this chapter has lines in it that are quotes from the chapter "The Uruk-Hai" from the book "The Two Towers."

The night tracked slowly on. Saradoc reflected on how strange it was to feel so exhausted yet be unable to sleep. He had felt this way before, other times when he had kept vigil at the bedside of an ill or dying loved one. He shivered and a chill ran down his back. Dying. Dying. Dying.

"No. I will not let my thoughts take me there!" he said sternly to himself.

Esme had at first stirred often, muttering in this deep sleep in which she was wandering. Then for a while her only movement was her breathing. Now, in the dim light from the fire in the fireplace, he saw her eyes slowly open. Saradoc leaned forward in hope. His shoulders then slumped again in despair. Her eyes were as before.

Esme was barely in their chambers at The Hall. Leaves of autumn swirled around her. Orc faces appeared, leered, disappeared. The sun gleamed through the leaves. She and Pippin were battered and bruised, tossed about like sacks of grist at the mill. The shadows crept across the light, across her heart, across her spirit. There was her dear Saradoc, looking so frightened. There was their comforting room at Brandy Hall. All seen through the fish bowl. Seen through a window dim and cracked with age.

"Alive."

He had almost missed it, a mere breath with a word within it.

"Blessed."

"I love you, Esme. Don’t leave me."

"Loved."

"Yes, I love you. You are loved."

Her brows drew together the slightest bit. He was not understanding. Their Merry. Dear Pippin. She herself.

"Cared for."

He started to answer . . . her eye lids slowly closed over her soulless, staring eyes. Her gentle breathing continued on.

***************

"Morning." Pippin barely had opened his eyes, barely had the thought in his mind when he was tossed upon the grassy turf. The constant pain he was in exploded to a new level within him, taking his breath away.

"I’m dead," his thoughts whispered as his eyes closed. "As good as, at any rate." He weakly opened his eyes again, tried to look around but everything wavered, making him feel sicker. He gaged and a foul taste filled his mouth while burning his throat. He swallowed it all back down. "Orc draught," he thought, "and I don’t even remember them pouring it into me. Not much left of you, lad, if you don’t even remember that." He felt ready to give up the struggle against the pain that was killing his spirit, destroying his hope. But the foul tasting brew was doing its job. When an Orc stomped up to him to throw a hunk of grey bread and a slice of raw dried meat at him, Pippin was able to wiggle over to where it fell. A nearby Orc laughed, jeering at the half-starved hobbit as Pippin nearly choked on the mouthfuls of bread he bit off and tried to chew. Pippin eyed the meat but knew he couldn’t touch it, much less eat it. He didn’t even want to think about what sort of meat it might be. Between the Orc liquor and the stale, dry bread, Pippin now had the strength to sit up.

Pippin’s stomach knotted up inside him and he almost lost the bread he had just eaten. Merry sat a short distance away looking pale, in pain, weak and fragile. His dear Merry. His stomach tightened again. Esme wept. Pippin had not wanted her to stay, now she wondered for a moment if he may not have been right. She could see her dear son suffering. She wished Pippin and Merry were closer to one another so she could touch Merry. Pippin leaned toward his cousin. Esmeralda reached for her son. Their arms raised an inch. Their bound hands raised an inch then stopped. Pippin looked at the ropes he had loosely looped around his wrists. They had been pulled tight against his skin when he was carried like a sack with his arms around the Orc's necks. They had been used as a handle by which to drag him. His aunt saw the blood on the cords, felt the pain of the raw wounds beneath. She felt the tween’s stomach, still too empty, trying to get what little it could from the poor excuse for bread it had received. They looked at Merry each knowing his hurts were the same. Esme pulled herself further away from Pippin’s awareness. He trembled. He looked at Merry and suddenly felt horribly alone.

Arguing. Did Orcs ever quit arguing, Pippin wondered? He was distracted from himself and his cousin by yet another burst of yelling by their captors. Some of the Moria Orcs left, scuttling off like a herd of beetles. No sooner had they left than a group of Orcs came running up along the scar left in the field where the troop had been running a short while ago. Pippin recognized Grishnakh and the Orcs of the Red Eye. He paid closer attention when Ugluk mentioned the Nazgul. Grishnakh cringed.

