Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and locations are borrowed from the Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien, but the story will follow my own path. Any copyrights and trademarks are the property of thier respective owners

Note to Readers: This story is set after the skirmish at Amon-Hen. Frodo and Sam have escaped across the river, and Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli have been pursuing the Uruk-hai who have captured Merry and Pippin. The way my story deviates from the Two Towers is that the Orcs along with the Uruk-hai forced Eomer to combat them on open ground, and drove him and his guard off after a mighty battle. After this, Sauron’s Orcs headed down to Anduin to meet with the Nazgul, while the Uruk-hai continued towards Isengard…

Enjoy!

Sebring Tel’Mith’Quessir

********************** Chapter 1: The Pursuit

Orcs, even when they have no need for haste, are not creatures which give thought to concealing their tracks. For this reason, Aragorn had yet to use his skills as a Ranger for tracking them. He had been on the chase, along with Legolas and Gimli, for over a day now – but if anything the trail seemed to be getting older. At last he called a halt, night was not far off, and Gimli was beginning to falter. “We must rest here for the night,” said Aragorn, “so that we may run the faster on the morrow. Also, I dare not continue for fear of losing the trail – the moon will be small tonight, and she shall cast little light.” His two companions readily agreed, and after a frugal supper, the Ranger and the Dwarf lay down wrapped in their elven cloaks. Aragorn did not sleep for a long while, but thought secret thoughts into the night, clutching his pendant. Legolas walked silently around them keeping watch, his eyes shining in the starlight.

The next day dawned greyly, and the three companions prepared to leave at first light. After they had broken camp, they resumed the chase. The trail was still very clear, the tall grasses of the plains had been hacked and trampled down into the mud cleaving a clear swathe through the endless fields. The yellow grass stretched as far as the eye could see all the way to the White Mountains in the West, the border of the realm of Gondor. Aragorn stared wistfully at his country, wishing that happier circumstance should have brought him thither. As it was, he had friends to rescue, and could not waste time idly speculating on what might have been. They ran on for many long hours under the bright sun but Gimli seemed more cheerful. “The Sun is bright this day! No doubt the Orcs are now resting until the evening.” But Legolas shook his head, “These are no Orcs from the mountains, friend Gimli, but some evil creation of Saruman. They ran openly under the Sun before, they will not quail now. I fear that they have covered many leagues since last night.” Aragorn, after listening intently with one ear to the ground, stood wearily and looked at his friends, “Legolas is right, they are far from here. They have not rested at all, indeed they run as if the very whips of Mordor are lashing at thier heels.” The three exchanged glances, and wondered what was now to be done. However they set out again, following the beaten trail of their foes, hoping that there still might be chance for a rescue. Yet they ran with heads bowed, as hope dwindled.

* * * * * *

A particularly painful jolt jarred Merry back to concious. The reality was even worse than the nightmares he had been having though. Trussed up like a turkey, he was being carried slung over the shoulder of a particularly large and hairy Orc. The firey liquor was still burning in him and he quickly took stock of his surroundings. He was travelling within a throng of huge Orcs, each carrying a hooked scimitar and a sable shield bearing the White Hand of Saruman. Pippin was being carried in a similar fashion. The whole group was crashing through the grassland shrubbery while the Sun, which was already high in the sky, was blazing down upon them. Ugluk, prominent with his massive body and long braided hair, was leading the group at a furious pace. Merry thought about calling something over to his friend, but caught the eye of the orc behind and thought better of it. Numbed by the jolting, he slipped into a painful sleep.

A bloodthirsty bellow accompanied by a clash of weapons startled him awake and he percieved that the day was far advanced. The Sun was almost setting, its rays shining resplendant through the peaks of the White Mountains to catch on the plate armour of around a hundred Orcs of Mordor, who were drawn up in battle line in the path of the Uruk-hai, who had also assumed an aggressive posture. Yells and snarls arose from both sides as the respective leaders of the groups advanced. Ugluk and the squat goblin Grishnakh stood face to chest and glared at each other venomously.

