With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 27: For a Halfling

Gimli attempted to break his fall with his shackled hands as he crashed beside Legolas onto the stone floor. The dusk of evening had changed the room, closing the walls in, lowering the ceiling, and leaving the archways to the gloom. Torches burned in sconces, so Gimli could see the darkened niche where Saruman's chair sat.

He welcomed the respite from the torment he'd endured for what had seemed days, but he doubted his relief would outlast this visit to Saruman. Gimli scrambled up onto shaky legs. He'd rather return to the Pits than appear before Saruman unable to stand under his own power.

The orc behind him shoved him again, sprawling Gimli to the floor. "On your knees before your Master!" Grabbing Gimli by the hair, he hauled the dwarf to his knees. Beside him, Legolas was likewise drawn up. To Gimli's surprise, the elf did not struggle overmuch.

Legolas strove to maintain a determined and stoic façade as he settled himself onto his knees, but his bruised face, split lip, and the many wounds visible through his torn tunic told the tale of his time in the Pits.

Gimli looked about him and wondered if Aragorn and the hobbits were hidden away in one of the dark recesses that ringed the room. He refused to think of any other fates for them. In truth, he dreamed that Merry and Pippin had been set free and were far from the tower. Would that he could follow! But these were dreams-and his reality was a nightmare.

The orcs gathered near Saruman as the wizard emerged from an alcove. He questioned the orcs, with only a glance to his prisoners, on the status of the smithies, the forges, the arsenal, and something about molding and new issues. Gimli took advantage of their distraction and turned to Legolas. "How fare you, Legolas?"

A frown creased Legolas's brow as he scrutinized the dwarf. "I would ask the same of you," he said in a voice rougher than was fit for any elf. "Clearly, they now seek the limit to your endurance. Do you feel any of your wounds are grave?"

"What would it matter? Grave wounds or no, a grave is where we will soon find ourselves." He sighed, one eye on Saruman. "Forgive me my despair. From the concern on your face, I fear my appearance matches yours, for you look as though the orcs had more than their share of sport with you. I ask you again-how do you fare?"

Legolas looked away. "As you say, what does it matter?"

Disheartened, Gimli sighed again. He had sought to master his despondency with the endless reserve of hope the elf seemed to hold, regardless of what they faced. "We do not fare well, my friend."

"No, we do not fare well."

Falling into silence, Gimli now easily heard Saruman. "Uglúk, tell me of the halfling. Is he obedient?"

"He does whatever I tell him to, he does. Norgry's keeping an eye on him now, but he ain't caused no trouble." Gimli ached for whichever hobbit had been sent down as a slave for this orc, but he had to admit it might also keep the hobbit alive. His fantasy of the hobbits' freedom fractured, his own nightmare encroaching upon his dream.

Saruman turned from Uglúk and approached Gimli and Legolas, white robes and staff bright against the black behind him. Despite his weariness and many aches, Gimli felt his ire boil at the sight of the wizard, with his mouth curled in something akin to a smile. His thoughts went to Gandalf and to how much they had lost.

"My orcs have provided you both with a sound lesson in obedience, I see. Have you learned aught in your time with them, I wonder? Or do I waste my time with you?"

Gimli glared back at Saruman. "I learned nothing I did not know before descending to your Pits. But it has made clear that your betrayal of your Order is great."

"Do dwarves have no mind for survival?" Saruman growled and lunged forward to backhand Gimli. The wizard's strength surprised Gimli as he landed hard on the floor. "I would release you for nothing more than the whereabouts of the halfling. Do you give up your life for the sake of a halfling?"

Saruman's voice softened. "You must accept that your task and this ill-fated Quest are ended. War is now upon us. Attend to salvaging what is dear to you. The Lonely Mountain is far, but not out of Sauron's reach. You might return to your people and prepare them for a war that will soon catch them unawares. Or do you sacrifice your people as well-for a halfling? Think carefully, dwarf, on whom you would save. Your choice decides many a fate."

Climbing back to his knees, Gimli was silent as he fought despair. He knew not to hearken to Saruman's words, but his heart fell prey to the wizard's power-laden words, and he was unable to ignore the doom the questions hailed. If they failed in their efforts, if this war did come, what would become of his kin leagues away in their mountain home? To what sort of home might he return? Would his family survive? If they lost the war, Sauron-not Saruman, as Gimli guessed he aimed to-would rule over Middle-earth. Would survival and slavery then be desirable over death and freedom?

"If war would come," a quiet yet fierce voice beside him said, "our people will fight. If they lose and die, they shall escape the rule of Sauron. And yet they may win the war. And so our suffering is not in vain."

"So the answer is that pain and deprivation teach you nothing. Loss of dear ones means nothing. You sacrifice them for your pride. You are a shame to your races." Saruman stalked away, only stopping to speak quietly with an orc. Then to another he said, "Uglúk, you know your orders. Continue with the preparations. Our time runs short. And get these two out of my sight."

Gimli's dream crumbled to worthless debris as Legolas and he were dragged from the chamber, and despair filled the spaces where his dream had been.