"Nazgul, Nazgul," repeated Grishnakh, looking shiftily about as though he felt he was being watched. He slavered, stumbling over his words gripped by a fear he seemed to loath and love at the same time. "You speak of what is deep beyond the reach of your muddy dreams, Ugluk," Grishnakh growled, then bragged about the Nazgul, showing off that he was, at least in his own eyes, more knowledgeable than Ugluk.

"You seem to know a lot. More than is good for you, I guess," Ugluk scoffed as he looked Grishnakh up and down. Then, with a few sharp orders, Ugluk had what remained of the band of Orcs moving.

The hobbits were again seized and carried like sacks. All through the morning and into the afternoon Merry and Pippin bounced in time with the seemingly endless strides of the Orcs. They bounced against their rock-hard backs, against their armor until they were bruised on top of bruises. The cords on their wrists scraped deeper into skin already rubbed raw. The Orc draught kept Pippin awake; he wished it wouldn’t. They had caught up to the Northerners passing through their flagging troop. In the distance riders had appeared and if the Orcs had gone double quick before, it was treble or quadruple now. "They will make it yet. They will escape. The riders won’t know we aren’t Orcs. They will kill us with them only to perhaps learn their mistake later." The thoughts chilled Pippin’s heart. Until now, there had been something, something he could put no name or description to, that had kept a spark of hope in his heart. A feel of the Shire, of home. It had left him.

Esmeralda hid. She could hear Pippin’s long ago plea for her to go repeating in her mind. But now she could not leave, her choice had been made. She trembled, swallowed up by the hopeless dark in Pippin’s and her mind.

"Child of my child."

Esme tried to not listen.

"He needs you."

"It hurts."

"Yes, it does."

"It is too much." A shroud of coldness wrapped itself around Esme. "He will die. I cannot save him." She could no longer feel Pippin. She could no longer feel herself.

"You speak of what neither of us knows. But if he should . . ." the gentle voice paused. A heartbeat went by. Forever went by. Esme was suddenly flooded with Pippin. Every memory her heart held of him filled her: then stopped. "Must he die alone?"

Esmeralda was filled with a sorrow that went beyond despair. Alone. Then Merry was in her heart, filling her with his presence. Infant in her arms, faunt toddling at her side holding her hand, youth filled with happy energy, a hobbit full grown feeling the weight of his responsibilities. Now a hobbit bruised and battered, bereft of hope. Alone.

Sad was the voice that spoke to her heart, the melody gone from its tones. "I cannot help him feel your presence as my Tookling does, he is not one of mine. I know you would not abandon the child of your womb. Will you abandon his claimed brother?"

The sound of wind chasing the leaves along a path through the woods rose in Esmerald’s ears. Warmth came with the light through the forest canopy.

"The mind would say to leave, child of my child, but we know the heart is stronger. Stronger than the cruel cords that bind the ones we hold dear. Let your heart cry, it will only bring healing."

Esme wept again for her sons. She loved them both dearly. She could no more desert the one than the other. Her love filled her, warmed her, then flowed out of her. In Pippin’s heart, the spark of hope glowed again.

The Orcs stopped. Night had come and normally they would have run all then quicker, but the horsemen had surrounded them. They could go no further without a fight.

"Put those Halflings down! Stand guard over them," Ugluk shouted out his orders. "They’re not to be killed. Understand? They’re not to cry out, they’re not to be rescued. Bind their legs!"

Pippin was thrown to the ground. At first he nearly swooned from the pain, so tightly were the new bindings wrapped about his legs. But soon his legs went numb. Pippin didn’t care. He was close to Merry.

The Orcs were making a show of strength, or so they thought, screaming and clanging their swords at the riders who could be seen dimly in the dark. Pippin rolled onto his side and looked into Merry’s pain filled eyes. Esme reached for her son. Bound hands clumsily bumped against bound hands. For a moment, his mother’s face came to Merry’s mind and he smiled.

