"In fact, the mere act of opening the box
will determine the state of the cat,
although in this case there were three
determinate states the cat could be in:
these being Alive, Dead, and Bloody Furious."

― Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies

46. Despacito

Despacito! Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito, Kat sang to herself, trying to keep her spirits up which was sorely needed at this stage of the journey.

She had had more pleasant hikes, to be honest. At the moment they were traversing a rocky mountain landscape, with a vast, grey desert extending far below, full of thorny bushes and many, many orcs. Beyond the desert a cone-shaped mountain spewed dark smoke that formed clouds above, effectively hiding the newly freed sun. Mount Doom, the ultimate destination of the Ring.

It seemed hopeless to get there, unless one either grew wings or used a parachute. And even if it were possible to descend safely, there was still that desert with all the orcs to cross unseen before climbing the volcano – a volcano that felt alive, malicious, like its smoke wanted to find all living things and choke them.

Not that there were many living things anyway. Hardly any plants, no birds, no small animals, only stinging insects.

Frodo and Sam had apparently decided to continue alongside the precipice until they found a way down, so for the past few days Kat had scrambled along over the rocky ground a few meters behind Gollum, who in turn shadowed the hobbits; a pair of blurry dots about a kilometer ahead. To a bystander they must look rather ridiculous spread out like that.

During the time involuntarily spent in each other's company, Kat and Gollum had formed a certain bond. It consisted of strong dislike, mingled with the slight comfort it meant to have someone warm to sleep next to at night.

As usual, Gollum muttered to himself when walking, and it was partly to take her mind off his disconcerting personality changes that Kat filled her head with music.

Despacito! Quiero desnudarte a besos despacito, she thought. She didn't know more words than the chorus, but that was okay, for neither did Justin Bieber.

The cheerful song reminded her of happier days; of long summer evenings by the sea when the sun didn't set until almost midnight. By now it was very hard to make those memories seem real. That life felt so distant. Had she ever been a woman relaxing at the beach, trying to get her dark skin even browner and taking a swim whenever she became too hot?

Under the sullen sky, she was forgetting what sunshine felt like on the skin.

Despacito...

It didn't help. Her companion's pathetic whines had grown louder, and soon were impossible to ignore. "Master musstn't go that way. There are orcses! Too many orcsess," he sniveled.

Kat peered nearsightedly ahead, trying to figure out what he was going on about. Then she saw it too. The hobbits had come to a road which sloped downwards, with a sheer cliff towering on their left side, and the vast gorge above the desert at their right. And some way behind them an orc company approached at speed.

Instantly shocked out of her singing, Kat felt her fur rise. Unless they jumped to certain death, Frodo and Sam would get caught! What could she do?

Gollum hurried his gait and began climbing up the steep cliff left of the road. "Stupid, stupid hobbitses!" he whimpered.

She followed him with difficulty, finding a narrow ledge to creep along. The drop to the road was only a few meters, but deep enough to break her legs if she should fall. She wished she had Gollum's long fingers and toes.

Frodo and Sam had discovered the danger too now, and after running back and forth in panic, they promptly capitulated.

"We're trapped at last." Frodo's tired voice drifted back to Kat. He cowered below the cliff, leaning his head in his arms.

"Seems so." Sam sounded quite as dejected when he miserably sank down beside him. "Well, we can but wait and see."

Gollum panted heavily, struggling to get to them in time. Perhaps he intended to try lifting Frodo up, saving him like he had saved Kat the other day, but he was still far behind. Despite his agility he could not move very fast on the rock wall.

Too late! Marching with steady footfalls, quick and determined, the first orcs in line were already there.

But what was happening? They filed past without even looking at the huddling figures by the road. Perhaps they were in too much of a hurry to notice them? Kat saw that some tall orcs drew the others' on with whips, and remembered from Helm's Deep that there were different kinds of orcs. Most of them were as short as hobbits, but these tall ones looked like human bodybuilders with fangs.

Legolas had called the larger variety 'uruk-hai.' Perhaps they were the smaller ones' leaders? Or their slave owners? Either way, the whips explained the company's speed.

Holding her breath, Kat looked on while more orcs passed. Would Frodo and Sam make it?

But the luck had been too good to last. One of the tall uruks stopped, cracking his whip over their heads and yelled: "Come on, you slugs! This is no time for slouching."

It sounded like he thought the hobbits were his soldiers, and Kat realized it must be their orc clothes and gear that fooled him. Again it struck her how clever they had been to put those on. But was it enough to save their lives?

