~*~*~ A/N: All right. Chapter 3. Thank you. *~*~*~*~
Sam woke up with the sun thenext morning, stretching her arms high over her head. Then, she trotted down the stairs.
"Well, well, it's the birthday girl," grinned her mother, as she was setting a large plate on the table.
"Mmm," said Sam softly, sniffing the plate of eggs and bacon her mother had made. "Thanks mom!"
Her father looked up from his paper. "Well, breakfast is ready, and Sam appears."
"Daaad," replied Sam, sitting down.
"Go put some shoes on," her father insisted, glancing at his daughter's bare feet. "You'll catch a cold."
"I don't wear shoes," replied Sam with a grin, digging into the food.
"Orange juice?" her mother asked, and she nodded, her mouth too full to say anything.
"So, 18," said her dad, thoughtfully. "You can vote."
"And buy lottery tickets," agreed Sam with a smile.
"And get drunk in Canada, but you're not getting anywhere near the border," her mom joked, and Sam giggled.
"Farthest thing from my mind.
"Happy Birthday to you!" Sam's friends and family members finished, and Sam looked down upon the cake. Eighteen blazing candles sat, just waiting to be blown out.
"Make a wish," urged her friend Darcy, and Sam squinted, thinking for a moment. Then, she wiggled her bare toes and blew out the candles, and the room went dark.
Sam whipped her head form left to right. She didn't have much more time to think, for two small forms ran past her then, and an army followed. She had no choice but to run.
Jumping over a log, she landed in a puddle of mud, feeling it slip between her toes. Grumbling, she continued to race, knowing the consequence if she didn't.
Suddenly, they were surrounded, and the three halted, the two Hobbits looking up at Sam with wonder. How did a girl, dressed in such strange garb, get there?
Just when it appeared that all hope was lost, a figure, brave and true, came storming onto the battlefield.
"Boromir," Sam said under her breath as he fought the Uruk-Hai. Quickly, like a flood of knowledge, everything fell into place.
"Merry, Pippin," she hissed, as Boromir cleared a path. "Follow me." Without question, the Hobbits followed her. She stooped, claiming the sword of a fallen orc.
She grunted as an Uruk-Hai swung at her. Sam threw her sword up, but was quickly overpowered by the much stronger Uruk-Hai.
"Time for an answer to that eternal question," thought Sam, and she threw a sharp kick toward the soldier's groin.
It faltered for a moment, and she pushed with all of her might, then swung.
Her sword embedded itself in the Uruk-Hai's neck. She was not strong enough to behead it completely. The Uruk-Hai raised it's own sword, and Sam winced, thinking that this was the end.
"Stop!" commanded Ugluk, glaring at Sam. "This is certainly a very tall Halfling. Notice her feet!" Sam glanced down at her bare feet, caked in mud and grass. Actually, they did look sort of Hobbit-y.
She was cast over an orc's shoulder, and glancing back, saw that Merry and Pippin were also. Gulping back a tear, she saw Boromir on his knees, waiting for his death.
"That is not a halfling," growled an orc, and Ugluk glared down at him.
"I care not of your opinion. If there is the chance she may be a halfling, then my orders are to bring her back alive. And unspoiled."
The orc growled, glaring away.
"That is not a halfling," it repeated under it's breath.
"A girl," sputtered Boromir, grasping onto Aragorn as his last breaths passed through him. "A girl was taken, and the little ones!"
"A girl?" repeated Aragorn, a confused expression growing on his face. "Where did she come from?"
But Boromir could not answer.
Sam stirred as the orcs cast her down. Already, she knew she was bruised from the beatings, courtesy of the Uruk-Hai. She noticed they treated her no better than Merry or Pippin.
"Merry... Pippin?" she asked, looking over at the two. Pippin was awake, barely, but Merry was still unconscious.
"Pippin!" Sam hissed, and he looked up, wincing.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"Samantha," she responded, an orc throwing her a glare.
"Quiet, halfling," it growled. Pippin raised his eyebrows. Maybe it was the numerous hits to the head he had suffered, but this girl certainly did not seem to be a Hobbit.
"You're not a Hobbit," he whispered softly, and Sam shrugged sheepishly.
"They don't know that, and right now, that's the only thing keeping me alive."
Sam's parents and friends blinked in surprise as her father, Paul, flicked on the light, and she was no longer in front of them.
"Sam?"
Sam's mind reeled. How was this even possible? Middle-Earth was fictional, created by Tolkien. It wasn't real. However, here, now, it seemed pretty damn real to her.