"I don’t think much of this," Merry whispered as the image faded in his mind, his pain returning to take its place. "I feel nearly done in. Don’t think I could crawl away far, even if I was free."

Pippin smiled at his cousin. Esme smiled at her son. "I would free you, if I could, Merry." Pippin whispered. He tried to put the spark of hope he had in his heart into his voice. "You wouldn’t be hurt, Merry. I’d feed you . . ." Pippin’s thoughts stopped. His smile broadened. "Lembas!" he whispered sharply. "Lembas: I’ve got some."

"I had a packet in my pocket, but I can’t put my mouth in my pocket!" Merry’s face had his "Why are you being so daft, Pippin?" look. Pippin had never been so glad to see it.

"You won’t have to. I’ve . . ." A thudding kick to Pippin’s back stopped him. A blessing in a harsh disguise, for his guard would surely have heard Pippin saying that his hands were free. His bonds would have been checked then retied cruelly tight. The kick shoved Pippin hard against Merry’s left side. He lay there stunned, gasping for air and fighting the nauseous feeling brought on by the pain. Merry rubbed his chin against the top of his young cousin’s head. It was all the comfort he could give. Gradually, Pippin’s breathing calmed. For a moment, Merry thought he caught a whiff of lilac, his mother’s favorite scent. He closed his eyes, sighing as his own pain was lessened for a while by thoughts of his family in Buckland and the nearness of Pippin.

The night deepened. The Orcs argued. The ground beneath the hobbits grew chill. The Orcs became more restless. Watch fires were lit by the riders. The Orcs shot arrows until their leaders realized they were being wasted and ordered them to stop. The moon rose out of the shifting mists. The Orcs argued. Clouds floated in from the west and the moon rode its course until it disappeared behind them. The night became a deeper shade of black.

An outraged cry split the night and many if the Orcs ran to see what had happened. Ugluk ran off to keep the battle from breaking out before he wanted it to.

The Orcs assigned to guard Merry and Pippin had run off with the others so they slowly sat up to see what they could of the situation. Out of the dark a shape crept up upon them. Huge claws grabbed their necks and pushed their heads together. They gagged on Grishnakh’s foul breath and shuddered as his hands began to grope them. Esme gritted her teeth. Being roughly groped by any male creature with evil intentions is part of the greatest fear of every female. Her rage rose within her. "Be strong, Pippin. Don’t let him win over you. Don’t surrender! Fight him!" Her thoughts screamed within their mind, sharpening Pippin’s senses.

"Little people should not meddle in affairs that are too big for them." Grishnakh hissed as he continued to paw at Merry and Pippin.

Not just pawing, Pippin suddenly realized. There was a pattern to the movements, as though the Orc was searching . . . searching! As clearly as it would have been had the Orc spoken aloud, the words filled Pippin’s head. The Ring! Ugluk had said he thought it sounded like Grishnakh knew more than was good for him when the Orc of Mordor had bragged about the Nazgul. It appeared Ugluk was right. Fear gripped Pippin’s heart. Then suddenly, as piercing as Strider’s gaze, hard as Gimli’s ax, as melodious as Legolas singing, a voice cut through his terror. "Use what you know. The Fool’s weapon is his words."

"I don’t think you will find it that way," Pippin whispered in a voice so steady it surprised him. "It isn’t easy to find."

"Find it?" Grishnakh’s fingers stopped moving.

"Gollum, gollum," croaked Pippin. He looked startled, as though he had surprised himself with how convincing the odd noise sounded. "Nothing, my precious," he hastily added.

"Do you want it?" Merry asked the Orc. "What would you give for it?" He lightly nudged Pippin. They were a team again, pulling the prank of their lives.

They knew this game well. Grisnakh responded to Pippin’s gambit. He chose to feign ignorance. Pippin’s next move was to make clear they weren’t to be duped, then placing a condition on their further cooperation; "Untie our legs," he demanded, "or we’ll do nothing, and say nothing." Play moved back to the Orc.

