Aragorn gave up trying to push his mind from the present, as they plodded over swelling hills in the darkness and the pain in his leg prevented his mental escape. He was fortunate that the arrowhead was still imbedded in the wound, as it had prevented more serious blood loss. But his leg burned, likely with infection, and Aragorn was uncertain how much farther he could march.

He dwelled instead on his growing list of missteps that had brought them to this point. Always he went back to the decision to run through the night rather than rest. He had had sound reasons behind his choice. They might not otherwise have caught up with the orc army—that much was likely. 

But what he had failed to properly reckon was their strength, even his own, after three days of running with scant rest, which had left them unfit for battle. Had he not faltered and been injured, Gimli might not have been distracted and then wounded as well. Legolas would not have had to fight for them all, an impossible task. At least Legolas remained wise enough to remember their quarry and accept defeat.

He had chosen poorly once more, a possibly fatal error, and now the worst had come to pass. How many of his friends would he lose to his poor judgment? How was he to rule a kingdom when he could not rescue two friends from orcs? They did not yet know the fate of Merry and Pippin-in fact, they had not seen them since they had begun their attack on the orcs. He could only pray for the hobbits' safety. For their own, he thought perhaps even prayer was in vain.

In all his time as a Ranger wandering the wild, he had never been so unfortunate or unwise as to be captured by orcs. He did not need first-hand experience, however, to know that Gimli had spoken truly-their end would have gone easier had they battled to their last breath. But Legolas was also correct. They were not on a mission for themselves but to save the hobbits, and most especially to keep them from Isengard. For Saruman had clearly gone after hobbits and would know precisely what questions to ask. And Saruman had ways of ensuring he received his answers.

Consequently, they traveled in fetters over the plains of Rohan, the babble of the Entwash enticingly near. Night had fallen long ago, and occasional torches shed an eerie glow upon their dark captors. With little expectation of their own survival, Aragorn held onto the hope that they might yet manage to free their friends. He would die more at peace knowing Merry and Pippin did not suffer the same fate.

Aragorn stumbled again and failed to hide it this time. Gimli, trudging in front of him, slowed so that he could lean on him. Aragorn allowed himself a moment of relief to see that the dwarf's stride was barely slowed by his own wound. He then felt a hand at his elbow as Legolas steadied him. Their efforts helped, but at some point they would no longer be enough.

Too soon, the world pitched sideways and Aragorn found himself on the ground, pulling his companions with him. Legolas and Gimli scrambled to get him up before the whips came, but he was as a dead man already, and they could not lift him with their bonds.

"Aragorn!" he heard Legolas cry harshly. The use of his true name roused Aragorn from his daze, and he looked about to see if the word held meaning for any others. That one word could prove more dangerous to him than any sword. For the same reason, he had made the desperate decision upon their capture to remove his Ring of Barahir and leave it in his pack. Orcs would ransack the bags and then hopefully discard them. The chances of the ring reaching Saruman were, if not remote, certainly not as likely as they would have been had it remained on his finger. He could not be recognized for who he truly was. And he would not have the heirloom of the House of Isildur in the hands of Saruman.

Legolas seemed confused by the concern on his face, then noticed where Aragorn looked-at his bare finger. The elf's eyes widened, but clearly he understood. "You must get up! A Ranger does not give up so easily, or have they become so lax? You cannot give up! Now on your feet!" He yanked the Ranger to his feet, only to be greeted by a whip.

"Get moving, you rats! I don't remember anyone mentioning a rest!"

"He is injured!" Legolas said. "If you wish him to keep moving, you must allow me tend to his wound."

"I don't gotta do nothing. You, on the other hand, better get moving! Now!" There was a swish Aragorn recognized as the whip in motion, and as he heard it land on flesh, he was dragged until he was once again able to stumble on his own.

It was not long before Aragorn fell yet again. "Come now, Ara—Strider! You were not named such without cause! Live up to your name!"

