Chapter 29

                                    

                                          
TW: Mentions of rape, molestation, violence

                          
When Beruthiel awoke, all she could feel was pain. Blood dripped into her eyes from a cut on her forehead and her head throbbed with the worst headache she'd had for years. The back of her shirt had been ripped open and the skin underneath was lacerated, painful against the cool air of dawn.
                          
The second thing that she noticed was that she was not the only captive. Merry and Pippin also bounced up and down on the backs of two Uruks. I failed was the first thought that came to mind. Then Please, let Aragorn be alive and fine at the least. Oh skies, let Aragorn be alive.
                          
Merry was still unconscious, a nasty bruise on his head. Pippin had also regained consciousness, his eyes widening at her. He opened his mouth to call out, but Beruthiel silently shook her head. Pippin's eyes went to his friend next. "Merry!" he called. "Merry!"
                          
Nothing. Merry remained unconscious.
                          
The Uruks carrying them slowed down near a large cluster of rocks. Another group of orcs emerged from behind the rocks, but they were different from the Uruks - more like the shorter, stooped orcs Beruthiel was used to encountering. Orcs of Mordor, not Isengard.
                          
"You're late," their leader snarled. "Our master grows impatient. He wants the Shire-rats now."
                          
"I don't take orders from orc-maggots," the leader of the Uruks growled. "Saruman will have his prize." He lifted his chin, looking down at the orc from a few inches higher. "We will deliver them."
                          
Interesting, Beruthiel noted. There's some animosity between them, and the orcs want to prove themselves to Saruman.
                          
"And the woman?" The leader of the orcs made a gesture toward Beruthiel and leered at her.
                          
"She's ours," the Uruk snarled. "A reward for bringing the master his prize."
                          
Beruthiel felt sick to her stomach. So that was why they wanted her. She twisted in her captor's grasp, then gasped as it opened one of her crusted-over wounds. The Uruk carrying her cursed, then dropped her onto the ground as she wriggled out of his grasp. Beruthiel thrust an elbow into the stomach of the Uruk who had dropped her and ducked under him as he raged forward. She dodged around the fists of another Uruk as their leader shouted at them to catch her. But she was too small and fast, and they were too slow to catch her as she ran toward Pippin's Uruk. She threw a fist, then a kick at the Uruk carrying Pippin - then found herself pulled backward.
                          
Beruthiel pulled away, grunting, but she was thrown into the center of the circle of Uruks that towered over her, brandishing their strange weapons. She forced herself to stand straight and hold her fists up, ready for a fight. She was not going to survive this, but she won't go down without a fight.
                          
🗡️👑🏹
                          
Beruthiel stood up yet once more, wincing as it aggravated every single bruise on her body - and after the last ten minutes, there were quite a few. Her eyes wild, she looked up at the Uruk in front of her and swung a wild fist toward his head. He caught her arm and twisted it, eliciting a groan of pain. She was shoved back onto the ground and an orc stepped forward for her, but the leader held up his hand. The orc quickly and quietly stepped back.
                          
"What do you smell?" the leader asked an orc at his side as he sniffed at the air.
                          
"Man-flesh," the orc replied. 
                          
The leader scowled and turned to his Uruks, then Sauron's orcs. "They've picked up our trail!" he growled. "Let's go!"
                          
"Fine," the Uruk that had been carrying Beruthiel so far said, eyeing her as she swayed on her feet, wiping blood from her nose. "But we ain't carrying her. If she's gonna be like that, she can run." He cast a dark glance at her. "I don' fancy wakin' up and finding my dangly bits on a string."