"Deserting, eh? Or thinking of it." The uruk forced Sam and Frodo to join the ranks, placing them in the front where he could keep his eyes on them. His whip sounded again, forcing the clearly exhausted pair to move at the unrelenting pace of the orcs.

Dismayed, Kat followed on her ledge, and saw that Gollum did the same a bit ahead of her. Would he try to rescue them somehow? That would surely only make himself get caught as well, and what would she do then? Was this when she was supposed to save his life?

If only she knew what to do.

The orc army marched, and over the sound of their steady feet she heard the uruk laugh cruelly and taunt them. "Where there's a whip there's a will, my slugs!" If they didn't hurry, they would get beaten even worse when they arrived late to the camp.

After a while, the narrow ledge ended in a steep slope, and gratefully Kat climbed down. Then she continued behind Gollum, both of them running unseen among the scrubs and rocks beside the road. Now it was much easier to follow at the orcs' speed, but how poor Frodo and Sam managed it after everything they had been through was more than she knew.

The road was taking the orcs and the hobbits all the way down to the edge of the desert, and there they continued alongside the mountains towards a narrow pass ahead. A stone wall spanned it, with several turrets and towers, and it had a huge gate in its center. Below the wall many roads met, all of them crammed with orcs coming from every direction.

For some reason it seemed the desert plains were being emptied, as if the orcs' leaders had decided to send them to whatever lay beyond that mountain pass. Kat had no idea what it was, or why the orcs were going there, but if Frodo and Sam miraculously managed to escape, then this would certainly make it easier for them to get to the volcano.

The orcs in the front reached the gate, but a commotion ensued when the many companies collided in their hurry to get through; like water being blocked by a narrow bottleneck. Kat heard their harsh voices arguing and loud wails where fights broke out.

After much pushing and shoving, all the orcs were finally through. The gates closed and everything became silent.

"Poor Preciouss..." sniffed Gollum, crouching behind a stone.

Kat's heart felt heavy. She couldn't see how the hobbits could survive this. It was one thing to march incognito among tired, hurrying soldiers, but quite another to keep up the pretense in their camp.

But then she heard a most beautiful sound some way ahead. Sam's voice!

"Come on, Mr Frodo! One more crawl, and then you can lie still."

/\_ ,._ ,.
( ಠ‿ಠ )

The garden was calm, but sounds from the city drifted up to Éowyn where she sat with her good arm crossed over the broken one in its sling, hiding her raw palms in her armpits.

A peddler promoted her goods nearby; it seemed people were slowly returning to some sort of normal. Éowyn wished she could forget about the war that easily too. Forget the screams, pain, blood...

At the thought of blood, she had to suppress an urge to wash her hands again.

Her gaze turned east, to the only part of the sky that still had clouds. To Mordor. How far had Aragorn come? The Host of the West had left Minas Tirith two days ago, and would arrive outside the Black Gate in another four or five if her estimation was correct. There was still time to catch up with them on a fast horse.

But instead she was locked up here. In a cage again, this time guarded by well-meaning healers.

How she hated the idleness! Sitting here in sloth, with nothing to do but looking at the horizon. Her arm was broken, but the rest of her was well! If she could not be free soon, she would get sick again – with frustration and boredom.

As a war veteran she ought to follow Aragorn to battle. For, he still didn't see. He had healed her, but then regarded her with the same condescending pity as before. As if she had not faced a Nazgûl without fear. As if she had not killed scores of enemies before then.

Éowyn was a hero now, yet she had achieved nothing. Nothing, except for the blood on her hands.

She hid them deeper under her armpits.

Then Merry and a young boy joined her by the wall; she had not heard them come out.

"I wonder how far they have gone," said Merry wistfully, mirroring her thoughts from before.

"Are you not angry?" she asked. "My arm is broken, but Aragorn had no reason to keep you in chains."

"In chains?" He looked amused. "I trust Strider, though of course I wish I could have rode with him. But Pippin will represent the Shire for me."

"And he represents the Citadel Guards too, together with my dad," added the boy.

"Are you jealous you can't go with them?" asked Merry. "I know you and Pippin became good friends."

"No," said the boy firmly. "I'm going to be a gardener when I grow up." He indicated the surroundings. "I shall have lemon trees like these, and water lilies I think." Then his voice turned somber. "I hope my father survives to see it."

"Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose to die in battle," Éowyn said bitterly.

"Would you?" He looked surprised. "That's an odd wish."

She didn't bother to explain. He was just a boy. He would never understand what life was like for a woman.

When she said no more, Merry and the boy soon left her to her silent brooding, but the respite was short. A door squeaked, and more people came out; the steward, resting heavily on his sons' shoulders, and behind them the elf maiden who always accompanied them. They led him to a bench, and the elf covered his legs with a blanket while the two men sat down beside him.

