Part II: Lost in Middle-Earth, Chapter 1

"Which way did they go?" Sean asked, his chest now encased in primitive
gauze. The others couldn't figure it out either.
"Well, let's see." Orlando said, bent over the place where the orc tracks had
vanished. "Rohirrim, we follow them across the fields of the Rohirrim, thus
meeting up with the Riders of Rohan." Was his triumphant reply, finger stuck
proudly in the air.
"Cool! Lead the way, oh Elf." Viggo said.
Orlando happily walked a few paces. Then he stopped as if a deadness had struck him. "Which way are the fields of Rohirrim?"
 John rolled his eyes. "I will die before I see this trail led in the hands of an elf." He chuckled. "Follow me. Our road goes north."
They had not gone but a few miles when Orli, near the front with John jumped back. "What in the name of Elessar!" Viggo smirked at the elf's cry. Orlando pointed. Five orcs lay lifeless on the ground in front of them, blood oozing from cracks and crevices unseen.
"Well, whatever happened, we're on the right trail." Sean commented as they
walked further. "I hope Dominic and Billy are all right."
They unexpectedly stumbled into orc tracks along a stream bed. "Ah, what morning will bring." John said and stretched his short limbs. The search party felt wind in their hair and sun on their faces.
Viggo climbed the path a bit further. "There it is!" He crowed as he jumped back down next to Sean. "Our homeland! Gondor!"
Sean smiled. "I thought I'd never live to see the day."
They started off the cliff they were on, the East Wall of Rohan and came to waves of green grass, up to their hips, as far as the eye could see (even an Elf's). "Let us run!" Orlando cried, his sylvan elf taking over. "The green is too much." They ran passing much orc debris along the way.
"Hopefully we have the advantage." Viggo puffed. "Light feet run faster than ironclad boots." Faster they ran, sprinting after their friends before it was too late.
"Ah!" Cried Sean. "Look!" He held in his hand the elven brooches from Lorien. The happy man pointed to the ground. "And hobbit prints! They're alive!"
"Well then, let's not dawdle!" John cried. "I want back my hobbits!"
They ran and hearts burned as the day went on. Blessedly, the sun finally sank.
"Sleep, sleep good." Sean purred.
Orlando crossed his arms. "Sleep is for weenies. I say go on." He caught a sharp look from Viggo. "But y'know, hey, it would be nice to get a little shuteye." He smiled.
"Lackie." John coughed. They fell into sleep right after hitting the ground.
Straight away the next morning, they ran out in search of them. "We shouldn't have slept." Orlando muttered. "We let them get away."
"They'll be heading northwest all day." Sean said, interrupting the elf's complaints. "Just keep a clear trail. What's your problem anyway, Orli?" He said. Orlando shrugged and ran on.
The next day was just as uneventful. That night Sean climbed up a few rocks, ending up next to Orlando. "What's been bothering you, mate?" He confronted.
The blond hair on the elf's head whispered in the breeze as he turned to Sean.
"The hobbits. My elf eyes cannot see them anymore, and I fear we might be too late." Sean rested his arm on Orli's shoulder. "It'll be all right."
The next two days, they searched and searched without luck. "Forget it." Viggo said. "Even I don't have faith right now." As if that was some secret password,
the friends heard a rustle in the nearby Fangorn.
"Was that what I think it was?" Orlando questioned.
Sean smiled and nodded. "The Riders of Rohan."
Out of the trees rode a cavalry of men with tall, proud stature and golden hair. The horses matched exactly. "Should I say it?" Viggo asked.
"What, the future King too chicken to talk to his people?" Orli laughed in a surprisingly good mood. Viggo rolled his eyes.
"What news from the north, Riders of Rohan?"
All the Riders immediately held up their javelins and other assorted weapons.
"Who are you? Certainly not orcs." Said a familiar person, Eomer.
"I'm Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil in Mirkwood, and... where'd he go?"
"Where did *whom* go?" Eomer's face twisted in confusion.
"Uh, no one." John said.
"The dwarf is quite odd." The Third Marshal commented to a nearby rider.
"You realize he can hear you." Muttered a voice as Sean stepped out from behind a few cavalry members.
"Why, that's, that's..." Eomer stuttered.
"Boromir son of Denethor." Sean said royally. "The Steward of Gondor."
"That's all we needed to know!" Eomer proclaimed. "You are free to roam, but may come with us if you like."
"We would like freedom, but pray tell, two questions first." Sean commanded.
"Yes. What are your questions?" Eomer patiently said.
"First, have you seen any orcs in the past days?"
"Why yes we have." Eomer answered. The travelers brimmed with relief. "Nigh late morn yesterday."
"Second and lastly, may we borrow three horses, it burdens our feet to travel without a good steed."
"Certainly, son of Denethor." The leader said. Three calvary men walked up with three beautiful stallions. "Farewell, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and all your comrades!" Eomer cried as his troops rode off.
"I never thought we could put you to any use, Boromir!" Orlando chuckled as he mounted his steed.
"Since you're now in such a good mood, lift me up!" John laughed as he struggled with one of the stirrups.
They reached the forest quicker than they'd thought on steed. A great ashy place was set and charred orc skeletons hung all around. "When they meet someone they really meet them." Orli said with a nervous laugh, trying to hold back tears. He turned away and bit his lip.
"This site troubles me also." Viggo said. "Ride on."
At nightfall, they camped near a tree. Even Orlando could not resist the temptation of dreaming. John was on first watch, and as Viggo and Sean drifted off, Orli was already out cold, lovely hands on his slender chest. The dwarf sat humming and whetting the blade of his axe.
Suddenly, a twig cracked. He whirled around and saw an old man sitting at the edges of their camp. "HA!" He cried in alarm and set the other three vagabonds awake.
"Hello, who are you?" Viggo said. Sean stepped forward, and the old one disappeared.
"Alas, the horses escaped!" Orlando cried, standing on the other side of the camp.
The rest of the night was restless, and no one got to sleep.
"Could it have been Sir Ian?" Sean said, in a feeble attempt to make conversation.
"We can only hope." John said. "We can only hope."