There was blood in his mouth.
Blood and fur and meat.
His two tiny friends had not eaten meat in too long, and although he had not, either, they were a priority. So this meat was for them.
The vicious little one mistrusted him—a feeling he returned—which was why he could find his own meat. And he had, by the looks of it. Was offering it to his tiny friends, too. That was new.
He trotted closer and put the rabbits on the ground next to the other one. The tiny one with lighter hair shot him a smile, but the vicious one just hissed at him. Never one to be outdone, he growled back.
It wasn't a serious threat—his quiet tiny friend had made clear that they needed the vicious one, and that he was not to be harmed. Usually, he only listened to one person—but his bondmate had instructed him to help his tiny friends, so he would listen to them, too.
Within reason.
He shook out his fur and padded away when the vicious one went back to chattering to himself.
There was a strange smell in the air, he realised now that the rabbit was no longer right under his snout. He raised his head and sniffed.
Hm. Nothing he recognized.
His ears twitched. There were—yes, he could hear voices and footsteps and something much, much bigger ahead of him. The direction of the smell.
Quietly, he made his way through a few shrubs and bushes until the ground fell away to reveal a small basin. A few feet away, he spotted his quiet little friend, and decided to join him. Whatever was coming their way, this was as good a spot as any to see it from a safe distance. He lay down beside his friend, but his ears remained tiled ahead.
There were not many things that dwarfed him nowadays, and with the company he had, it seemed he had become too used to being big. Because the grey beasts that emerged from the trees at the other side of the basin, let along by soldiers and carrying them as well, were enormous. He instinctively shrunk back, out of sight, tucking his tail closer.
Perhaps it was fright, or maybe the way his tiny friend tensed beside him that distracted him so, but by the time he realised the other smell in the air, it was too late. Green-cloaked men jumped out of bushes and emerged from behind trees, attacking the beasts and soldiers alike.
Next to him, his tiny friend stumbled to his feet. He yipped in warning—there was someone else approaching, he could hear their steps in the underbrush—but the little one ignored him. Jumping up as well, he tried to catch his cloak in his teeth and stop him but he was deceptively quick.
When he rounded the corner, his little friend was already captured, with a knife at his throat.
❄️
Robb could not stop tonguing his cheek.
He knew he should not, and it hurt every time—both the hole in his cheek and the cut in his tongue—but it was like losing a tooth. His tongue kept finding the cut, feeling it without his say-so. Every time, Robb would be startled by the stinging pain and curse himself, Saruman, and the Gods, before vowing to keep away from it. Then, moments later, the whole thing would repeat itself.
Robb almost wished he could focus on the pain in his side instead. He was sure that wound had reopened when Saruman had hit him there—his shirt was wet and stuck to his skin, and every now and again, he felt the tickle of a drop of blood running down his hip. But he was still dizzy—be it from the repeated hits to his head, blood loss, or thirst—and his mind was running in circles, repeating inane words and phrases on a loop as though they were a song.
It took all his concentration to keep himself standing, and his tongue took that as permission to explore the new hole in his cheek.
Robb groaned quietly and leaned back into the wall. He liked to imagine that took some of the weight off his legs, even if it was becoming less and less effective. Still, he would take what he could get.
After Saruman had left, Robb had passed out for Gods knew how long. He had dreamed, or perhaps warged into Grey Wind, but the memory was fuzzy. When he had awoken, he had been hanging bonelessly in his chains, and his shackled hand had been numb. The pins and needles had almost been worse than the pain, but only until Robb had straightened up and aggravated what felt like every single injury he had ever received in his life.
Now, the constant throbbing had largely faded to background noise. Well, except for—
Robb hissed, and another drop of blood ran down his cheek. Gods be damned, he almost wished Saruman had taken his tongue instead.
At least the injury would make for a fetching scar. Have Robb appear a bit older, more experienced. Provided it closed up, of course. If it did not—well, Robb dearly hoped it did, because if that cut needed stitches to close up, he was well and truly fucked. He had no desire to run around with a hole in his cheek for the rest of his life.
