Legolas felt the collision through his entire body as the uruk dumped him on the ground in their corner of the camp. He gazed at the low eastern sun as he lay still, allowing his muscles to release the tension in his body.

The uruks were crueler each time they had their sport, keen to see what he could endure. When in the hands of Norgry and his band, Legolas was surprised at their skill in drawing blood without inflicting a fatal wound. Their commander Uglúk, however, surpassed their viciousness. He was not content with fists, whips, and knives. He had been the one to start with fire. Legolas shivered as he remembered.

Weary as he was of the treatment, thoughts of escape grew rarer. The notion of death was no comfort, though. If he were to die, he had always envisioned falling in battle. This torment was no way to end one's time in Middle-earth. But as they drew nearer to Isengard, the likelihood of avoiding that fate waned.

Legolas slowly turned his gaze to Aragorn and Gimli, who lay nearby, also bruised and battered. He thrust aside his growing fatigue, knowing what he felt was but a fraction of what they must feel. Pushed to the limit already by their race to catch the orcs, tormented no doubt much as he was, and given no food or water, he wondered how long his two mortal friends would last.

Legolas forced his body into a sitting position, shutting his eyes until the world about him stopped spinning. His body resisted the movement: bruises ached, cuts reopened, burns pulled and stung. His cuffs shifted with a heavy clunk, chafing wrists already scraped by the metal edges. He willed away his pains with deep breaths, but the throbbing of his head persisted. He had lost count of how many times his head was hit with weapons, boots, or the ground. Those injuries were no doubt the source of his nausea as well. With nothing to be done for it, he would simply have to distract himself.

Looking about the camp, the same scene greeted him as when they had first halted: vile orcs defiled the plains of Rohan, which had grown into rolling downs, and the lush trees of Fangorn Forest beckoned him just beyond them to their west. Despite Celeborn's words, he longed to explore those woods and learn the songs of such an ancient forest. Any escape they might find would likely send them beneath those branches, but without an opportunity to linger as he would. He wondered if they might be welcome.

His gaze wandered back to the camp, sliding from raucous orcs and uruks, to dirty weapons and rancid meat, to swaying grasses and the far off wood. He longed for silence, or at least enough quiet to hear the trees. Indeed, sleep called to him, but all about him were grey-skinned, gnarled, scowling beasts. The orcs marked with the badge of Saruman proudly called themselves uruk-hai, but were as prone as the others to bickering at the slightest provocation.

None relished the task of looking after them, either, and none had appeared for the duty. Legolas could not muster the concentration to assess how well they were guarded, but it made no difference, in any case.

After allowing his eyes to wander aimlessly for a time, he spied the small curly head of a hobbit. While assuring himself he truly saw it, another head popped into view. Though they were hunched over, Legolas could see the two talking animatedly. His heart eased to see them hale, but regret and guilt lingered. Their own captivity would have been worthwhile and bearable to have seen the hobbits free. Perhaps they could yet.

Merry and Pippin continued talking intensely. Merry's face, lit by the early sun, revealed some distress. Pippin's back was to him, so Legolas could see only his shaking head. Soon, glancing about at their guards, they settled down near a large rock. After a few quiet moments, followed by quieter words, the hobbits lay themselves down to rest.

Legolas's eyes remained on them as he ignored the arrival of his own guard. Only months ago, he had known little of these creatures, but after a short time, he had readily trekked across leagues in pursuit of an army of orcs in an effort to save them.

A failed effort. Legolas thought again of the resilience of which Gandalf had spoken so often regarding hobbits. They had shown a true measure of that hardiness these past days, and Legolas thought Gandalf would have been proud of them, though he wondered if they had been fed.

His mind was wandering. The hobbits had lain down to sleep, so Legolas began to turn to the two lying beside him. Then Pippin rose once more and began to move slowly around the boulder beside them. Stunned, Legolas watched as, bit by bit, Pippin eased himself away from Merry until Legolas could barely see him through the bushes.

Legolas was riveted to the scene as he realized what Pippin aimed to do. Naturally, the hobbit had given up on them, his would-be rescuers. Now Pippin attempted his own escape. He closed his eyes as Pippin disappeared behind the bushes.

