Author's Note: I came across this story while going through old files on my computer. At the time, I had no memory whatever of writing it. Now, I vaguely remember bits of it. :-P After doing a bit of math, I decided this was written about 2 years ago. In other words, there are probably pretty noticible faults in this story concerning both the geography of Middle Earth and the possibility of certain events. Also, there is a bit of the story that could barely pass as a crossover with ElfQuest, though only one of the characters from the series is even mentioned. Corrections concerning errors in the aforementioned geography etc. would be appreciated, if only for the sake of my own curiousity. Otherwise, I haven't done any editing to this story other than to change the spelling of one of the characters' names so it's read the same way it's pronounced (Aunie used to be spelled "Aune"). Anyway, on to the story itself...

Chapter 1: Unlikely Heroes.

Sam looked up at the tall white ship. It was, no doubt, a beautiful ship; however, Sam was beginning to have doubts due to his prior experience with such things. The elves had assured him of the sturdy build and balance of the boat, but even so…
It was a gray, foggy morning at the Gray Havens. To Sam, it looked like the whole world was turned permanently gray. He was reminded of the colorless days and nights spent in Mordor. Painfully, he remembered Frodo's face as he stood at the base of Mt. Doom.
But Sam was unwilling to dwell on such thoughts. Soon he would see his master Frodo again. Unless…
Yet again, Sam pushed such gloomy thoughts back. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Even more so now that the ship was being loaded and he was uselessly sitting on a crate full of dried meats. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on thoughts of home, of his garden in full bloom, of his children. Yet even these memories of things he was willingly leaving behind forever brought tears to his aging eyes.
Eventually Sam settled on keeping his mind blank and concentrating with all his might on what little of the ship he could see through the thickening fog.

Not far from the hobbit, two pairs of eyes looked out from the gloom. One pair, almond-shaped and golden, stared unblinkingly in Sam's direction. The other, wide and innocent with deep brown irises, wandered from the elves to the ship, occasionally blinking excitedly at the yellow cat eyes beside them.
As the hustle and bustle of loading the ship wore on, a whispered conversation drifted from the lips of the owners of the eyes.
'When do we leave?' asked the brown eyes.
'Soon,' the glinting golden answered.
'How?' the questioner persisted.
'In that crate over there. The one with the little man on it.'
'Is that… him?' the brown eyes widened.
'Yes, but do not draw attention to yourself. There is a small opening on the back of the crate. The halfling will not see us. The question is, will he hear us?'
'I can be quiet…'
'…silent.'
'Well, silent. If you really insist on creeping in there with him sitting on that crate.' The brown eyes looked at their companion eyes, showing annoyance at the snappy tone with their narrowed glare.
'Shhhh.'
'Doesn't that crate have supplies in it?'
'Only enough to keep us going until we can find our way to the ship's pantry.'
There was a pause. As the voices on the dock quieted signaling a decrease in the number of elves present, a soft voice said, 'Now.'
Two shapes moved swiftly from the tall, thick sea grass to the crate upon which Sam sat brooding over the weather. Two agile hands crept along the bottom of the crate, then silently lifted the side. Both shadows disappeared and the crate returned to its former appearance.

Sam was startled out of his non-thoughts by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up at the tall elf standing there.
'We need your crate,' said the elf with an apologetic smile. Sam nodded and allowed the elf to lift him off of his wooden perch and set him on the equally wooden dock.
'What I wouldn't give to feel grass between my toes once more,' muttered Sam.
'Did you say something?' The elf turned from the box.
Sam shook his head and wandered down the dock, feeling even more useless than usual. He stopped beside the boat and stroked the smooth white surface with the tips of his fingers. Like all elven-made material he had known, he felt a certain softness in it. The strange sensation of the elf-wood beneath his fingers had Sam wishing once more for the simple comforts of home: ah, but they were long forgotten now. Shivering, Sam wondered how long it would be before he sat beside a warm fire again.
Pulling his cloak closer around his shoulders, Sam wandered further down the dock and stood at the edge looking out into the colorless sea. Now and then a gull soared nearby on long outstretched wings, crying in its high voice. Sam hadn't yet made up his mind whether or not he liked the sound. It was, like all things effected by elves, strangely calming; but it was an unsettling calm-one that made you feel as if you really should be on your guard after all. Or perhaps, thought Sam, it's just the cursed fog and cold.