His stomach grumbled, and Robb tilted his head back with a sigh until it met cold stone. By now, he knew he needed only to wait a few minutes for the worst of the hunger to abate. Still, the way his stomach clenched around nothing but thin air was never comfortable.
The thirst was worse, though. The last time Robb had drunk anything had been days ago, when the Uruk-Hai had forced it down his throat. Back then, Robb had almost thrown up but now he was glad it had happened. His mouth was dry save for the blood that pooled every time he moved his jaw too much. His lips were chapped. He was starting to feel woozy more and more frequently. White dots flashed before his eyes whenever he adjusted his position, accompanied by a rushing in his ears that became louder and louder with every minute.
Robb did not know for how many days he had been in this cell, but it was long enough that his body would soon fail him. If Saruman intended for Robb to live and give him information, he would need to grant him something to drink.
Alas, it was quite some time before a noise outside of his cell drew Robb from his delirium.
When Saruman entered once again, it was much the same as before. He carried a torch which he placed in the sconce beside Robb’s head, silent until the deed was done. His expression was neutral.
Yet two things were markedly different. He left the door open, for one, and Robb could hear deep voices mumbling in another language outside. Orcs, if he were to make a guess, or Uruk-Hai. The other change was the waterskin in Saruman’s hand.
Intellectually, Robb knew better than to trust it. It could be poisoned or drugged to make him talk more freely, or just the same disgusting concoction the Uruk-Hai had given him. Still, when Saruman raised it to his lips, Robb gasped. All of a sudden, his mouth felt twice as dry, his lips twice as cracked, his throat twice as parched. His headache doubled, his legs shook, and all Robb wanted was to drink whatever was in that waterskin. Consequences be damned.
To his surprise, Saruman allowed it. He stepped uncomfortably close, his free hand cupping Robb’s uninjured cheek, his thumb tipping his chin back, but in that moment, Robb did not care.
For a second, the feeling of clear, cool water in his mouth was pure bliss. Then, Robb swallowed and the pain returned in full force. His tongue burned, and he grunted in protest and discomfort. Saruman’s grip on his face only tightened as he shushed Robb, not stopping the flow of water.
With a sound of disgust, Saruman stepped away.
“No—” Robb coughed again, and his cheek burned at the stretch— “No, wait—”
“I had hoped you might be a little more forthcoming today,” Saruman said. He cast the waterskin to the ground without a care. Robb closed his eyes in regret, listening to the faint gurgling as the skin emptied itself upon the floor. Fuck.
Then, Saruman's words registered and Robb let out a raspy laugh. He shook his head.
“That,” he mumbled, trying to enunciate the words as carefully and painlessly as he could, “will be… quite… difficult. Ow.”
Saruman raised an eyebrow. “Not to worry, my friend. There will be rather little speaking involved.”
Whatever that meant, it did not sound good.
As if on cue, a trio of Uruk-Hai entered. Saruman took a step back, and Robb made every effort to fade into the wall as they approached him. He needn't have worried. While one of them restrained his loose hand, the second one came even closer, but all he did was reach up and unlock the shackles around his wrist.
With the one thing keeping him upright suddenly gone, Robb almost collapsed. A gasp escaped his throat when his knees buckled, but the Uruk-Hai caught him almost immediately. Instead, it was only Robb’s arm that flopped uselessly downward. A sharp, stinging pain travelled from his shoulder all the way to the base of his spine, and he groaned again. His elbow popped. His wrist burned, rubbed raw from the iron cuff. Robb had not realised his hand had fallen asleep again, but the pins and needles in his fingers left no doubt about it.
In any other situation, Robb might have thought about trying to escape. Now, it did not even cross his mind. The Uruk-Hai pulled him to stand, and when Robb finally managed it, drew him away from the wall. Saruman left the cell first. The Uruk-Hai herded Robb out behind him, one at each of his sides and the third at his back.
After several days in all-encompassing darkness, even the dim lighting in the halls of Isengard blinded him. He hissed, closing his eyes, and stopped for just a second. Not a second later, he was sent staggering as the Uruk-Hai shoved him forward.