Éowyn turned her attention back east.

The steward complained in a loud voice about not being able to walk without aid, and that he wanted to go home, and that the sun was in his eyes. He spoke Sindarin like most nobles in Gondor, which Éowyn understood since it had been her grandmother's language. She tried but failed to shut her ears to his repetitive litany.

The elf talked to him in soothing tones and began to sing a sad melody. Slowly his grumbling ended and was succeeded by soft snores.

"I hate to see him like this," said the elder brother in a subdued voice.

"He may yet improve."

"Nay. Nay he will not. You heard what the healer said."

"At least we have each other." The younger man's voice became emotional. "When I thought you were dead..."

"But I was not. Aye, we have each other, little brother. You will not get rid of me that easily." He chuckled warmly, and boxed the other's shoulder affectionately.

"Such a nuisance, indeed."

They didn't speak for a while, and the garden became still. A bird chirped. Éowyn's gaze left the ragged eastern mountains to follow a yellow butterfly fluttering past. It landed on the wall and flapped its wings a few times.

"I think I will go watch the fish," said the elf maiden.

Éowyn looked after her retreating back as she went, walking towards a secluded part of the garden where there was a well with a fountain. She moved gracefully like a cat.

Silence resumed, but after a short while the elder brother broke it. "Hm. Father sleeps soundly, it seems. Will you manage on your own for a while? I need to stretch my legs."

"Of course."

The man rose and slowly sauntered about, hands behind his back, as if he was going nowhere in particular. But it did not take long until he drifted in the direction where the elf had gone, and disappeared from view.

His brother came to stand by the wall, gazing at the sky like Éowyn. Then he seemed to notice her and nodded politely. "My lady."

"Lord." She nodded back.

"You look east. Did someone dear to you ride with the Host?"

"My brother and uncle." And the man I love, she added silently.

He looked closer at her, taking in her blonde hair and fair complexion. "They are Rohirrim?" he guessed.

"Aye. Éomer Éadig, marshal of the Riddermark, and Théoden King," she said proudly.

That seemed to impress him. "Forgive me for not introducing myself properly. I am Faramir, Denethor's son, and you must be the brave Lady Éowyn I have heard about, who dueled with the Dark Lord's servant."

"I am, and I did. Yet here I remain fettered, with naught that I can do." Then it struck her that as the steward's son, Faramir might be able to help her. "Can you command the healers to let me go?"

"I myself am in the warden's keeping. I trust he knows best when I am strong enough to leave."

"But I do not desire healing; I wish to ride to war. I looked for death in battle, but I have not died and battle still goes on."

"Death in battle may yet come to us all," he said kindly, and moved a little closer. "You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting."

She glanced at him. He was regarding her with compassion, not pity, as if he understood her frustration and respected it. If only Aragorn could have looked at her like that!

Her chest contracted, and her eyes burned with tears as she looked away.

"I have no envy for those who went to war," he said after a while, his voice soft. "I do not slay man or beast gladly."

Éowyn's gaze fell on his hands that rested against the wall, and thought of the blood on her own.

"But I hope for Lord Aragorn's success," he continued. "I would not have this world end yet. I want to see the White Tree in flower again, and new families founded. Recently I found a light in all the darkness, something to ease my heart..." His voice trailed off and he seemed embarrassed. "I bore you with my ramblings, lady. Forgive me."

"Nay, please speak." Though she normally was not fond of small talk with strangers, she sensed a depth in Faramir that intrigued her.

Smiling gratefully, he described how he had thought his brother was dead, but then he miraculously returned in the company of a maiden. "You probably saw them just now." It was obvious to him that they shared a bond, that something was happening between them – and it had changed his brother. In a good way. "Boromir used to be proud. As a boy it always displeased him that his father was not king. But not anymore. He obeys Aragorn, even agreeing to linger behind, and respects his claim as Elendil's heir." Faramir thought the change in his brother might be in part attributed to the elf maiden's influence. "Her beauty and placid temper has shown him that there are other values than the glory of victory. And their budding attachment is that light I spoke of, which has brightened the shadows and brought me joy."

"And then he marries her, and she gets caged for the rest of her days while he continues to do great deeds and earn fame," muttered Éowyn bitterly.

"Nay!" Faramir protested with feeling. "With my father's... illness, Boromir will be steward and Lord of Minas Tirith until the king returns. And even then, I am sure he will be assigned an important position in the city, which will make his wife important too. She would keep his house, manage the servants and later their children, and–"

"Thus speaks a man," she huffed.