Ignored, shivering, and utterly alone, Sam leaned against a tall pillar on the dock and smiled to himself. Perhaps is was just the cold affecting him, or maybe the touch of the elf ship had set some magic in him and made him think of happier things. But happy memories or sad, Sam was again lost in the twisting labyrinth of his mind and stayed there until, hours later, a tall fair-haired elf gently took his shaking hand and led him onto the boat as if he really were still a child.

'Can we get out of here yet?' The owner of the brown eyes was impatient.
'No. Just wait.' The almond eyes were shut for the moment, either from weariness or annoyance.
'But we've been at sea for hours. They can't just throw us back even if they did find us now.'
There was a hesitant pause, then, 'All right, but let me go first.'
The crate, now safely tucked in the corner of the ship's hold, slowly creaked open. The two mysterious figures tumbled helter-skelter onto the floor.
'I told you not to lean against the door!' said the golden-eyed elf.
The otter mumbled something that passed for an apology then began to scamper off to explore. A firm hand on her tail told her that she wasn't going anywhere. She turned and batted at the elf's hand. 'Pulin, let me go!'
Pulin shook his head at the otter. 'I knew it was a mistake to bring you along.'
'Now you just wait one moment,' said the otter. 'Who brought who along? If it wasn't for me, you'd still be selling used rings at that forgotten road in Mirkwood!'
'Don't act so clever, Aunie,' warned the elf. 'Remember, we've both had a hand… or paw… in getting here safely.'
Satisfied enough with that answer, Aunie sat down with a huff and fingered her dagger. Pulin left the otter to her "it's not fair" frame of mind and went off to explore what he could of the ship's hold.
Aunie watched him disappear behind the stacked crates and sacks then climbed up into their hiding place. She came back out in a moment holding a dried fish in her mouth. Twisting her body as only otters can, she clawed her way to the top of the pile of crates and crouched there gnawing at her fish. She was beginning to figure out why adventures had their down-points. Dried fish and game for weeks with what little water they could find, cramped hiding places shared with cranky elves, the dark, the smell of the damp hold, and the endless threat of being discovered too soon, if at all. As she was pondering these points, she wondered if she shouldn't have brought some good rope with her…

Above the stowaways, in fact, directly above the stowaways, Samwise Gamgee was huddled inside his room staring at the rain that fell steadily against the windowpane. Sam felt slightly cheered by the circular windows, even if prospects looked more dismal from them than they had before the ship had set sail.
Sam had managed to set a small fire going in the metal stove, but it hadn't had time to warm the room properly yet. Sam marveled at the elves, who could seemingly tolerate any amount of cold and rain in only their tunics and cloaks. Tolerate? They loved it. At this very moment cam could see three of them drinking beer and singing merrily on the icy deck.
When he got tired of looking at the wet elves and feeling his toes freeze right off his feet, Sam went over to the small wooden desk (placed conveniently next to the stove) and pulled out his private notes, which he had been keeping for Frodo since they last saw each other many years ago. They weren't much-nothing detailed or lengthy. They were just short records of births, marriages, and deaths; minor news from the Shire, notes concerning his family as well as Merry's and Pippin's. Here and there he had added a sketch of his garden, or a short description of Bilbo's old house in the snow. Generally, though, there wasn't much beyond the basics. Now, however, Sam began to write a flowing description of the boat and it's crew. He described the captain: a tall, strong elf of almost man-like stature. He was called Corbin, or raven in a language of men, because of his dark ash-colored skin. Sam described some of the stranger passengers as well, especially the mysterious Mr. Needles, who kept to himself and puttered about in his room with the shades constantly drawn. Strange sounds and occasional flashes of colored light could be seen from the bunk of Mr. Needles, who seemed to be neither elf, nor man, nor anything else even vaguely related to them. He was too tall to be called a dwarf or halfling. He simply could not be an elf, and no arguing. He didn't even resemble the fair-faced, almond-eyed beings. All in all he looked more like a very small troll than a man. Sam never saw him anywhere except lurking around in the shadows, wearing his long purple cloak. Sam wondered if he might be a wizard, and with that in mind, he kept his distance.
