Did I perhaps forget to update for months? Yes.
Do I have an excuse? No. Except that I started watching Criminal Minds and didn't expect the brainrot to be so strong fr.
Anyway.

LAST TIME:

Enjoy!

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Considering Robb had a very clear idea of the direction he needed to go to escape—that direction being down—Isengard was actually far harder to navigate than he had hoped. Each stairway led to another curving corridor, and each corridor led to another hall with several doorways splitting off from it. To find the next set of stairs, Robb had to check every new room, praying all the while that it would not be occupied.

So far, he had been lucky. The Gods only knew how long that would last.

The lack of windows made his task harder: how would Robb know when he had reached the ground floor? What if he accidentally descended into the bowels of Isengard's dungeons instead? He knew they existed, for why else would Saruman have called Robb's own cell an upper cell?

Robb sighed, but kept quiet beyond that. It was a useless thing to worry about, anyway. If he stumbled into the dungeons, he would simply have to go up the stairs again, and hope no one saw him.

He pushed open the next door and froze in his tracks. Before him lay the same chamber Robb had been in not even an hour ago. The plinth was still in its centre, with the crystal ball sitting on top of it—uncovered.

Robb swallowed. His gaze stayed locked on it, as though Sauron might come springing out of the orb the moment he looked away. Robb thought he heard whispers again, a quiet hissing, but no. It had to be his imagination. Fear, maybe—he was not too proud to admit that Sauron frightened him, especially after what had just happened. The remains of his presence still burned in Robb's mind like a brand. His headache had refused to abate so far.

Enough.

Squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment, Robb shook his head to clear it. He could not afford to hesitate here. With every second that passed, the odds of Saruman learning of his escape increased.

When Robb opened his eyes again, he found himself several steps into the room, his hand half-raised as if to reach out. His breathing stuttered. Then, with a low growl, he balled his hand into a fist until his fingernails dug into his palm, and forced it to return to his side.

Only now did Robb look around the room.

The three doors in front of him were all closed, though he could not say whether they were locked. The ones on either side of the doorway Robb had come through, however...
They were both wide open.

While the right one led to yet another room, the other one revealed grey skies and a fine view of the lands surrounding Isengard. A balcony.

Air caught in his throat, Robb stumbled forward. Sunlight hit his skin and he inhaled fresh air for the first time in days. His eyes fluttered shut and a breathless chuckle escaped unbidden from his lungs. Robb's fingers found the cold metal railing and curled around it.

Back in his cell, with only his own thoughts for company, it felt at times as if the rest of the world had fallen away. Had the past weeks with the Fellowship been real, or a dream? Perhaps he had truly died that day at the Twins? In his darkest moments, Robb had begun to question what was real. In a way, Saruman and his torture had helped with that, the pain anchoring him where little else could.

None of that came close to this: the breeze of cool wind on his skin, the prickle of sun on his face, the distant shouting and creaking and clanging from below.

Those were the sounds of an army, Robb knew. His eyes slowly fluttered open, the smile falling from his lips. He was not surprised, not truly—the battalion that had attacked them could not have been the only one, and Saruman would be of little use to Sauron without a host of his own.

The size of it, however...

Robb swept his eyes over the grounds of Isengard. They were slowly filling with troops, some units already standing at attention, some still in the process of arranging themselves. But even now, Robb could tell it was a force that should not be underestimated. About ten thousand strong, if he was made to guess—smaller than the army Robb himself had commanded, but that had little bearing.

His lips pulled into a frown. Wherever Saruman intended to send them, Robb hoped they had enough men of their own, and a good strategy at hand.

Finally, with one last squeeze of the railing, Robb tore himself from the sight and walked back into the hall.

The other open door led back into darkness. Although there were some candles as well as several high windows at the far side of the room, the light they allowed in paled in comparison to the sunlight outside. Robb blinked several times until his eyes adjusted.

