Author's Note: This is a story I started maybe two years ago and never continued. It's certainly no Pulitzer Prize winner, but I decided to finish it anyway and hope anyone who chooses to read it will enjoy it. If any readers decide to review this, I will be happy to respond privately if an email address is available. Thank you!
Disclaimer: The characters and stories connected with The Lord of the Rings trilogy are strictly the property of JRR Tolkien. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only.
Chapter 1 Paths Divided
Sam was exhausted. He leaned against the rock and stared out into the oppressive darkness of Mordor. It was never properly light in this accursed place he thought dully. He glanced over towards his companion. Frodo lay sound asleep, so burdened by fatigue and worry, that he lacked energy to spare for dreams, good or bad. His battered orc helm lay nearby: a grim reminder of their recent escape. Sam sighed and examined his own hideous armor. After much searching through Cirith Ungol, he had managed to find two helms small enough to fit himself and his master and that sufficiently covered their faces. Sam still wore his own clothing, but was covered by a foul cloak of some long dead beast. Frodo had disposed of the orc chain mail he had been wearing, claiming it was much too heavy for him to bear, but still wore the ragged orc garments Sam had scrounged for him in Cirith Ungol. They did look like orcs, thought Sam with a small laugh, at least one of the smaller breeds and as long as you didn't look too close.
He sighed wearily and rubbed his aching eyes. The wind never seemed to stop blowing here and the grit and noxious fumes in the air constantly irritated his eyes and made him perpetually thirsty. He absently lifted the water bottle to his lips, forgetting he had given Frodo the last bit of water just a short while ago. If we don't find water soon, thought Sam grimly, we won't be travelin' much farther. Clumsily, he rose to his feet and with a worried glance at his master, Sam headed down the steep hill in search of water.
For days they traveled like this. Sam managed to find just enough water to keep them alive, but thirst constantly plagued them. All they had left were a few of the Lembas loaves and Sam frequently went without, making sure his master received the bulk of their supplies. He needs it so much more than me, thought Sam as he tightened his belt yet another notch. He would do what he must to keep Frodo going.
As they traveled the rough terrain of the Morgai, they ultimately made the decision to take the road heading eastwards, toward the Isenmouth. "I don't much like bein' so exposed," Sam said apprehensively, "But, I don't see any other way." Frodo nodded wearily. He left most decisions up to Sam these days; the burden of the Ring took all his energy. At first, their journey went well. Without the boulders and rough terrain to deal with, they made better time then they had in a long while. Sam began to feel that perhaps they would actually reach their final destination: the Cracks of Doom.
But as so often happened on this long ordeal, their luck did not hold. Sam called for a brief halt early one evening. Frodo's strength was rapidly failing and Sam tried to make the journey as easy on him as possible. They had no sooner resumed their hike, when Sam froze. An odd rumbling sound from behind caught his attention. Abruptly he turned and stared back the way they had come. Although still some distance behind them, he could now clearly make out the tramping of many feet and the glow of a number of torches. The orc army was on their trail!
There was no escape. On one side of the road, a steep cliff lowered over them; on the other, a deep ravine. Quickly, Sam and Frodo huddled against the rocky wall ducking their heads and covering their distinctive feet with the orc shields they still carried. It was their desperate hope that perhaps in the darkness, the orcs would fail to notice them. At first, it appeared that might indeed be the case. Rank after rank of panting orcs raced by as large uruks snarled at them and flicked their whips to keep the smaller creatures moving. They were headed to Udûn and to Morannon, the gates of Mordor. Sauron was calling all his minions to gather there for the ultimate battle against the armies of the West.
Sam and Frodo huddled deeper into the shadows, remaining as still as possible. Sam was almost ready to believe they had made it, when one especially large and cruel looking uruk spotted them. "Hey, you! No resting!" the monster snarled, "Get moving before you really get a taste of my whip!" Frodo and Sam stared at each other in horror. They just knew that if the uruk got a good look at them, he'd quickly realize they weren't orcs. The uruk called the others to halt as he strode over to where the hobbits sat frozen. He peered down at them noticing the device on their shields. "What're you two still doing here?" he growled. "Your lot should have been in Udûn yesterday! Better not be thinkin' of deserting!" He snapped his whip, catching Frodo on the leg causing him to cry out. The two unfortunate hobbits quickly scrambled to their feet, and keeping their heads down, started towards the rear of the party.
"Ho,ho! No you don't!" laughed the uruk cruelly striking them again with his whip. "Get farther up where I can see you! No one's desertin' on my watch! Your captain will give you what for when you two arrive a day late, I can promise you that!"