Many days passed uneventfully. But one day, just as Sam was finishing the notes for that night, he heard a knock on his door. It was more like a scratching tap, really. Sam looked at the clock. It was past midnight. Sam peeked out of the window near the door, and, seeing no one, decided the person must be small enough to be considered relatively harmless. Even on a sacred elven ship, Sam could not shake his feelings of uneasiness. He opened the door and peered out.
The wind howled, the rain splashed against his face, but at first glance, Sam saw nobody. He was about to shut the door but he caught sight of something, a small shape, skittering along the deck. Without fully knowing why, Sam stepped out the door. Before he knew it, he was following at a swift walk, then a run, after the shape he could now clearly see. Or rather he saw as clearly as one can see through stormy rains and fog.
He pursued the shape down into the bowels of the ship. He could hear it skittering along, presumably on all four feet. The halls were dark, but in his mind's eye, Sam saw Gollum sneaking this way and that and eyeing him and Frodo with cold, heartless eyes. Sam drew his dagger and ran on, stumbling through the mazes of hallways under the ship's deck.
The chase came to an abrupt halt as the creature fled to the hold and slammed the door behind it. Sam eased open the door to the hold and slipped in. The hold was dimly lit with several lanterns on the walls. Crates and bags were stacked to form their own series of hallways. Sam walked along, making no sound for fear of startling the creature to attack. Slowly he made his way along the twisting pathways until he found himself standing in a separate room blocked off by large crates that had obviously been stacked for the purpose of creating just such a room. It was a small space, to be sure, but it was littered with the signs of life. Fish bones and discarded wrappings were piled in one corner. Several sacks had been laid out as make-due beds-unmade beds, that is. Blankets of a type Sam had never seen were still scruffed up as if the inhabitants of this den had only just awakened from their night's rest. A few boxes were set up in the center as a table and chairs. Barrels of rainwater, apparently freshly filled, stood beside a tall stack of crates in the corner. It was from the topmost crate that Sam could hear scratching and the odd stifled whisper. Standing to the side of the obviously cut opening, Sam pushed open the crate.
Two figures spilled out onto the floor. Sam stared at them, almost unable to believe what he was seeing… or hearing.
'I told you never to go up there!' the elf dressed in jester's costume was saying.
'But they're all asleep…' An otter wearing a short green hooded vest and a dagger was whining at the elf.
'They're never ALL asleep! Now look what's happened: someone's followed you and probably found us and we'll get tossed out to sea or worse…'
The elf was cut off from his rambling by Sam's giggles. Both elf and otter spun around with a look of terror in their eyes. Sam was leaning against their hiding place laughing hysterically at them. The stowaways exchanged glances and, after silently deciding Sam was not a threat for the moment, they settled on giving the laughing hobbit odd faces, which made him laugh even harder.
When Sam was through being amused by Aunie and Pulin (who were still half-sprawled out on the floor where they had fallen from their "expert hiding place"), he stared at them with a grin on his face.
'And what,' he giggled, 'May I ask, are you doing down here?'
'Please don't turn us in!!!' Aunie pounced on Sam's feet and curled herself around them. 'Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…'
She would have gone on if Pulin hadn't whapped her over the head with a fish. Having temporarily quieted his otter companion, Pulin stood and bowed to the hobbit.
'I apologize if my friend here woke you up,' he gave Aunie a swift kick with the toe of his boot. 'After all, she was disobeying my orders.'
'Yeah, who died and made you captain?' Aunie muttered.
Pulin gave her another kick and continued. '…But you see we were running out of water and since it's raining and all, we didn't think you would miss a little rainwater, especially since it never actually hit the deck, we got it first…'
Sam interrupted the elf's babbling. 'That still doesn't explain what you're doing down here.'
'We're coming with you,' said Aunie simply.
This got her yet another kick from Pulin. 'Ow!' she cried out and, letting Sam's feet go, tackled Pulin's feet with all her strength, causing them both to go flying again. After a brief fight during which Sam could hear exclamations of 'I told you…!' and 'But you said…!' and 'I did nothing of the sort,' the elf and otter, tired out from a long day of spying and creeping and arguing, froze in their places having caught each other in hopelessly tangled positions. They sat there panting, Aunie still trying to wrap herself around Pulin's feet and neck at the same time, and Pulin making a fruitless attempt to tie Aunie's paws together with a string of sausages he had grabbed from a nearby carton.
