With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 18: To Isengard

Gimli tore his wandering thoughts from their stray path and brought his attention back to his task. There was but one task for him: moving. His legs had gone numb long ago. Only the rhythm of the army kept him going now. He could not let his mind stray far or he would lose that rhythm and stumble.

He allowed his mind to wander only as far as his companions around him. Checking the tension in the rope that attached him to Aragorn used less effort than turning to see that his friend was not flagging too terribly. He was unsure how Aragorn kept pace--his injured leg was surely festering now--but Gimli was thankful nevertheless. The orcs, for their part, had sharp eyes on them, and more eyes, to guard against future escape attempts. Gimli sighed at the thought. There would be no future escape attempts.

He looked up at Legolas, hanging limply from the large orc in front of their train. It appeared the elf slept or had found escape through unconsciousness, and Gimli was glad for it. He had suffered enough at the hands of the orcs only to then suffer again under Aragorn's healing hands.

Gimli wished once again that he knew more of Elves, for he did not know how long Legolas's leg needed to heal. Dwarven bones took time to mend, even when properly set and cared for; he would not have wielded an axe on a patrol for some weeks after such an injury. Gimli was sure it took longer for Men, but for Elves he knew only of their oft-noted speed in healing. This elf best heal quickly, for the orcs would surely show him no mercy.

He thought once more of the hobbits. He had caught glimpses of them from time to time, as the orcs had brought their prisoners closer together to better guard them. The hobbits appeared well enough, to Gimli's great relief. They did not appear injured, nor to suffer greatly in hunger or thirst. Somehow, they must have convinced their captors to feed them.

Gimli sighed, as he was reminded of one of their greatest concerns. They had gone four days without food, and for the two days prior to that they had sustained themselves solely on lembas. For the entire six days, they had only drank what water they had taken on the run before their capture and the bit their guard had fetched for them the previous morning. They would need more water today, but he doubted they would be given any. How long Men, Elves, or Hobbits could go without water he did not know, but he was sure even an elf needed water to live.

Their worries might be over soon enough. There were no new plans to free themselves. They were too closely watched. And they were in no condition to make a bid for freedom. The Tower of Orthanc loomed closer with each step. Once there, they would learn their fate.

Meanwhile, the creatures argued and complained beyond the usual, and this new restlessness was more disturbing. Whether it came from the disruption of the escape attempt or from other matters, Gimli did not care for it. He could only hope that their next halt for camp was long in coming. As weary as he was of the march, it was their safest time. Once stopped, the beasts might decide to turn to their prisoners to vent their displeasure. Gimli did not know how much torture, hunger, and despair he and his companions could tolerate. And their arrival at Isengard promised no relief.