A Peculiar Fellowship

Part Ten

A/N: Many, many months later... here's a new part! I am admittedly feeling myself beginning to lose steam on this series, so feedback is greatly, greatly appreciated. Please please please be sure to let me know what you think of this part and what you would like to see in future parts to help me keep going!

-

For three days, they ran, and did not stop. In those moments when Laradel felt her pace slowing, she allowed her thoughts to wander back to that day at the mountain, thinking that maybe, if she had been faster then, she might not have lost her father. At those notions, her blood burned with an anger that could almost pass for Dwarvish, and she found the strength to carry on. Across plains and valleys their path took them, towards the south.

As they ran down through a narrow pass, Aragorn stopped suddenly, stooping to pick something from the mud. Legolas and Laradel very nearly ran past him, thinking that he was merely searching for tracks, until they heard his low murmur.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall."

"They may yet be alive," said Legolas, peering at the Elven cloak clasp in Aragorn's hand.

The Ranger studied the ground before them even more intently now.

"Less than a day ahead of us. Come!"

He and Legolas sprinted ahead once more, but Laradel turned to the straggler of their party.

"Come, Gimli!" she called. "We're gaining on them!"

Her friend tumbled down the side of the hill just as she made to follow the other two. She heard him grumbling behind her, but paid his complaints no mind. The thought of finding Merry and Pippin had given her a renewed strength.

As the four of them crested the ridge, they came to a halt, searching for any movement, or sign of life, to lead them to their missing friends.

"Rohan," said Aragorn, gazing across the land. "Home of the Horse-Lords..." Then, he paused. "There is something strange at work here... Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets its will against us."

Aragorn darted forward, searching for a better vantage point, but Legolas moved first. He approached the edge of the ridge, scanning the horizon.

Laradel stood at Aragorn's side, watching the other Elf.

"Legolas, what do your Elf-eyes see?" Aragorn called.

"The Uruks turn Northeast," he replied. A pause lingered just a little too long before his voice returned, more urgent than before. "They're taking the Hobbits to Isengard!"

"Saruman..." Laradel whispered. "Who knows what Fate he has in store for them..."

"We must go," Aragorn said sharply. "These Uruks will not rest, and neither shall we."

He quickly resumed the chase, and the other three followed.

Laradel knew that they would have to take rest eventually, lest their own bodies give way to weariness. But if they did, they might lose Merry and Pippin forever. She could only hope that they would be able to catch the Uruks before such a time came.

-

Another day, they ran. As the sun set, still they ran. They could not yet afford to take any rest.

When the dawn came at last and Laradel's bones were heavy with exhaustion, the quartet reached the peak of a craggy hill.

"A red sun rises," Legolas predicted ominously. "Blood has been spilled this night."