'Following me?' Sam's voice cut their death glares at each other short. Aunie reluctantly let go of Pulin's neck but wrapped tighter around his feet in hopes of preventing another unwanted rendezvous with his boot.
'Yes, following you,' she answered. This succeeded in further enraging Pulin. He somehow managed to pull Aunie off his legs (no easy task for most) and leapt to his feet. Sam grabbed him just as he was about to inflict something more damaging than a kick on the now helpless Aunie, who had been knocked semi-unconscious, having been tossed against the wall. Luckily it was not a direct shot.
'Hold on!' said Sam. The elf looked down at him and dropped his arm (and the string of sausages therein). 'Now tell me,' Sam continued, 'Why you are following me.'
Pulin stuck out his chin and refused to speak, but Aunie, having somewhat recovered, answered: 'We are going to help you save Frodo.'
'Save Frodo?' A note of uncertainty crept into the hobbit's voice. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Aunie.
'Yes…' she said, trying to shake the ringing from her ears. 'Pulin's brother…'
Pulin turned menacingly toward Aunie. Aunie shrank back, fearing another attack. But instead of attacking, Pulin lifted her up and set her on one of the sack beds. He shook his head at her. 'What have you gotten us into?' he sighed.
Pulin sat beside Aunie and, facing Sam, began his explanation. 'My brother, Alesu, and I began a jewelry trade years ago. At first it was just a harmless business. We bought, sold, and traded among our own people, then among travelers, and finally we set off ourselves to find more business in the big cities. From the deep forests of Mirkwood we went to Lothlorien, Rivendell, and even a few dwarf cities. Along the way, Alesu developed a certain interest in magic jewelry. He had a hobby of it, you might say. He was endlessly studying the ways of controlling and creating such objects. I always thought he was getting himself involved in things beyond his powers, but he wouldn't listen to me. Deeper and deeper he went into the realms of possessive magic. He actually stole several wizard charms-for study purposes, he told me.
'Well, one day we had a fight, and he went off in a huff. I expected him to return to the camp before morning. When he didn't arrive, I waited another day. Then two days. Eventually I had to move on. We had been headed to Minas Tirith. With our horses it should have taken three days, but Alesu took the horses and most of everything else. He left me only my share of the food and a few rusted bits of metal chains. Nothing worth selling or trading. In the end it took me three weeks to reach Minas Tirith due to an unfortunate meeting with a lost troll.
'I spent quite some time in Minas Tirith re-building my business. I must have spent nearly six months there just collecting what bits of jewelry I could, sometimes earning enough money from odd jobs to purchase it, sometimes trading lembas for jewels with desperate street-dwellers, and sometimes (I regret to admit it) stealing it from recently deceased members of the city before their relatives had time to claim it.
'Eventually I received word of my brother. He was well-learned in the arts of magic and had set up a business of his own buying and selling magic rings. Nothing but rings would do, I heard from the bringer of the news. He had rings that would do almost anything you wished. The person I heard this from, a Warrow innkeeper called Drogo something-or-other, showed me a ring he had purchased from my brother. This ring is what he used to travel throughout Middle-earth with his inn, staying and leaving whenever he got bored or the situation turned dangerous. He told me that my brother was trying to re-create the One Ring in order to use it's horrible power for his own purposes!
'That was all of 40 years ago, and now I have learned that my brother has succeeded, at least to a certain extent. He has created a ring that mimics the power of the One Ring in all but the power to completely possess the wearer and force him to become a slave and controller of the Evil forces. To do this, he must capture in the ring the last remaining power of Sauron, which still flows strongly in a hidden part of Frodo's heart. If he succeeds, Frodo will become a wraith and the War of the Ring may yet be repeated!'
Pulin finished his tale and looked at Sam, who sat trembling with his head bowed on the crate that had served as the stowaways' table. 'So once again it comes to this,' he murmured. His voice was a mixture of fear, rage, and unbearable sorrow that had been buried for years beneath the loyalty Sam had for his master. Aunie went to Sam and laid a small brown paw on his hand. She knew the stories. Somewhere under her childlike personality, though she didn't know it, she was ready to become the person Sam was, as Sam would become Frodo in the quest to rescue the Ringbearer.