The fight for Middle Earth begins as the Ring of Power has been found. Once forged by the Dark Lord Sidious himself, his watchful eye upholds an iron fist over the kingdoms while 9 servants, doomed to eternally serve the Dark Lord and the One Ring...
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The hobbits came to a stop in the forest, gripping their wobbly knees for support. They were weak and exhausted and desperately needed rest. And their lungs were fishing for an element they no longer possessed. The burning inside their chests suggested they had swallowed blistering charcoals.
Aside from the explicit aches and pains, their mouths were severely dehydrated and cracked. They couldn't remember when they last ate, neither could they recall having anything to drink, save for the oily liquid in a canteen that a Uruk-hai tried forcing down their throats. It'd tasted like tar, and they vomited the fluid back up. Their stomachs churned ever since.
Nevertheless, the pain reminded them of the adversities they had been subjected to after parting with the fellowship. Until now, their focus was primarily set on distancing themselves from the orcs to notice the effects of withdrawal.
"Are they following us?" Chirpa croaked to his friend, having such shortness of breath the words were all he could spare.
Taking a gulp of air Wicket peered over his shoulder. His eyes browsed over every outline in the darkness, pausing at those he was leerier of then moved to the patches of fog. Aside from creaking branches and ghostly moans of trees, their wheezing was all that he heard. There was no clanging of heavy armor or weapons. No unruly grunts or whoops or growls.
Thank the maker, no sign of orcs.
"No," Wicket huffed, turning to Chirpa he shook his head. "Perhaps they didn't see us?"
The other hobbit let out a sigh of relief.
"Thank gods," Chirpa groaned, relaxing his shoulders. "I don't think I have any endurance left in me."
"Same," Wicket muttered, straightening his back. He gave the wooded trail behind him another glance, massaging his wrists where a rope had held them bound. "I would probably surrender and let them eat me this time."
Chirpa snorted, offering a nod to show that he agreed.
Prior to their escape, one of the orcs had suggested that the hobbits be the main course for dinner. Much to their surprise, Snoke had given the orcs strict orders: retrieve the ringbearer alive. Suddenly becoming an entree for orcs seemed like a more humane way to die than what Snoke might have done had he learned that neither was the actual ringbearer. That they were a ruse while the true bearer of the Ring escaped.
Obscene insults were hurled. Fists were flung. And then the riot erupted among the horde, swords and other weapons drawn. With the orcs occupied the hobbits freed themselves of the bindings on their wrists, using the blade of a fallen orc to sever the rope. They'd fled into the woods and ran, without a clue as to where they would go thereafter.
But where was there , exactly?
"Where are we anyway?" Chirpa asked, his weary eyes surveying their surroundings.