The room was... full. Everything had its place, to be sure—Robb did not think Saruman would ever allow something so pedestrian as a mess in his halls—but the sheer amount of seemingly random items was close to overwhelming the room's capacity. Every table had something on it, be it books or documents or bubbling experiments; every trunk served as a surface for tools and jars and chests; every cabinet revealed mountains of ingredients, of candles and powders and—eggs?

Brows drawn together, Robb reached out to trace his fingers over the largest one. It was as big as his head. Unlike the others, which were smooth and black, this one was white with almost imperceptible scales, as though it were covered in a layer of snakeskin. Dark red lines ran between the scales, staring at the bottom and fading as they went upwards. They looked like tiny rivers of blood, or veins of a precious metal disappearing deep into a mountain.

It was warm to the touch, Robb realised, before he snatched his hand away. Warmth meant Saruman had most likely been handling it very recently. No matter how curious he was about the egg—Robb's thoughts couldn't help but run in a very specific direction, one of fire and blood and mythical beasts—there was no time to explore further. Messing anything up in here was an excellent way to be found out and thrown back into his cell, too. That was an outcome Robb was less than keen to pursue.

As if on cue, the sound of a door opening in the hall outside echoed through the room, followed by voices.

Cold panic flooded Robb's chest when footsteps drew nearer and he recognized one of the voices.

Saruman.

Robb closed the cabinet with suddenly shaking hands and whipped around, eyes frantically searching for a place to hide. All of the trunks were covered in things that would fall to the ground if he so much as touched the lid, immediately drawing Saruman's attention. The closets were either locked or too full to hide in, and the tables too out in the open, nevermind devoid of any sort of tablecloth that might hide his presence.

Robb's heart pounded in his ears, almost drowning out the approaching voices. He swallowed, and dashed over to the far corner of the room. It was farthest from the windows, bathed in shadow, and Robb pressed himself into a gap between the wall and another cabinet, praying to all the Gods that the darkness might hide his presence.

He should have smeared more blood over his clothes, his mind screamed at him. Anything to hide the light colour of his shirt and breeches.

Robb squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to calm down, to even his breathing. Even the best of hiding spots would be useless if Saruman could hear him panting from three floors away.

When Saruman entered the room, it was without the sound of a door opening to precede him. Robb had left it as he had found it, after all: wide open.

"—Deep has one weakness," the other voice was saying. It was soft, almost slick, but Robb thought he could recognize a faint thread of insecurity in it.  "Its outer wall is solid rock but for a small culvert at its base—little more than a drain."

Robb frowned. Were they planning a siege, or would they try to sneak an assassin into a fort? Who were they going to attack? Gondor? Rohan, perhaps?

Saruman neglected to reply. The room stayed silent beyond the occasional clinking of glass and, a moment later, a faint hissing, like sand pouring onto a hard surface.

"How?" the other man finally asked, his footsteps quick as they rounded on Saruman. "How can fire undo stone? What kind of device would undo that wall?"

Robb's eyes widened and he had to press his lips together to swallow a gasp. Oh, he knew all too well. If Saruman managed to produce anything close to wildfire, whoever they were about to lay siege to was doomed.

It explained the egg, as well, if it truly was that of a dragon—although that seemed like an incredibly long term solution to Saruman's immediate problem.

Where Robb had pondered whether he should try to warn the wizard's intended victims before, he now knew it was imperative to do so. As siege could last months, years, even—enough time for the besieged to wait for help. But if Saruman managed to destroy a wall of the castle, he could take it within a day.

A fact Saruman knew just as well.

"If the wall is breached, Helm's Deep will fall," he said. Another clink of glass reached Robb's ears, then Saruman began to move.

Helm's Deep, Robb mouthed to himself, trying to commit the name to memory. Helm's Deep.

Gods, he needed a map.

"Even if it is breached," the other man replied, following Saruman as their footsteps mercifully receded, "it would take a number beyond reckoning, thousands, to storm—"

A number Saruman had.

