With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 9: No Rescue, No Escape

The sounds of orcs quarreling and scuffling had grown to a steady din as dusk became night. For some unknown time, chaos had seemed to reign. The peak of the frenzy had been punctuated by the head of the miserable orc they called Grishnákh rolling past the two hobbits before the madness had gradually subsided. Now, as horrid faces gathered round distant fires to recount their roles in the violence with glee, Pippin questioned his cousin with his eyes.

"It's a bit quieter than earlier. But they're still distracted. We could try moving around a bit, see if they notice," Merry said. "But we can't simply take off without thinking it through, right, Pip?" Pippin nodded, and they struggled to their feet.

"Ai!" one of their guards cried as soon as they had taken a few steps. So the orcs were more observant than they appeared to be. "What are you doing?"

"Just stretching our legs. That's all."

The other orc slapped the first on the arm. "Look! I gotta see this."

"What's gonna be better than seeing Grishnákh's head lopped off? Now that's a sight that'll bring a smile to my face for days to come. Ain't gonna get any better than that! 'Sides, we're on guard."

"Hey, after you seen that, you never can say what's gonna happen next. I ain't missing it—come on!"

"And what are we supposed to do? Carry these vermin on our backs?"

The other orc's eyes lit up. "Nah, but we could bring them! Come, you two. You're with us. No tricks or I'll use this-and I'll enjoy it, see? So it won't take much for me to pull it out! Not a word now!" He put his knife away and grabbed Pippin. The other grabbed Merry, and the hobbits were led by their guards into the crowd.

As they neared the gathering, an odd change crawled over the group. First distant and then closer groups became subdued. Eventually, a confused tension smothered the raucous atmosphere of the entire crowd. The orcs now chattered in taut, low voices.

Pippin feared this calm more than the earlier clamor. Trying to pull himself closer to Merry, he watched the transformation with wide eyes, but he dared not speak.

As the orcs pushed ahead to have the best view, the hobbits were crushed amid a sea of grey legs, old leather, and crude metal weapons, surrounded by the smell of old meat, something akin to whiskey, and the general stink of orc. Their guards clutched their necks in claw-like hands, keeping them close.

Merry seemed to have the better vista, while Pippin was relegated to a view behind another orc. But he would see something of what had the attention of all these creatures, so Pippin ignored his surroundings as best he could.

A shout came from across the camp. Movement rippled through the horde, followed by more scuffling and shouting. The commotion drew nearer. "Do you see anything, Merry?" His cousin only shook his head, so Pippin, also unable to see past the hulking bodies, resigned himself to wait.

Merry was still as he watched the crowd. Then his eyes widened and he clutched at Pippin's arm as furtively as he could with his bound hands. "Pip! Look!"

Pippin anxiously angled his head from side to side, attempting to see what held Merry's attention. The orcs' legs were in the way! And there were so many of them. For a moment, while he had no desire to be other than a hobbit, he might have appreciated being a rather tall hobbit, perhaps a few inches taller. As it was, they would have seen nothing at all if it weren't for one or two orcs with torches in hand.

Then-what was that? The crowd had parted to let someone pass. There, again, fair hair reflecting nearby torchlight. The pale head looked up and Merry gasped beside him. "Legolas," Pippin breathed.