~*~*~* A/N: ^.^ Please review. *~*~*
Sam woke up with the sun thenext morning, stretching her arms high over her head. Then, she trotted down the stairs.
"Well, well, it's the birthday girl," grinned her mother, as she was setting a large plate on the table.
"Mmm," said Sam softly, sniffing the plate of eggs and bacon her mother had made. "Thanks mom!"
Her father looked up from his paper. "Well, breakfast is ready, and Sam appears."
"Daaad," replied Sam, sitting down.
"Go put some shoes on," her father insisted, glancing at his daughter's bare feet. "You'll catch a cold."
"I don't wear shoes," replied Sam with a grin, digging into the food.
"Orange juice?" her mother asked, and she nodded, her mouth too full to say anything.
"So, 18," said her dad, thoughtfully. "You can vote."
"And buy lottery tickets," agreed Sam with a smile.
"And get drunk in Canada, but you're not getting anywhere near the border," her mom joked, and Sam giggled.
"Farthest thing from my mind.
"Happy Birthday to you!" Sam's friends and family members finished, and Sam looked down upon the cake. Eighteen blazing candles sat, just waiting to be blown out.
"Make a wish," urged her friend Darcy, and Sam squinted, thinking for a moment. Then, she wiggled her bare toes and blew out the candles, and the room went dark.
Sam whipped her head form left to right. She didn't have much more time to think, for two small forms ran past her then, and an army followed. She had no choice but to run.
Jumping over a log, she landed in a puddle of mud, feeling it slip between her toes. Grumbling, she continued to race, knowing the consequence if she didn't.
Suddenly, they were surrounded, and the three halted, the two Hobbits looking up at Sam with wonder. How did a girl, dressed in such strange garb, get there?
Just when it appeared that all hope was lost, a figure, brave and true, came storming onto the battlefield.
"Boromir," Sam said under her breath as he fought the Uruk-Hai. Quickly, like a flood of knowledge, everything fell into place.
"Merry, Pippin," she hissed, as Boromir cleared a path. "Follow me." Without question, the Hobbits followed her. She stooped, claiming the sword of a fallen orc.
She grunted as an Uruk-Hai swung at her. Sam threw her sword up, but was quickly overpowered by the much stronger Uruk-Hai.
"Time for an answer to that eternal question," thought Sam, and she threw a sharp kick toward the soldier's groin.
It faltered for a moment, and she pushed with all of her might, then swung.
Her sword embedded itself in the Uruk-Hai's neck. She was not strong enough to behead it completely. The Uruk-Hai raised it's own sword, and Sam winced, thinking that this was the end.
"Stop!" commanded Ugluk, glaring at Sam. "This is certainly a very tall Halfling. Notice her feet!" Sam glanced down at her bare feet, caked in mud and grass. Actually, they did look sort of Hobbit-y.
She was cast over an orc's shoulder, and glancing back, saw that Merry and Pippin were also. Gulping back a tear, she saw Boromir on his knees, waiting for his death.
"That is not a halfling," growled an orc, and Ugluk glared down at him.
"I care not of your opinion. If there is the chance she may be a halfling, then my orders are to bring her back alive. And unspoiled."
The orc growled, glaring away.
"That is not a halfling," it repeated under it's breath.
"A girl," sputtered Boromir, grasping onto Aragorn as his last breaths passed through him. "A girl was taken, and the little ones!"
"A girl?" repeated Aragorn, a confused expression growing on his face. "Where did she come from?"
But Boromir could not answer.
Sam stirred as the orcs cast her down. Already, she knew she was bruised from the beatings, courtesy of the Uruk-Hai. She noticed they treated her no better than Merry or Pippin.
"Merry... Pippin?" she asked, looking over at the two. Pippin was awake, barely, but Merry was still unconscious.
"Pippin!" Sam hissed, and he looked up, wincing.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"Samantha," she responded, an orc throwing her a glare.
"Quiet, halfling," it growled. Pippin raised his eyebrows. Maybe it was the numerous hits to the head he had suffered, but this girl certainly did not seem to be a Hobbit.
"You're not a Hobbit," he whispered softly, and Sam shrugged sheepishly.
"They don't know that, and right now, that's the only thing keeping me alive."
Sam's parents and friends blinked in surprise as her father, Paul, flicked on the light, and she was no longer in front of them.
"Sam?"
Sam's mind reeled. How was this even possible? Middle-Earth was fictional, created by Tolkien. It wasn't real. However, here, now, it seemed pretty damn real to her.
~*~*~* A/N: ^.^ Please review. *~*~*