Walking was an incredibly wobbly affair in his state. Barefooted, Robb stumbled along the corridors more than anything else. When the time came to descend a spiral staircase, he mentally cursed Saruman and all the Gods. He took a deep breath before promptly tripping and almost breaking all his bones. At the last second, the Uruk behind him caught the back of his tunic with a growl. As if it was Robb’s fault he was in no condition to walk.
From then on, one Uruk-Hai kept ahead of him while Robb’s shoulders stayed firmly in the grasp of those beside him. It was terrifying, but at least it saved him from further embarrassment. In this place, it was the little things he had to be thankful for.
Once they were on even ground again, Robb felt a bit surer on his feet—enough so that he allowed his eyes to wander. The walls were as dark and monotonous as Robb had expected from his experience on the way in. Most of the doors were closed, the few open ones leading to empty rooms, halls or—in one particularly exciting case—a small balcony. Sadly, none of it was helpful in his rapidly formed and discarded plans of escape.
All thoughts of that were wiped away, though, when a metallic glint on the belt of the Uruk in front of him drew his gaze. When Robb realised what he was looking at, the rage that had burned out days ago suddenly came flooding back.
Balin’s dagger.
This was one of the Uruk-Hai that had captured him. Oh, how he longed to tear his throat out for that. For the disrespect of stealing his dagger, but also for taking Merry and Pippin, and for almost killing Boromir. For bringing Robb here.
He clenched his jaw, then relaxed it just as quickly when it sent a stabbing pain through his cheek. With a deep breath, Robb tried to swallow down his anger.
Instead, his eyes fell on Saruman. By the Gods, from behind the man looked even more similar to Gandalf than he already did. The only difference were the white robes, where Gandalf had worn grey.
Robb huffed. “Do all of you look the same?”
Speaking still hurt, and his words were not as clear as he would have liked, but it was a distraction. Pain and the mental efforts of keeping his thoughts straight drew his mind away from fury. Irritating Saruman had brought him a great deal of satisfaction just yesterday—if it had indeed been yesterday—and Robb was not above trying that again. His situation could hardly get much worse.
Saruman barely even glanced back. “All of who?”
“You,” Robb replied. “Wizards. Every one of you I’ve met so far in this world has looked the same. Same robes, same hair, same beard. Why?”
After a few seconds, Saruman asked, “And the wizards in your world are quite different?”
Robb rolled his eyes at the obvious evasion. “In that they don't exist.”
Well, there were hedge wizards, of course, and he had heard tales of aeromancers and other sorcerers in Essos. But Saruman did not need to know that. In any case, as far as Robb knew, their magic was learned, not innate as Saruman’s and Gandalf’s was. None of them were magic at their core. He supposed the one person he knew of who came closest to their kind of magic was—
Robb scrunched up his nose in contemplation, then quickly smoothed out his face again when that, too, pulled at the cut in his cheek.
"There was certainly a witch where I am from. But the one… 'witch' I met here in Middle-Earth, in her elegance and grace, more than surpassed any expectations I might have had."
Robb snorted. "Unlike you. You look to me like a cheap mummer's rendition of Gandalf."
Saruman stopped so suddenly that the Uruk-Hai walking behind him almost collided with the man’s back. He turned around to face Robb, his blue eyes cold and cutting.
“Watch your tongue,” he hissed, “or I might decide to cut it out after all.”
Robb, deciding he knew too much for that not to be a bluff, blinked up at him as innocently as he could.
“Surely you were aware of that? I thought it might be to get me to trust you as one would trust Gandalf. Although—” Robb tilted his head with a hum— “I had thought we’d established I was never quite close with him. So… perhaps not that. Perhaps you simply admired him so much that you wished to imitate him. That is the greatest form of flattery, after all.”
Gods, his cheek hurt. As did his tongue. Robb could taste blood again, but the livid expression on Saruman's face was too delightful to stop now.
“Then again,” Robb continued, “one would think you’d find Sauron to be the more admirable one. But… no. This cannot be in honour of him.”
“Why?” Saruman snarled. “Because I am not dressed as a great flaming eye?”
The mental image almost had Robb laughing out loud, had he not been so certain that it would spell the end of him and his poor abused cheek.
“Please,” he said instead, raising his brows, “I saw what he truly looked like, once upon a time. We both know Sauron was as well dressed as he was handsome.”