Robb released a shaky breath when the man's voice faded away in the distance, still audible but no longer loud enough to understand what he was saying. They had left this room, but were still in the hall beyond, perhaps even on the balcony if Saruman intended to show the man his army.

Robb slowly stepped away from the wall. There was no way to know how long they would be gone. If he wanted to get out of here, he had to do it now.

He flinched when Saruman's loud voice echoed through the room once more, but after a moment it became clear he was speaking to his army. Robb exhaled once too steel himself, then started to move back across the room.

Just before he reached the door, a burst of colour at the edge of his vision caught his attention. When Robb looked closer, he wanted to scream in joy. It was a drawing of a compass rose on the corner of a map, peeking out from where it lay buried under several other documents.

He rushed to the table, the sound of his bare feet as well as his rummaging drowned out by Saruman's own voice outside. Robb pulled the map free, casting no more than a cursory glance at it before he folded it several times and stuffed it into his waistband.

Slowly, prepared to shrink back at any second, Robb poked his head out of the doorway. Saruman and his companion were indeed out on the balcony, looking down at their army of Uruk-Hai.

"March to Helm's Deep! Leave none alive!" Saruman boomed, his hand outstretched in command. "To war!"

Thunderous cheering rose up outside, and Robb used that opportunity to dart to the next door. He did not actually know which one of the three that were left would lead him to the stairwell. It was... just a tiny bit inconvenient.

Luck seemed to be with him today, however: the first door he tried opened immediately, revealing narrow, winding stairs that led down into the darkness. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth at this juncture, Robb dashed through the doorway and closed it behind himself as quietly as possible.

Leaning back against the cold metal for just a moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And another one. His eyes blinked back open, and a relieved chuckle left his lips. Robb wiped one hand over his face, then felt for the wall and slowly moved ahead.

At first, it was slow going. Soon, however, Robb's eyes adjusted to the darkness once more and he descended the stairs more confidently. He did not see a single soul on his way down, although this stairwell was far longer than any of the other ones. When he finally reached the bottom, Robb was met with another narrow door. A small sliver of light fell through the slit on the floor.

Holding his breath, Robb fumbled for the doorknob and slowly, carefully pushed the door open.

Outside lay a field of mud, littered with great holes and chasms. The grounds of Isengard looked as desolate as they had upon Robb's arrival—perhaps even more so, in the aftermath of the army that had been gathered here just minutes before.

Still, the sight made Robb's heart soar. He was not yet out of danger, but he had escaped the tower itself without drawing Saruman's attention.

Robb stepped out of the door, his head swivelling around, watching out for both danger and opportunity. The Uruk-Hai were pouring out of the far gates to his left, perhaps a third of the way around the tower. This was a side door, it seemed. He was not particularly surprised by this: the staircase would have been far grander and, more importantly, much more well-lit if it had led to a main entrance.

When Robb let the door fall shut behind him, it became almost invisible, slotting into the grooved wall perfectly. He hummed in grudging admiration, then crouched down to pick up a handful of mud and hurl it at the door. Who knew, maybe knowing where this entrance was would come in handy in the future.

He shook his hand free of mud, then wiped the rest off on his shirt, looking around once more.

A few dozen yards away, just next to one of the deep chasms, Robb spotted the remains of makeshift tents. Beyond it, at about double the distance again, stood a small stone building. It was set into the surrounding wall, and with everyone going to the main gate, Robb wagered his best chance of escape likely lay that way.

He made his way across the muddy grounds, cursing his lack of boots all the way. The wet earth squelched through his toes with every step, leaving him unsteady and half-stuck on more than one occasion. Resentfully, Robb wondered how the Uruk-Hai were doing, fully armed and clad in their heavy plate armour.

When he reached the tents, Robb almost stumbled over a body. The head and torso were almost fully buried in mud, and canvas from a torn down tent covered the man's legs. Robb froze for just a second, then crouched down to feel for a pulse. To his surprise, he was still warm, and let out a loud snore the second Robb's fingers touched his neck.  With it came the unmistakable waft of alcohol.

