With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 5: On the March

Waking to the feel of rough grass beneath his face, Gimli found himself under guard by one lethargic orc in the early morning light. He tested moving a leg. Still hurt. The orcs' beating had not eased the pain from his initial wound, a graze by one of the orcs' decrepit blades during their desperate battle. Gimli bit down the shame he felt each time he thought of their failure. Guilt and blame would not help them. What would, he could not imagine.

As long as he was able to stand on two legs, if not steadily on both, his captors were less likely to find him too much trouble to keep alive. He knew not for what reason they had been kept as prisoners. Perhaps the sport the orcs had just enjoyed had been reason enough. To be kept alive for torture was a dismal prospect.

He was not overly concerned with his own wounds. Most were superficial, as if the beasts had feared that he, too, might be near death, and further abuse might kill him. More serious was Aragorn's wounding at the point of an arrow yet embedded in the Ranger's thigh. Now his injuries would be compounded by the beating the orcs had visited upon him. In the coming dawn, Gimli could see Aragorn lying on the ground beside him. They must have returned the man at some point before Gimli had awakened, but Aragorn had yet to regain consciousness.

At the sound of nearby shuffling, Gimli opened his eyes a crack to watch a large uruk dump Legolas nearby with a chuckle. The elf flopped heedlessly beside Gimli. Oblivious to the jeers and grumbling of orcs around them, he watched Legolas and Aragorn intently until the rise and fall of their chests assured him they lived. It was the only sign of their health, however, as they lay still as the dead. Aragorn's clothes were torn, revealing dark blotches of which Gimli could not discern bruises from blood. Legolas's jerkin had been all but destroyed, and cuts and bruises were clear through tears in his tunic and breeches as well as on his face. Both were muddy and disheveled. As with Gimli, their elven cloaks were missing, likely ripped from them while the orcs beat on them.

But they lived. Forced to be satisfied with that, he closed his eyes once more. He wondered how close he-or any of them-were to death in truth, but his head began to pound, so he gave up his train of thought, instead listening to the sounds about him.

The orcs surrounding Gimli argued ceaselessly. Nothing was agreed upon without quarrel, even when assignments such as guard duty were clear. Gimli hoped their masters held enough sway over them that they would not disregard entirely their orders to keep them alive.

"Come, Grishnákh! Isengard don't rule us. I say we return to Lugbúrz. What have two halflings got to do with the Great Eye? If he wanted them, he would have them."

"He does want them. Maybe Saruman thinks to get them for himself, but the Great Eye will have them-and whatever they have-in the end."

"The halflings are a nuisance! I say we kill them and take off. We'd move much faster without them."

"You've got some good sport with those new prisoners. And I say they'll live a while yet. So quit your griping. Remember who you serve! We serve the Great Eye and no other!"

"Grishnákh's right, lads. I'm thinking, if we got to trek across horse country, at least we got some toys to fill the time. What we got waiting for us back in Lugbúrz? I'm for enjoying this bit of fun while we got it." There was a chorus of cheers, and the orcs seemed to settle down. Then, in a quieter, guarded tone, as if spoken to one only, the same orc continued. "So, you do think the halflings got something the Great Eye wants."

The answering orc hesitated. "I'd wager it. It must be." It was the one they had called Grishnákh.

"You think they got a weapon or something?"

"Could be. Or perhaps it's them. Maybe halflings have some magic about them. Can't say I know much about them. But I'm planning to keep an eye on those two. I don't care what this Saruman has to say."

A muffled groan beside Gimli drew his attention from the conversation as Legolas finally stirred. That Legolas had been unconscious at all alarmed Gimli, but he hoped the elf's recovery would be swifter than theirs. Legolas was the likeliest of them to live through this. Without him, the hobbits had no chance.

Although a groan from Aragorn soon followed, the approach of a large lumbering orc cut off any question he might have asked of elf or man. They all tensed warily as the uruk cajoled them for lying about and tried to kick them to their feet. The three struggled clumsily to stand, and though Gimli offered what support he could, each leaned heavily on another. "Remember what he told you-if they can't walk, you carry them!" the uruk told another. There were several moans and snickers from the goggling group around them.

Among the general rustling of the gang readying themselves for more marching, three orcs nearest them discussed their need to carry the prisoners. "They're standing. They can march as well!" He shoved at Aragorn, who nearly toppled over.

The orc next to him laughed. "And that's the one you'll be carrying for sure! Wretched creature!"

"If I'm carrying one, you'll be doing the same! So take your pick, but get ready for hauling!"

The third orc grumbled. "I ain't carrying no elf! You can take your elf to Norgry, or Uglúk, or Saruman himself. I don't care! I ain't doing it!"

The first orc turned and punched the whining orc in the head. "Shut your trap and pick up one of these creatures. Or I'll teach you a thing about Isengard."

The third orc narrowed his eyes. "Isengard, eh? Just wait. The Great Eye will teach you all you need to learn. Just wait till those Nazgûl come for you!"

"Enough you two! I'm sick of Isengard this and Mordor that! We got toys now, and I care a lot less which way we go. But look, there's nothing for it. We're carrying these mangy creatures. Nothing gonna change that. Although," he cackled, "I am glad I don't have to carry the elf!" The orc who apparently had been given that duty snarled as he grabbed his charge. The other chuckled, turned to Gimli, and hoisted him over his back. Gimli groaned at the strain on his arms as the orc pulled them over his head. Just as he watched Aragorn undergo the same indignity, he was led away by his carrier, setting off in a bouncy trot.