by Kookaburra (later chapters with Llinos)
This story is the R-rated repost of my NC-17 story. If you would like to read it in its original (and I think better) form, go to my website, Flotsam and Jetsam, at http :kookaburra. Crickhollow . net / (close up the spaces).
This version has been beta'd and material added by Marigold
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and make no money from it Warnings: Graphic rape and torture. If this is not for you, do not read. Reviews: make the world go 'round! Any flames will be given to my dragon. Feedback: pholbytlaearthlink.net
Moria's Revenge, Chapter 1: Kidnapped
Pippin could not believe it. Time stopped, his senses were numb, and nothing mattered anymore. Gandalf is gone. He's gone…dead… He had run like the fool the Grey Wanderer had dubbed him. He should have helped. At least he should suffer and pay for what was his fault. He was the one that had dropped the stone. He should be the one at the bottom of Khazad-Dûm.
Light! It blinded Pippin after so many days in the endless night of Moria. All Pippin had the wit to do was stagger towards the person that had been his haven in hard times for all of his young life.
Merry. That was the only thought he could form. Oh, Merry, Merry, Mer, Mer...what are we going to do now? As he collapsed into Merry's embrace, time started again, and the full weight of what had just happened struck Pippin.
Merry held his shaking cousin, soothing and rocking him as he had done so many times in the past. Only this time he could not offer any words of support or encouragement. Pippin's choking sobs cut into his heart and he wished that he could tickle and laugh this trouble away, and tell Pippin it would be all right, but it would be a lie. Gandalf was gone forever. Gandalf, who they had known since they were just little lads.
"Shhhh...There now Pip. We have to be brave..." He tried to keep his voice steady, but it betrayed him and his grief washed over him like a tidal wave. His soft brogue dissolved into hiccupping sobs and he buried his streaming eyes in Pippin's sandy curls.
Over his own and Merry's sobs, Pippin could dimly hear Aragorn and Boromir arguing. He would have wondered about what if he had had the energy. Boromir's gentle voice broke into his thoughts.
"Come Merry, Pip. We must get moving." The man of Gondor's large hands tenderly pried them apart and lifted the two weeping hobbits to their feet. "We must get off of this mountain before dark."
The Fellowship trudged through the pine forest that blanketed the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The trees were on the smallish side, yet thick with branches and close together, so that it was necessary to walk in single file. Merry was just beginning to wonder if trees were not as bad as caves, when he heard Strider talking to Boromir.
"I know there are trails through this thicket, but I must not be burdened by our number to find one."
"Fear not Aragorn. I will keep leading the Company on an eastern tack. Should I try for that rock outcropping in the distance?" Boromir queried.
"Yes, that would be best. I should return before you reach it, but just in case... do not wait more than a day for me. Make for the woods of Lothlórien."
"Lothlórien! Aragorn..." Boromir seemed nervous. Merry wondered why.
"I know you have reservations about that place, but trust me it is for the best. Besides, I think I remember where I am; I just need to make certain. I most likely won't be gone more than two hours," Strider assured Boromir.
"Aragorn," Boromir called softly as Strider turned to leave, "be careful. I fear that the little ones would not be able to handle any more losses."
"I will, Boromir." Aragorn replied before moving off into the trees. Merry suddenly lurched forwards as Frodo blundered into him. Merry reached out and steadied his cousin. As Merry looked into Frodo's eyes, he could see the pain marring the Ring-bearer's elvish features. Wishing he could do more to ease Frodo's grief, Merry embraced him gently. Words were not necessary to convey his small offering of comfort.
Frodo could have stayed like that forever. Nothing mattered anymore anyway and he felt weary. Yet they had to move on again. At least the trek did not seem so arduous now that they had a goal to reach.
In twenty minutes time Strider rejoined them and they were all heartened to hear that they had been travelling the right direction after all. Several paths went directly past the monolith and it was easily defensible, an ideal place to spend the night. At their current pace, Strider felt they should reach it in four hours. He had also found a small game trail that seemed to be heading straight to the outcropping, so the going should be easier.
Pippin wondered why he should feel so tired. They had not gone that far, from where they had rested last night inside Moria. It was a fair distance, but not enough to account for the absolute exhaustion he felt now. The little hobbit had not experienced grief before and so was unfamiliar with its draining effect. The other members of the Fellowship had and were able to shake off enough of the fatigue to continue at a good clip. None of them noticed Pippin falling further and further behind.
Pippin looked up, and realised that none of the other members of the Fellowship were in sight. This did not immediately alarm him, as he had been losing sight of them around bends in the trail for a while. Then he started to hear noises, noises that the sounds of his comrades had covered. Noises that only a hobbit or an elf, used to walking absolutely silently, could hear.
Also...there was something else, an all too familiar smell. The smell that had permeated the chamber housing Balin's tomb, that had assaulted and gagged them throughout Khazad-Dûm! Strider's voice rang through his mind.
"These hills will be swarming with orcs!"
Pippin then did the only thing he could do. He panicked. Bolting like a spooked pony, he raced up the path. Unfortunately for him, he was going too fast to dodge the great dark shape that suddenly loomed out of bushes in front of him.
Pippin was unconscious before he hit the ground.