With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 22: New Orders

When Aragorn had set out with his two companions on their ambitious trek in pursuit of the orcs, he had not been overly concerned for their own welfare. His worry had been for the hobbits. There was the possibility that the orcs would not bother trying to keep them alive. And he did not know what sort of reception Saruman would give them. But he had held onto his hope, his faith in the hobbits, and in the wisdom of Gandalf, and those had spurred his feet onward.

After their own capture, he had persisted in his hope. For the hobbits still lived, and there were yet possibilities for escape and rescue. But his notion of escape into the Forest had failed miserably. Perhaps if he had tried to escape with Legolas, the two of them might have been successful. He would never know. He could only be certain that once again, his decision had cost them greatly.

Now they were in the hands of Saruman. Legolas and Gimli were below with the orcs, enduring Aragorn knew not what suffering. Merry might be spared that, but he knew better than to look for such assurance. His steadfast, even defiant hope in the face of the worst odds was beginning to fail him, here in this black tower, where they had landed due to his poor judgment.

Certainly, Pippin's loose tongue did not help. That Saruman knew his true identity was regrettable and could not bode well. But he did not resent the hobbit for his blunder. He would never have revealed such knowledge purposefully. The shame and guilt were clear on Pippin's face.

They now sat in a small, sparsely furnished room, torchlight flickering in a sconce beside them. Pippin picked at food laid before him where he sat across from Aragorn at a wooden table. That the hobbit was not eating with fervor was perhaps the greatest sign of impending doom.

"Come, Pippin, eat. I do not think they have poisoned it, as they intend for us to live. And it is not spoiled. You may as well eat."

Pippin looked up. "I'm—sorry. I just—I don't seem to have an appetite."

"Now, Pippin. That does not sound like a hobbit to me. You have not eaten properly in days. You are free to eat all of this food." He looked at Pippin pointedly. "And there is nothing you can do for Merry at the moment, nor Legolas or Gimli. You ought to eat your share."

Pippin looked at Aragorn, then at his plate. "Why aren't you eating, then?"

Aragorn looked at his plate, where much of the bread and fruit still lay. "I have not eaten solid food in six days, save some lembas while we chased the orc army. After so long, the stomach becomes accustomed to being empty. If I ate more right now, I would become ill. I shall eat again in a bit, and then later, if they give it to me. In a day or two, my stomach will recover."

Pippin looked at him with a curious frown. "Sick from eating? After not eating in six days? Nonsense! I should think you would want to eat all you see!" He paused. "Do you not think they will feed us later?"

"That is simply the way it is for Men. As for feeding us, to keep us alive as they've been ordered to, they will need to."

"I hope you're right about that, eh, Strider." Pippin looked down and grew quiet, once more pushing his food around.

Aragorn saw the change in his mood and understood. "What is done cannot be undone, Pippin."

"But it should never have been done!" he cried.

Aragorn looked down at his own food. He could not deny the truth of Pippin's words. If only Saruman did not know his true name, all might have gone better for them.

Or would they? "Perhaps, or mayhap you did me a kindness." Though his words were not likely to help Pippin, he could show the hobbit that he had forgiven him. Forgiving himself was a matter Aragorn would have to attend to himself. "We will never know how it might have gone, but it's possible Saruman would have learned the truth of my ancestry eventually. And his anger over learning what I had kept from him would have been great. I know not how he would have punished me, but you may have saved me from some terrible treatment."

He looked up when he heard a footstep beyond the doorway to the alcove, soon filled by the wizard's figure. Aragorn's heart leapt when he thought he looked upon Gandalf. Reality quickly assured him his friend had not returned.

Saruman walked into the room with two orcs behind him. His face betrayed nothing as he gestured to one of them. The orc obeyed his master and walked over to Pippin and grabbed his fists. Aragorn tensed as the creature pulled out a knife. Pippin's eyes widened.

Before either could act, the orc used his knife, slicing through the ropes binding Pippin's hands. He let Pippin's hands drop, the ropes falling away. Pippin simply stared at his hands, the skin raw at the wrists.

"Fagrod, show the halfling where he is to put the crockery. Teach him to make himself useful." Saruman looked at Aragorn. "Bring the man, Machlhug, and follow me."

As Fagrod ushered Pippin from the room with the dishes, Pippin eyes remained on Aragorn, wide with worry and guilt. The hobbit's eyes fell on Aragorn's bloody leg as he was forced to limp over to Saruman. Pippin's eyes then lit up, normally a cause for worry for Aragorn. He wondered if that concern was still well founded.

"Saruman," Pippin cried out. He bit his lip as he waited for Saruman to turn to him. "Em, I just–" he took a deep breath and continued. "I thought you wanted to keep Strider alive?"

Saruman looked sharply at Pippin, and Aragorn's concern grew. He hoped Pippin was not trying to make up for previous transgressions. Saruman's eyes flicked to Aragorn. "And what makes you think I have changed my mind?"

"Well, perhaps you're not so familiar with mortal hurts. But the orcs never tended to his wound and it's been too long now. It's surely festering, and that can kill a mortal, even a man such as Strider."

Saruman narrowed his eyes, then looked at Aragorn expectantly. Aragorn relaxed a small measure. Pippin had not said anything devastating this time. He considered briefly what answer to give but soon realized an honest one would suffice. "He speaks the truth. The wound is infected, and I have few days left before it turns fatal. If it has not done so yet, the infection will spread to the rest of my body. That will kill me."

"And yet you failed to mention this yourself. It could not be so serious if you had not seen the need to bring it to my attention."

"I would have and soon. Until now, other ...matters seemed more pressing."

Saruman stared at Aragorn for a long moment. He looked at his leg, then back at Pippin. Pippin looked back at Aragorn with an apology in his face. "What should you require?" said the wizard.

Aragorn hid his surprise at the wizard's seeming compliance. "Boiled water and a clean rag, but I will need it three to four times throughout the day, until at least tomorrow."

Saruman frowned. Aragorn could only wonder what were his thoughts. Then Saruman turned back to Pippin, who stood silently, dishes in hand, beside the orc that awaited orders. "Very well. You shall be charged with this duty. Fagrod will show you where you may boil the water. You, halfling, must carry it here yourself and tend to his wound. There is no one to help you." He nodded to the orc, who pushed Pippin through the door.

Saruman turned once more to Aragorn and looked upon him for a long moment. "The heir of Isildur, destined for the throne of Gondor. Your destiny has changed, Dúnadan. You shall see. And you shall understand. The line of Kings is ended. Take this time to contemplate what will follow. What will be your part in the new order of the world? Will you cling to the past, or will you try to make life bearable for your people?" With those thoughts, Saruman walked out, the orc ushering Aragorn behind him.