He was silent, thinking a while before he spoke again: "Aye. I am a man. Then, lady, would you enlighten me? What does it mean to be the wife of a man of importance?"

She looked at him suspiciously, trying to figure out if he was mocking her, but he seemed earnest.

Tentatively she began then, describing what it had been like to keep King Théoden's house, unthanked by most, feeling invisible despite the hard labor it took to make everything run smoothly. From there she went on to tell him of all the injustices she had been subjected to because she was a maiden. Of every time someone had said to her that she shouldn't do this, or mustn't do that, while her brother and his friends could do what they pleased.

And this was the way it was now, when she was still unwed. Despite everything, she still had certain freedom, and certain respect from her people in her own right. But should she marry, she would be buried under her husband's title, his valor. She would be known only for what he was.

She had seen it happen. Beautiful women losing the bloom of youth when bearing child upon child, and also losing interest in anything but their family. That was a fate she did not want for herself.

When she had finished speaking, Faramir looked very thoughtful. "I am glad you told me this, and I would like to speak more with you another day – if you allow it? I need to learn, for I would not want such a fate for a future wife. "

"If you wish." She smiled. "You are an unusual man, Lord Faramir."

"Thank you." He returned her smile with a boyish grin that changed his serious face completely. At that moment she found him almost as handsome as Aragorn.

ʕ(* ‿ *)ʔ

Cat and Gollum huddled close together for warmth. In the darkness it was hard to see where the hobbits were hiding, but presumably they had chosen a crater too. This close to the volcano, the ground was littered with rough rocks made of solidified lava, and between them there were deep holes probably created by falling boulders during an eruption.

It felt completely unsafe to be out here.

"Stupid, stupid Master," Gollum whispered softly, absentmindedly stroking Kat's back; he must have temporarily forgotten they were not on friendly terms. "What is he doing? Why is he taking the Precious to the Black One's mountain? He managed to flee when the nassty orcses were fighting with each other. Yess, preciouss. But he may not be so lucky again. It's too dangerouss..."

Trying to distract him with her purr, Kat pressed herself closer to his skinny limbs. She instinctively knew that Gollum would rather kill Frodo than allow him to destroy the Ring.

Soon his murmurs grew more silent, and then ceased completely as he fell asleep.

Kat remained awake. She never slept much these days, being much too anxious, and her mind too restless.

After the hobbits escaped, they had been crossing the desert, walking slowly over the uneven ground. There was no food here, and hardly any water, and though Kat's body had great stamina, even she was beginning to feel it. Her limbs were weary and her tongue dry.

She worried she might not survive to finish her quest.

Her thoughts turned to the unknown place where Legolas was, and as she did every night and every morning she prayed for his safety. She missed him terribly, but when she tried to remember what he looked like she found she couldn't. All she saw was a vague face with blue eyes, surrounded by long, blond hair.

Looking down at her likeness in its cord around her neck, she met the gaze in her tiny human-eyes and suddenly wished Legolas had carved himself too.

At least she recalled his voice clearly, and his scent, and what it felt like to be touched by his hands. It was enough to make her want to cry, for with every kilometer she went into Mordor, it became less likely she would ever meet him again. Even if she somehow managed to save Gollum, how would she find her way back out? It was such a vast country, and so dangerous. She would probably end up in an orc's skillet.

Determinedly changing that disturbing line of thoughts, she conjured up her mother's face in her mind. That was easier; Mamma she could still see clearly. She pictured her solving crosswords or trying to water her plastic plants, and missed her terribly as well – both her real self, the way she had been before the illness, and her present confused persona. What she wouldn't give to be with her again, and be held by her frail arms! Even if it meant answering the same question every ten minutes.

Maybe Mamma had died in Kat's absence. Or didn't time pass in her old world while she was here?

How long had she considered it her old world, by the way? Somehow this world had become Kat's. Her second home. Strange.

Gollum moaned in his sleep, and Kat began to purr again to calm him. Now she wondered for the umpteenth time how she was supposed to save him. A cat. Weak, small, furry and useless.

Darn Mr Pretty Voice!

She occupied herself for a long time with making a list of all the bad names she wanted to call him, and formulating an angry rant she would make him listen to.

And then she sang. Trying to fill her head with summer music, and remember what it felt like to dance.

Despacito! Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito...

A/N:

Sorry about Kat's taste in music, and as usual, thanks for your support. :)

In the next chapter, Kat and the others reach Mount Doom... It's almost finished already so I'll post it on Sunday. Stay tuned!

Image Credits:

Screenshot from The Lord of the Rings movies.