I suppose I should be more frightened.

We are, after all, surrounded by Uruk-hai.

Large. Armored. Extremely unpleasant-smelling Uruk-hai.

Merry is breathing hard beside me, wrists bound, eyes wide as we’re shoved forward through the trees.

“Pip,” he mutters under his breath, “this is bad.”

“Yes,” I agree calmly. “It is.”

An Uruk snarls something guttural and jabs me in the back with the flat of his blade.

I stumble, then straighten with as much dignity as one can muster while tied and captive.

“But,” I add conversationally, “they’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Merry stares at me.

“They’ve taken the wrong Hobbits?” he whispers hopefully.

“No,” I say. “They’ve taken her Hobbit.”

He groans softly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, I am entirely serious.”

Another shove sends us forward again. The forest blurs past in dark streaks as they force us east.

I lift my chin as much as the ropes allow.

“You lot have no idea what you’ve just done,” I inform the nearest Uruk cheerfully.

It growls in response.

“See, the thing is,” I continue, “my Wife doesn’t particularly enjoy it when I’m threatened.”

Merry makes a strangled noise that might be laughter or hysteria.

One of the Uruk turns its ugly face toward me.

“She’ll come,” I say confidently. “You can’t hide from her.”

Merry hisses, “Pippin!”

“What? It’s true!”

Because it is.

She will track us.

She will listen for broken branches, for displaced leaves, for the rhythm of heavy boots through soil.

She will hear the forest wrong where they’ve passed.

And she will follow.

“Pip,” Merry says more urgently now, “we are being carried away by monsters.”

“Yes.”

“And you are smiling.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because,” I say serenely, “they have no idea.”

The Uruk behind us snarls again, pushing Merry forward.

I square my shoulders as much as I can.

“You see,” I continue loudly enough for them to hear, “she stands between me and everything. Wizards. Orcs. Doors. If she thinks you’ve harmed me, she’ll—”

I consider the appropriate wording.

“She’ll be most displeased.”

Merry lets out a helpless laugh despite himself.

“This is not funny!”

“I didn’t say it was funny. I said it was inevitable.”

An Uruk grabs the back of my collar and yanks me upright.

I glare up at it as best I can.

“Truly,” I inform it, “I would not recommend this course of action.”

It bares its teeth.

“Go on,” I add brightly. “Run faster. It’ll only delay her slightly.”

Merry leans closer as we’re forced along.

“You genuinely think she’ll find us.”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation.”

“None.”

He studies me for a moment.

“She is very capable,” he says slowly.

“She is extraordinary,” I correct.

We stumble over roots as the Uruks push us through thicker brush.

I imagine her hearing this forest later.

The torn undergrowth. The snapped twigs. The uneven pattern of trampled leaves.

She’ll map it in her mind.

She’ll listen.

She’ll know.

And when she does—

I almost pity these creatures.

“She’ll fight through all of them,” I say, mostly to myself now. “You realize that, don’t you?”

Merry exhales shakily. “You’re terribly calm.”

“I’m not calm,” I reply honestly. “I just know her.”

Another Uruk laughs harshly at something one of them says.

I raise my voice.

“Laugh while you can!”

The nearest one smacks the back of my head lightly.

I wince.

“Careful,” I say warningly. “She’ll hear about that.”

Merry actually chokes this time.

“She would fight Sauron himself if he took me,” I continue with complete conviction. “You think a pack of Uruk-hai concerns her?”

There is a flicker of truth beneath the bravado.

She would.

Not because she is reckless.

Because she does not play when it comes to me.

And I—

I would do the same.

The thought steadies something inside my chest.

An Uruk tightens its grip on Merry’s arm.

Merry winces.

I stiffen.

“You really should reconsider,” I tell them, voice dropping a fraction. “She’s very precise with those daggers.”

“So you see,” I continue, “I am the luckiest Hobbit alive. And you have just taken someone she considers hers.