𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-sᴇᴠᴇɴ

Posting this chapter in honor of finally finishing the TTT part of this fic, Jesus, that took me a while. Nobody ever ask me to write a battle again (there are still so many battles to write).

Anyway, I'm finally introducing one of my fav Tolkien characters in this chapter! My blorbo fr😩✊🏼

And, entirely unrelated to that: Happy Pride Month! I know it's almost over but I'll take what I can get. Taking this opportunity to say my Robb is NOT straight bc I could never do that to any character played by Richard Madden. Send Tweet.

Enjoy!!

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In the end, escaping Isengard for good was easier than Robb could have imagined. In a far corner of the storehouse, a ladder led up to a hatch in the ceiling which, in turn, led to a room with direct access to the walkway of the wall surrounding the tower. Once there, all Robb had to do was make his way to the nearest gatehouse—barely guarded: he didn't know whether to be elated or disappointed—and go down a flight of stairs, at which point he was able to practically stroll out of the fortress, whistling with his hands in his pockets.

It was almost too simple, and he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.

Robb kept his distance from the army to his left, which had left Isengard in its entirety, now. Instead, he dashed from one tree stump to the next as quickly as he possibly could without attracting attention. In the days since he had arrived, the treeline had been pushed back farther. At present, there was a stretch of open space perhaps a mile wide on either side of the road. It was not at all ideal, but Robb made do. With all the muck he had walked through already, he was probably dirty enough to blend in with his surroundings, anyway.

It took him several hours to catch up to the head of the army, but he refrained from crossing the road in front of them until night fell. By then, he was far enough ahead that they probably would not spot him, especially under the cover of darkness.

From then on, all he had to do was follow the river. Robb walked through the night, the army with its thousands of torches snaking along the road at his back, but falling ever farther behind.

He felt healthier than he should have, under the circumstances. His head still throbbed with every step, but the pain had dulled—and beyond that, Robb was fine. The week-old arrow wound had disappeared, as had the two thin cuts at his throat. The hole where Saruman had stabbed him through the cheek had closed up, and although his skin pulled tighter than usual whenever Robb opened his mouth, that was no more than a minor discomfort.

For all that Saruman had tried to torture him, in the end it seemed Robb had left Isengard in a better state than he had entered it.

Yet, Robb was human. He had barely slept in the last few days, and in the early morning hours, the lack caught up with him. His eyelids were heavy, falling shut every few seconds, and at one point, Robb startled to awareness three dozen yards away from where he last remembered being. That was the final straw.

Loath as he was to admit it, he would be of no use to anyone if he continued on now. He would slow down or get lost, or trip into the river and drown. Perhaps he would simply pass out and sleep for a day, allowing the army of Uruk-Hai to pass him and wreak destruction on an unsuspecting populace. No, better to sleep for a few hours now.

The army had disappeared from sight earlier in the night. It would take them some time to come closer again, nevermind catch up to him.

Robb sat down heavily at the base of a tree that tilted towards the river.  Its roots were half-visible where the water had washed away earth and sand and stones a long time ago. The incline hid him well from the road, especially as it was some hundred yards away. It was a far enough distance that Robb felt safe, but still close enough that he might hear the Uruk-Hai should he fail to wake until their arrival.