"Aye, Strider," Gimli added, "Stride now! You must not falter!" Struggling as he now was with his own injuries, he fairly dragged the man behind him.

But it was no use. Aragorn shook his head, panting with his efforts. "Forgive me, my friends. But I am beyond even my endurance." He paused to catch his breath. "I have erred, and gravely. Forgive me." Aragorn's final words trailed off as he collapsed into a heap on the ground. No prodding from the two could get him to rise.

Aragorn vaguely heard shouts above him, but they meant little. Even the whip failed to prod his body into movement. He sensed his friends still near him, urging him onward. In the darkness beyond them were the orcs and their rough speech. "I think that one's dead already. Get Norgry-but not Uglúk! Now!" And another one, "You'd better hope he's not dead. Norgry says Uglúk wants them alive. For what, I'd like to know. But I ain't taking the blame for it if he is."

"What's this?" a deep voice barked through the cluster of soldiers.

"It's the man, Norgry. He won't get up. I think he's dead."

"You think he's dead? Did you check to see if he was dead?" Heavy boots stomped over, his friends were shoved away, and a hand clamped onto his chest. "His heart's still beating. What's all the fuss?"

"He won't walk no more. The other two can't even get him up. Whips and kicks ain't stirring him neither."

The uruk pulled Aragorn up and shook him. He was unable to stop his head from flopping and rolling with his body. "Blasted men. So weak. I don't know what your lot will get out of this one, Fagrod. But no changing now."

The footsteps of another orc neared. "Well, then, if he's gonna die, lemme take him now, so they can get something out of him. What say you?"

After a pause, the uruk grunted. "I suppose we could take a breather-a short one, mind you! We're almost to the forest anyways. You're responsible for him, including after. If he or the dwarf won't move when we're ready to march again, you'll be carrying them."

Aragorn's ears perked up at the comment, and he focused his concentration. His attention may have faded somewhat in his daze, but he realized if he wanted them to treat him as alive he had better start acting alive. He breathed deeply and attempted to move. The one who still held him noticed and shoved him into the arms of another orc, who apparently did not expect the sudden burden. Aragorn fell to the ground with a thud and a groan.

"See? He ain't dead. Enjoy your sport with him!"

Aragorn cracked his eyes open to see outlines of Legolas and Gimli sitting nearby in the dim light of far-off torches. Legolas's eyes gleamed, wide with concern. "Strider!" cried Gimli. "It does not sound good for you, my friend. And I can do nothing..." Aragorn realized Gimli was also losing his grip on his faculties. They had both pushed themselves beyond their strength. And now he had been put in the hands of an orc given counsel to 'enjoy' him. He was sure all enjoyment was to be had by the orc.

Instead of leaving, however, the uruk walked over to Legolas, pulled him up by the hair, and disconnected him from their tether. "And this one, I'm gonna enjoy this one, all right! Fagrod, I'm gonna have to keep you around. You have some good ideas. Listen up, lads. This one's mine unless I say so." Legolas was buffeted back and forth as the uruk gestured with the large hand that held him. "Fagrod will decide who gets the man. He's gonna share the dwarf among some of you. Said something about wanting to see how long a dwarf will last. They might be dying, being mortal and all, so pay attention! No killing till I say so. This one," he looked greedily at Legolas, "this one'll last a nice long time." The large uruk laughed as he dragged Legolas off with him.

Aragorn held Legolas's eyes, and the determination he found there sparked a seed of hope he had not dared to nurture. Legolas would survive, at least. And if he were the only one, he would see the hobbits freed or die trying. Aragorn looked for comfort in that thought, but found little.

Gimli, on the other hand, stumbled as he was dragged away by a small group of orcs. He had not the presence of mind to look back, and Aragorn silently prayed for him to find strength. As another group of orcs dragged Aragorn to his feet, laughing and joking gleefully for the sport to come, he knew he had best pray for strength of his own.