At the sound of a yell from an orc in the hobbits' direction, Legolas's eyes shot open. A large uruk was dragging Pippin by his cloak and shouting at him, then at another orc, likely an incompetent guard.

"What's happened?" Gimli asked. Legolas had not noticed that the dwarf had risen, but he recognized the weariness and worry in his voice.

"It appears Pippin has attempted what we failed," Aragorn said before Legolas could give an answer. "An orc found him seeking an escape."

Legolas kept his eyes on the hobbits, watching as the angry uruk tore the bread from the hobbit's hands and pulled out a whip from his belt. As the orc thrashed the hobbit's leg, the uruk Norgry approached and hollered at both orcs. They all stomped away then, leaving Pippin with the one lash apparently as a warning.

Despite the whipping, Legolas breathed a sigh of relief that Pippin did not receive harsher treatment. He dreaded that the hobbits might be treated as cruelly as they had been. Perhaps the hobbits could withstand it, they had proven themselves stalwart, but he had sworn to protect them. His failure to do so meant that the hobbits' suffering was also his responsibility.

With his eyes yet on the hobbits, Legolas said quietly, "Aragorn, time runs short for us. We must choose a course of action and soon."

In a gravelly voice, Aragorn said, "I agree, but our first concern remains the same. If we do not have water today, this will all be in vain." The man's cheeks had hollowed and his lips had cracked from thirst, amplifying the weariness in his face.

"Then we shall ask for some," Gimli insisted. He was pale, his beard stark against his skin. "Their orders were to bring us alive. If they do not bring us water, they shall not be able to obey their master."

Aragorn was silent as he looked about him much as Legolas had. The orcs gathered in knots, gambling or trading, quarrels erupting randomly. The man shrugged with one shoulder. "It is worth the attempt, at the least. They cannot kill us, can they?"

"Not if they intend to deliver us to Isengard," Gimli said.

Legolas frowned at the mention of their destination. If they reached Isengard, their chances of escape all but vanished. To flee that tower would be far more difficult than to escape here on the plains. There would be no hope left.

Aragorn stood suddenly, wobbling on his good leg, struggling for balance with his bound hands. He immediately had the attention of a nearby orc.

"What you think you're doing?"

"I must speak to your captain, if you have such."

"You don't have to speak to nobody!"

"I want to know why you are disobeying Saruman's orders."

"Disobeying-" Legolas tensed as the orc grabbed Aragorn's tunic. "What're you talking about, you stupid tark?"

Aragorn kept a steady gaze with the orc. "He ordered you to keep us alive. But we are going to die, and soon."

"No, you're not! You're not even bleeding, not much anyway. You're just fine!"

"We are not dying from injury. We are dying from thirst." That got the orc's attention. "Mortals-even Elves-must have water-clean water-every day. We have had none for more than three days." Before the orc could respond, Aragorn added, "And whatever it is you drink will not do. It must be water. Or did your captain not tell you?"

"My captain?" the orc sputtered. "Norgry? What does he know? He don't know nothing we don't tell him." He narrowed his eyes at the man. "You're bluffing. You're just trying to play a trick, thinking you're smart."

"You will know we were not bluffing when you have to carry our dead bodies to Saruman. What do you think he will do to you then?"

The orc was silent, breathing heavily in his frustration. Legolas could see Aragorn's references to his leader made the orc want to act on his own, rather than having to check with another. It was a shrewd strategy. They were more likely to get what they needed if the orc decided himself to grant them their request.

The orc grunted. "It's just water, I reckon. But where do you expect me to get that?"

"If you carry none yourselves, then we will have to find a nearby stream. We still have our waterskins; they can be filled quickly."

After a moment longer of deciding bluff versus truth, the orc released his hold on Aragorn. Looking behind him as if to check for observers to his questionable behavior, he put out his hand. Aragorn looked down at the hand for only a moment, then to his own waterskin where it still hung from his belt. The orc grabbed it from his belt, then took Legolas's and Gimli's as well.

He looked at them with a fierce scowl, then to the orcs beyond them, who were oblivious to the conversation as they prepared their own meals or engaged in yet more bickering. Checking behind him once more, he took off with a warning to stay put.