Sam and Frodo glanced at each other in dismay. How would they ever escape this nightmare? They had little time to ponder their predicament as a moment later, they found themselves running along side several hundred panting, sweating orcs. The stench alone was enough to make them feel ill. Each step was agonizing for Sam, so he knew his master must be suffering even more so. The faithful gardener stayed close by Frodo's side, frequently helping him along and more than once prevented his master from falling. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that the mass of orcs would hardly stop for a little thing like a fallen comrade. "Run right over 'im is more like it!" muttered Sam darkly. He gave a little cry of pain as the big uruk flicked Sam's legs with the whip once again.
"Quit yer dawdling, there!" the monster roared and gritting his teeth, Sam did his best to keep both himself and his failing master moving.
Hour after hour they ran. Sam had no idea what kept them on their feet. They had been so exhausted when they started that never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined they could keep this pace going for so long. Several times, he made Frodo drink some of their precious water. He took none for himself, believing that as the stronger of the two, he could go longer without. How much longer was up to debate. Sam grew more worried as it became obvious Frodo was near collapse.
"Just a little farther, Mr. Frodo!" Sam whispered over and over, trying to encourage his master. "Surely we'll stop soon!" He had noticed that many of their unfortunate comrades were also staggering with exhaustion. Sam wondered just how long they had been running before he and Frodo had been forced to join them. The cruel uruks showed no sign of fatigue and continued to scream and whip the smaller orcs on.
At long last, they came to a place where two roads converged and as luck would have it, another band of orcs was being forced along it from the direction of Barad-dûr. They were near the opening to the Udûn and both bands merged at the same time. Orcs do not get along well at the best of times and this was no exception. Each orc was desperate to reach the Udûn and be done with the running and whips, so there was much fighting and screaming as each group of orcs tried to get onto the new road first. Snarling uruks waded into the fray, hurling combatants apart and making liberal use of their whips.
Sam held tightly onto Frodo, afraid his master would collapse and be trampled. Then, spying a break in the mob, he fell to his hands and knees and dragged Frodo after him to the side of the road. Quickly he helped Frodo over the edge of the curb to the dark slope below. As he did so, he heard a slight "clink" as something hit the rocks nearby. However, without a moment to spare, Sam followed Frodo over the edge.
Frodo lay panting on a rocky patch a few feet below the level of the road. "Come along, Mr. Frodo!" Sam whispered urgently helping his master up, "Just a little further!" They crawled as far as Frodo's strength would allow, then collapsed behind some boulders. Sam took his cloak from Frodo and covered them both. Unthinking, he reached inside his tunic to make sure his treasures from the Lady Galadriel were safe and froze. The box was there all right, but where was the phial with the Light of Elendil? It was gone! Desperately, Sam groped through his pockets and his pack, but it was nowhere to be found. He looked at his master lying unconscious beside him. It was really Frodo's gift he had lost and Sam must find it! It was then he remembered the noise he had heard on the road. He must have dropped the phial while helping Frodo off the road. Well, there was nothing to be done but to retrieve it. He simply couldn't leave it for those foul orcs to find. Plus, it might serve as a warning and bring their enemies out searching for them.
Quietly, Sam took off his bulky pack and slipped out from under the cloak. Making sure his master was well hidden, the determined gardener retraced his steps back to the road's edge. Chaos still reigned and Sam hoped he could find the phial before it was discovered or broken. Still on his hands and knees, he searched frantically in the area where he thought it might have fallen. Moment after dreadful moment went by and more than one howling orc tripped over Sam in the darkness. His heart was beating faster and faster and he could feel sweat dripping down his face. Where could it be! Then, just as he was about to give up, his hand felt the phial's comforting smooth curves. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed it and stuffed it into his tunic making sure it was secure this time. He turned to make his way back over the edge, when he felt a strong hand roughly grab him and yank him to his feet. It was the whip-wielding uruk.
"Well, well!" growled the orc-driver as he gave Sam a hard shake. "Tryin' to desert again, are you? Where's yer runty little friend, eh?" The uruk peered around in the dark and over the edge of the road. Grunting in irritation the monster turned back towards Sam. Terrified that he would be found out, Sam kept his head lowered, grateful he still had on his orc gear.
"Well, I've no time to look for 'im. You, on the other hand, I'm not lettin' outa my sight 'til we're in Udûn. Then yer own chief can have you." The uruk gave a cruel laugh. "Attemptin' to desert twice? I wouldn't wanta be you!" With that, he gave Sam a painful shove that sent the ill-fated hobbit sprawling. Scrambling to his feet to avoid the uruk's whip, Sam resumed his agonizing journey towards the Black Gates. He was trapped.