**Note**  There are quotes used in this chapter from the "Two Towers" the chapter "The Uruk Hai."  Most are spoken by the Orcs, many with slight changes (i.e. sections not used) from the original source.

Saradoc had done as he’d said he would. He checked in on Esmeralda at second breakfast, she was asleep; at elevenses, she was asleep; at luncheon, she still slept. At tea he decided to try waking her. She needed to eat something, drink something, do something, anything; he had become concerned. There was an oddness to this sleep of hers for which he could not find words.

"Esmeralda," he said tenderly while gently shaking her shoulder. He sat in a chair pulled up to the side of their bed. "Esme. Esme." Each repeating of her name without response nudged the fear inside his heart higher. He feared to speak too loudly. He feared to grip her shoulder too firmly. "Esme."

She turned her head slightly toward him. Her eyelids lifted to show glazed eyes beneath, with a look about them of not seeing. No light from the room seemed to be reflected in them. The pupils were large, dark and empty.

Esme had heard Saradoc’s calling her. She worked hard to bring herself home. She and Pippin were in the void of unconsciousness and she had not wanted to leave Pippin behind. Her opened eyes saw Saradoc sitting beside her but it was as though she was looking through a fish bowl. Everything looked askew, wavering occasionally as though the water had been disturbed.

"Saradoc, I am fine. There really isn’t any need to look so worried." She tried to put all the reassurance she could into her voice.

Saradoc’s face went pale. His now trembling hand tightened on her shoulder. He stared at her with his mouth hanging open.

"Really, Saradoc! Such a face to make at me. Are you trying to frighten me?"

He was gone. She hadn’t seen him get up but now he was at the door of their room. Then as he walked, rather too slowly she thought, back to the bed she heard him shouting, yet his mouth wasn’t moving.

"Help! Quickly, send for Merimas! My wife . . . the Mistress is not well. Get the healer quickly!"

Saradoc, still moving too slowly, sat down as Healer Merimas raced into the room and was at her side before she could turn her head to better see him. Merimas’ words tumbled out of him while Saradoc sounded just fine.

"Yes, she spoke. But the words were . . . slurred . . . odd sounding."

Merimas gently took Esmeralda’s face in his hands. Her eyes were glazed and distant looking, there was a darkness in them he had not seen before in a hobbit’s eyes. There was no fever present, her face felt cool in his hands. He looked at her face. He saw no signs of the slack features caused by apoplexy. "I see no signs of apoplectic seizure. She has no fever," he said to Saradoc.

To Esme, it seemed that Merimas’ hands had barely touched her. They moved in a blur and his words were still a mere jumble of sounds. Saradoc’s hand too slowly inched toward her face. She felt the warm comfort of his fingers slowly brush against her cheek. She turned her head to look into his eyes.

"I am alright, I truly am, my love. I cannot stay. I cannot leave." Her eyes closed as her body relaxed.

Saradoc and Merimas looked at each other, fear, worry and sadness mixing on their faces. Whatever was wrong with Esme, her last words had been clear; "I cannot stay. I cannot leave." But they made no sense at all.

*********

Pippin’s mind slowly became aware of his body. His mind had been running, yelling, panicking, looking for Frodo. But slowly the running had turned to stillness. The pain in his head was nearly making him sick to his stomach. He could not move. His wrists, ankles and legs hurt. A breeze touched his face. He opened his eyes to the growing dimness of early evening. He was surrounded by Orcs. Looking at his aching wrists, he discovered why he couldn’t move; he was trusted up like a bird for roasting. A cold fear swept through him. His heart was warmed for a moment as he saw that Merry was beside him, but the sick feeling returned as he noticed how pale Merry was, realizing the filthy cloth bound around Merry’s head most likely covered a wound. Then Pippin smiled a bit. Merry must be alive. The Orcs wouldn’t have bound the wound of a corpse.

Esme woke with Pippin. She seemed to be there, she could see Merry (that gave her a start), she had the feeling of not being able to move, of an aching in Pippin’s head, yet . . . it did not feel as it had before. Everything felt and looked the same odd way as they had in her bedroom at The Hall. No. Not quite the same. She was able to see things more clearly through Pippin’s eyes, the pain in his wrists and head were increasing to her. But she felt as though she were tucked away in a corner of his mind, on the edges of his thoughts and feeling. She wondered if he could move.

Pippin squirmed.

Was that because she thought about it? No time to think it through as cruel laughter cut across their thoughts.

"Rest while you can, little fool!"

They froze in terror as the Orc continued to jeer at Pippin.

"If I had my way," said another Orc, "you’d wish you were dead now. I’d make you squeak, you miserable rat. He moved closer and bent low to leer at Pippin.

Esme was aware of Pippin frantically searching in his mind for something while his heart raced. The Orc held an evil looking blade before their eyes as he continued his threats. Pippin was trembling. Where would the first cut wound him? How long would it last? Goodbye, Merry. Don’t wake up to see it, Merry. He still searched for something in his heart, but he did not find it there. Orc fangs filled their vision but amidst a flurry of frightful growling the Orc moved away, leaving the terrified hobbit uncut by his blade.

Slowly the terror dimmed. Esme realized that Pippin’s searching had been for her, that somehow, he had missed her presence. That was disheartening. Then why was she there? What comfort could she be, what help could she offer if he wasn’t aware of her? Pippin could hear the Orcs talking, arguing.

"I need to listen," Esme thought to herself.

Pippin’s thoughts quit racing so wildly. Despite the aching in his head he concentrated on listening to the Orcs.

". . . where ere they roam,

I always, forever, care for my own."

Esmeralda sighed. "Where ere they roam . . ." Even among Orcs. She realized then that she was, indeed, with Pippin but somehow he was being spared the sense of her presence. It would only make any suffering he must endure worse if he knew she was there. Yet, she could touch his thoughts and so bring him encouragement, help to guide him through whatever . . . she trembled . . . whatever fate befell him and Merry.

They listened. There were orders these foul beasts knew they must follow. "Kill all but not the Halflings; they are to be brought back ALIVE as quickly as possible. That’s my orders," said one Orc. "The prisoners are NOT to be searched or plundered: those are my orders," said another. "And mine too. ‘Alive and as captured; no spoiling.’ That’s my orders," the first Orc replied.

"Well," Pippin thought to himself. "That makes things somewhat brighter. They aren’t to kill us." He frowned a bit. "Still, they could hurt us a good deal without killing us." He shook off that thought and returned to listening. There were three different groups of Orcs in the camp. Two different masters whose orders were to be followed. One group wished to outright kill him and Merry and be done with it while two groups needed to keep them alive. And all three were wanting to head in a different direction. So they began to argue. They began to fight. Orcs died. The headless body of the leering Orc with the evil looking knife fell on Pippin. At first he panicked in disgust.

"It can’t hurt you, it’s dead," came a soothing voice in his mind. He calmed down. He felt the knife blade cold against his hand, blood trickled down his arm toward his bound wrists. He could cut the cords! In the confusion of the fight and its aftermath, Pippin freed his hands, looped the ropes loosely around his wrists as decoys and lay still.

He and Merry were picked up. Even though loose, the cords on his wrists bit into his skin as an Orc thrust its head between Pippin’s arms, spreading them wide and hard against the rough rope. His face was pulled tight against the Orc’s neck. Its sweat burned Pippin’s eyes, its clawlike nails dug deep into his wrists above the ropes as the Orc took off at a bone jarring jog. Pippin and Esme slipped away into darkness.