Disclaimer: I don’t own any of this stuff that I’m writing about. Unfortunately.

Pippin slew another Orc. He was getting really tired, but knew he couldn’t stop. Especially when he saw Strider watching him. He grinned, and gave Strider a thumb’s-up. Turning back to the Orcs, he attacked with renewed vigor. They were in Minas Tirith, after journeying from Rivendell. He had to admit, he was getting a little tired of all the fighting. Boring, boring, boring, in his opinion. Some fun would be nice, fireworks, a party maybe, he thought. He glanced over at Strider again, grinning.

Aragorn noticed Pippin occasionally glancing at him. He knew his soldiers needed a break, but one lull in the fighting, and the Orcs would take over. He couldn’t very well call off the war just for a party. He looked at Pippin again, who grinned at him. The Hobbit didn’t see the Orc right behind him. “Look out!” he yelled.

He knew Strider had said something, but he couldn’t hear him. “What?” he yelled back. Before Strider could answer, he felt a sharp pain in his arm. He glanced down, and saw that an Orc had slashed at his arm, cutting it deeply. He glanced at the Orc, and raised his sword, but the Orc stabbed him in his stomach. He cried out, and fell. He saw the Orc bend over him, and felt a little jab by his eye. Then he couldn’t see anything. He screamed, frightened, but the Orc hit him on the head, knocking him out.

Aragorn fought his way over to Pippin, and knelt down beside him. He felt for a pulse, and examined the wound on the Hobbit’s stomach. It didn’t appear to be too bad, but Pippin was bleeding quite a bit, so Aragorn carried Pippin to the city, to the Houses of Healing.