Robb dragged his eyes down Saruman's figure, then brought them back up to meet the wizard’s glare with a smirk. “Two things I cannot say about you.”
For a moment, Robb thought Saruman was going to hit him. Instead, the man forcibly relaxed his clenched jaw and turned around without a word. Still, even as they resumed their procession through the halls of Isengard, Robb saw the way Saruman’s hands flexed at his side, tightening to fists every few seconds.
Lips twitching, Robb chose to see that as a victory.
Soon, they entered a circular room, empty save for a throne at the far wall and a chest-high plinth covered by a black piece of cloth at the very centre. The room had several entrances, but all but one fell shut when they entered. Robb was marched forward until he stood before the plinth, Saruman across from him on the other side.
There was something else under the cloth, Robb realised: an orb of some sort, judging by its shape. He eyed it cautiously. Whatever it was Saruman had planned for him, it involved this object. That alone did not inspire much confidence that it was just a harmless trinket.
"Leave us," Saruman ordered, his icy glare never once leaving Robb. The Uruk-Hai shuffled out of the room and the last door closed behind them.
Robb was still unbound. Had Saruman been just a man, Robb would have fancied his chances of escape even injured and barefooted as he was. But Saruman was a wizard. There was little doubt he could stop him with barely the twitch of a finger.
Instead, Robb let his eyes flicker about the room. The walls were hewn of the same black stone as everything else in Isengard, grooves and spikes running along their surface just as they did in his cell. Similarly, it possessed no windows. The ceiling, however, was impossibly high and barely visible. It faded into darkness a few dozen metres above their heads. Robb suspected the room might go up to the very top of the tower, but he could not be sure.
When Saruman pulled the cloth away, Robb immediately focussed back on him, suppressing a flinch at the sudden movement.
The cloth did indeed reveal an orb. It was big, about the size of his head, and made of some sort of deep black crystal. Even at first glance, it was mesmerising. Staring into it felt like Robb was unfocusing his eyes and letting his mind drift, letting it be drawn into the dark void inside.
It was only when he heard Saruman start murmuring in another language that Robb returned to his senses. He blinked, dispelling the fog in his head, and looked up. Saruman's hand hovered over the crystal ball, just short of touching it. His lips were moving, voice quiet, and Robb thought he might be speaking some form of Elvish. More importantly, however, Saruman's eyelids were half-closed, eyes rolled up as if in a trance.
The breath caught in Robb’s throat. This was his chance. Staring intently at him, Robb slowly, quietly, took a step back. When Saruman failed to react he continued, inching back one step at a time.
The orb began to glow in a fiery light, and Robb knew he was running out of time. His pulse pounding in his ears, he threw caution to the wind and turned. Robb raced to the nearest door and, finding no door knob or handle, pushed against it, ignoring the pain in every part of his body. It was sealed shut.
Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, Robb rushed to the next door instead. Throwing himself against it with increasing desperation, he almost teared up when that yielded the same result.
Halfway to the third set of doors, Robb found himself frozen in place.
No!
Cold dread spread through his chest when Saruman's voice sounded right beside his ear.
“No doorway here will open unless I will it to, my young friend.”
An icy hand clasped his neck and steered him back to the centre of the room. Robb wanted to struggle but his body betrayed him, following Saruman's orders like an especially obedient dog. Furious tears burned behind his eyes, a scream caught in his throat that refused to come out.
Soon, Robb was back where he had been just minutes ago. The only difference was that Saruman stood behind him, now, instead of ahead. His mind numb with panic, Robb stared down at the crystal ball. He could see flames flickering in its depths, growing brighter and larger by the second.
“There is someone else with great interest in you,” Saruman whispered into his ear. Shivers crawled up Robb’s spine, not just from disgust. “Can you guess who it is?”
His breathing grew harsher as the flames came closer, burning into his soul. Looking at him.
“...No,” Robb gasped, a stone of dread dropping in his stomach. Oh, Gods. He had not thought—
“No?” Saruman chuckled. “I thought you preferred him to me? Thought he was more…admirable?”
Robb wanted to shake his head, to turn
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