Grisnakh went for the fellow conspirator maneuver. Both parties know the stakes. But player B can turn players A over to yet a third party who will be cruel. B offers A salvation from this greater threat. "You’ll wish there was more that you could tell the Questioner, and we shan’t hurry the inquiry."

Merry’s move: remind the opponent he doesn’t control all the pieces on the board. "You haven’t got your prey home yet. It won’t be the great Grishnakh that benefits: Saruman will take all he can find. If you want anything for yourself, now is the time to do a deal."

The game had reached the turning point. Grishnakh was running out of time. Orcs were coming back from where the riders had staged their small ambush; Ugluk would soon be back. Grishnakh was close to the edge of losing his patience and his temper.

His grip turned to iron. "Have you got it----either of you?"

The last move. Make or Break.

"Gollum, gollum!" choked out Pippin.

"Untie our legs!" ordered Merry.

Grishnakh lost his temper. He bared his fangs and hissed into Merry and Pippin’s faces. "I’ll untie every string in your bodies, search you to the bones. Search you! I’ll cut you both to quivering shreds. I don’t need your legs free to have you all to myself!" He crushed them to his sides, cut off their air with his claws covering their mouths and noses. He ducked low and ran into the misty dark. Merry and Pippin said their farewells in their hearts. They had lost the game and so would lose their lives. Esme wasn’t sure that she would not die with them. There was no breeze, nor scent of leaves.

Grishnakh stopped, listened, slipped away a bit further, stopped and listened again. He stood. A rider appeared out of the fog. The horse reared, the rider called out, Grishnakh dove to the ground with his prizes under him. His sword rang softly as he drew it to kill the hobbits, he knew they must not be rescued. A rider’s head turned, not even thinking, instinctively following the sound of a sword being drawn; his arrow pierced the Orc’s hand and the sword fell uselessly to the ground. Grisnakh forgot his prey and ran. It would be his last mistake. He lay pinned to the ground by the spear that drove through his heart. Merry and Pippin lay unmoving where the Orc had abandoned them.

They lay there, too long perhaps, until they had enough of their wits about them to look around. The battle raged but with joy rising in their hearts the cousins realized they were outside the circle of riders. Pippin could finally share the news that his hands were free. They ate some lembas. Soon the way bread of the Elves began to lift their spirits while giving strength to their bodies. Pippin found a knife, cut their bonds and they began to crawl away. They were once again able to give hope and confidence to each other. They knew they would be alright.

Esme awoke to the first gleam of morning working its way past the curtains of her bedroom. She felt a breath on her cheek and turned her head to see her beloved husband’s face. He had fallen asleep at last, sitting in the chair at her bedside, his head beside hers on the pillow, his arm still protectively across her chest.

A soft light that Esme knew had nothing to do with the sun filled the room. To her eyes came the sight of a wood in a sunlit mist. The Fairy stood at the foot of her bed.

"They are safe now." The sound of flutes once again filled the soft voice. "The Eldest One, he who keeps the forest, will be keeping them for a time." The glow dimmed a bit. The voice lost a bit of its brightness. The Fairy looked to the east at something that Esme could not see. "The storm draws nigh. We will have other choices ahead of us, child of my child." She looked once more into Esmeralda’s eyes. Instead of being pulled out of herself Esme felt strength pouring into her. "Yes, there are troubles to come." The Fairy said, answering Esme’s heart. "I had hoped you and my Tookling’s Mother would bear them together. I see now that shall not be." Her head tipped to one side and a smile graced her lips. "Cullassisul,*" she said, answering the question in Esmeralda’s mind. "It was given me because it filled the woods of my home at my birth. Farewell, child of my child. I gave to you all my word. As best as I am able, I will care for my own."

The vision faded as Esme heard Saradoc take in a deep breath. He opened his eyes. He saw her face looking pale and tired but wearing her playful smile. Her clear green eyes sparkled. "You’ve come back," he sighed and then kissed her.

*Cullassisul - A combining of the Elvish words for "golden red/leaves/(in the) wind"