“Get that rabble outta my way, maggot, and get back to the River! Maybe your precious Nazgul wants his cloak darned!” barked Ugluk.

Grishnakh just grinned evilly, “New orders from Lugburz, confirmed. The Halfling prisoners are to be taken to the River immediately. I’ve come to see that orders are carried out.”

Ugluk looked down at him with revulsion, “Don’t you take that tone with me, boyo. We are the fighting Uruk-hai! We killed the mighty warrior! We fought the Horsemasters! We took the prisoners! And I’m following my orders, to get these to Sharkey. Run away to your holes! You worms call yourselves warriors? You ran away in the middle of our glorious battle! You’re nothing but scum, get out of our way!”

With that, the two opposing sides rushed forwards into a chaotic melee of leaping, grunting bodies, whirling swords and flying arrows. Merry’s orc had him tucked under his shield arm and whenever he wasn’t being whirled around in midair, he was being battered by resounding impacts on the shield just inches from his face. As the sun finally sank below the horizon, giving the Mountains a fantastic halo of red-orange fire, the Orcs continued thier furious battle.

* * * * * *

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had found new sustainance in the waybread of the Elves and were making excellent time. The land was all downhill towards the Entwash floodplain and the ground was soft and springy, perfect to ease the pain of sore feet, but a hinderance to the iron-shod Orcs. Indeed the trail seemed fresher and the three raced along it. The countryside was dotted with low hill every now and again, and the trail led up one of these. On reaching the top, they suddenly stumbled to a halt, aghast. The field in front of them looked like a battleground. The squat bodies of goblins, here and there the larger form of an Uruk, lay prone on the ground which was churned up into a sea of mud. Shields and swords were lying everywhere, stained with black Orcish blood. A few ravens were already at the scene, and breakfasting contentedly. Walking down the slope into the midst of the devastation, they kept a sharp lookout for any sign of their friends.

“What is this Aragorn?” asked Legolas, “It looks almost as if there were a war between the orc tribes.”

“Not tribes, Legolas, but sides. These creatures bear either the Red Eye or the White Hand. My guess is that there was a quarrel over the prisoners, as is common with such foul folk.”

“Some quarrel!” muttered Gimli, staring at what he thought was the head of a really ugly Orc. He then realised that it was a different body part entirely.

“En!” Legolas was pointing wildly towards the North. “Orquori ron rima a’ ondonost!”

“What was that?”

“Orcs, Gimli. Legolas can see them running towards Isengard!” Aragorn ran down the path. As he ran he realised that he had never even told Arwen how deeply he loved her – and that now it might be too late. Yet he followed the trail relentlessly with his companions, passing items discarded by the Orcs as they went. Soon, even Gimli could see them clearly – about four score at least, loping along with the untiring pace typical of thier kind. Even so the distance was closing rapidly and the fords of Isen were still a few miles off. Concealed to the last by thier elven cloaks, the three erupted out of the grass into the side of the enemy company. Anduril burned with a blue fire as it cleaved through the shield of an Orc to embed itself in his chest. One of Legolas’ arrows pinned two Orcs together by the head. Gimli could not be seen, but Orcs suddenly falling to the ground for no apparent reason spoke for themselves. However despite the surprise attack, the fury of the attackers and the bewilderment of the Orcs, Ugluk was still able to rally them and the fight began to go ill for the three friends. Blows rained down on them from all sides. Aragorn and Legolas fought back to back, while the unseen Gimli was still hacking legs, but the Orcs did not relent and hurled themselves at the three. Two stumbled with arrows in thier throats before Legolas fell to the ground. Aragorn saw this, and his fury knew no bounds as he hacked his way through several of the huge orcs, but suddenly he felt a terrible blow and everything went dark. Gimli was the last, but with thier attention concentrated soley on him, there could be but one end to the combat.

The rescue had failed.