This was no prisoner, even though he was just a man. A dead man, once someone realised he had failed to report to his post.

Robb flicked back the tarp over the man's legs. His furred boots looked sturdy and whole, close to Robb's size, if not quite of the quality he was used to. Glancing down at his own bare feet, he decided they were better than nothing. Robb made his way around the sleeping man, keeping one eye on his face just in case he gave signs of waking up, and started to pull the boots off.

When he was finally done—he wondered how the man had ever got into them in the first place if Robb had to use his full weight to get them off his feet—he wiped his soles as clean as he could on the canvas. It was odd, taking another man's boots like that, but Robb could hardly walk across Middle-Earth barefooted. He was no Hobbit, after all.

The boots were still warm inside. He did not know why that made him even more uncomfortable. At least that meant he had not taken them from a corpse.

Robb gave the man a last once-over, and decided to leave him to his fate, before continuing across the muddy grounds. It was better going, certainly, even if the added weight of the boots had him sinking deeper into the muck.

By the time he arrived at the small stone building, only half of the army remained within the bounds of the fortress. Robb knew he needed to get ahead of them if he wanted to spread any kind of warning, and even though armies usually moved rather slowly, he knew better than to underestimate this one. The Uruk-Hai who had taken him prisoner had made him run for hours on end, showing no signs of exhaustion of their own. Surely the rest of the army would possess the same endurance, even if they were travelling with siege weaponry to slow them down.

Lost in thought, Robb opened the wooden door of the house—and froze.

Several cured ham legs hung from the ceiling, barrels full of apples and pears lined the walls, and a long shelf was filled with baskets of bread, eggs, sausages and cheese, with jugs of ale and wine and waterskins.

A disbelieving laugh bubbled from his chest, and Robb stepped into the room. His stomach rumbled, and suddenly his throat was parched again, even as saliva gathered in his mouth.

Gods, how long had it been since he had last eaten?

His hand reached out for a roll of bread of its own accord, and Robb didn't care to stop it. Instead, he grasped for a waterskin with the other one, bringing it to his mouth whenever he wasn't tearing into the bread instead.

For the first few minutes, he scarfed down food as quickly as he could, before memories of his mother's scolding voice broke through the haze in his mind. After that, he tried to pace himself.

When his stomach was no longer clenching around thin air and the worst of his hunger was sated, Robb let his eyes wander once more. He found what he was looking for fairly quickly. Next to one of the windows, a brown leather satchel hung from the wall. Robb snatched it down and started filling it with anything that would keep for at least a short while. Bread, cheese and sausages wrapped in cloth from quickly emptied bags of seeds, as well as a few apples and tiny pouches of nuts and dried fruit. When the satchel was full, Robb slung the strap over his head so the leather bag itself rested at his hip, and fastened a waterskin to his belt.

It was added weight, but Robb had travelled with far more baggage than this before he had been taken.

Finally, here in the relative safety of this larder, Robb finally looked at the stolen map.
Whatever he had imagined Middle-Earth to look like, it had not been this. He had been unconsciously picturing something similar to Westeros, he supposed, and so the long, rounded coastline to the west took him by surprise, just like the fading features to the east that made the map look like it showed only a fraction of this world. Robb took in the great mountain range that bisected Middle-Earth, the large forest in the Northeast, the seemingly intentionally closed-off part that was Mordor.

He found Rohan quickly, right at the centre of the map as it was, and from then on, it was easy to locate both Isengard and Helm's Deep. Robb would have to follow the river south for—he glanced at the scale bar in the corner—a bit under fifty miles, then cross the river and go just as far southeast along the mountain range.

His own army, Robb knew, could have managed that in four days. Saruman's, however? He'd wager they could cut it in half, especially if they kept on marching at full speed through the night.

Robb exhaled heavily and folded the map back up.

He really wished he had a horse.