Disclaimer: Um, Tolkien's work is his own, mine is my own. I only wish I
had the talent and imagination that man had! And, I only want to own Sam,
no one else. Pretty please?
Ok, I'm giving this a shot and if you like this story, please, please review it!! If I get enough reviews, I'll post the next part, if not, I might post the next part anyway (but, probably not)! I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but it'll most likely be an interesting ride.
Sam stuck close to Frodo, not an easy task since the two of them were being jostled about and herded like so many sheep. A promise was a promise; he would not lose Mr. Frodo no matter what. Before they had even broken camp that morning swords had been pointed in faces, and weapons had been confiscated.
Four horsemen, one at each point of the compass, were the ones responsible for the herding of the two frightened 'sheep'. All looked worn and grim…and confused. There was much debate on if they should even bother with Frodo and Sam; but in the light of recent events it was decided that it would be safer to take the two prisoners back with them.
Across a bloody, body part strewn battlefield they had been marched, making the bright sunshine seem cold on their backs in the face of so much death. Groups moved around, loading some corpses into piles, and others were placed onto wooden carts. In the distance the highest turrets of a fortress were coming into view.
"I don't like the looks of this, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, leaning closer to the frail hobbit.
"Nor do I, Sam, but what choice do we have?"
Sam looked at Frodo and knew the choices were between few and none. It was originally thought that this part Middle Earth was uninhabited, what a surprise it was to greet the sun with a sword in your face. Not the best way to start the day, Sam thought. Memories of mornings past in the Shire came to mind, first breakfast cooking on the fire. The round yellow face of the sun peaking over the green hills, birds singing, and his Gaffer calling to him to put both feet on the floor soon or he'd be sorry, make no mistake. A small sigh escaped before he could stop himself. He would have never thought it possible for a grown hobbit to be so homesick.
Frodo heard the sigh and slipped a cold hand into Sam's warmer one, a small gesture that never failed to comfort Sam, even in the darkest of hours. "We'll be ok, Sam, we will."
The front of the fortress loomed before them now, the large iron doors opened wide, and men milled around the courtyard within. Sorrow was etched in every face they met, and every man bore an injury somewhere on his person.
A small stream ran down one side of the courtyard and into a stone pool, miniature rainbows hovered above the water's surface. Trees and flowers were abundant, a riot of colors and smells assaulting the eyes and nose. Sam looked about, momentarily forgetting about the four guards in trying to see if any of the plants were familiar to him.
"I haven't seen such a pretty bit of earth since we left the Shire," Frodo breathed, wide blue eyes trying to take in all details at once.
"Aye, Mr. Frodo, it's lovely. Reminds me much of Bag End in the spring, it does."
"Master, Mistress," the lead horseman said, bowing his head at the pair standing in the courtyard next to the stream.
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Durein wiped her hands on already dirty clothes, nodded to the only other woman in the room, Isliene, and exited the tiny room that smelled of death and hopelessness. Into the high arched stone hallway she walked, past other tiny rooms filled with the dead and dying. Anguished moans and cries dogged her footsteps, nipping at her heels even as she pulled on the iron ring that opened the heavy wooden door that lead to the outside.
Green gently rolling hills met her tired eyes, the smell of fresh earth and growing things wafted to her on a stiff breeze. How she loved the land she had fought for, the land that so many good people had died for. Her father…Durein bit her lip hard…her father would have been proud of what she had done today. She had leaded her people into the final battles again the Orcs, the battles after her father had fallen.
It was a sad day because many lost families, friends, and homes in the past few weeks they had been under siege. A way of life had died; a new way would be born and nurtured in the coming years. In the end even some of the women had gone out to fight for their children and to protect what was left of their livelihood. Durein had been one of the few to do so. The blood that soiled her tunic was her own, not only the blood of those she killed and those she helped to heal. 'Can't think of those I killed today, must concentrate on those that I help live.' The thought brought a strangled sob to her throat; she swallowed it back and dug her ragged fingernails into the palms of her hands. 'Have to stay in control. I can fall apart later…when this is over, when we're all safe again.'
The Orcs had come out of the north, sweeping across their very doorstep, looking for someone called the "Ring bearer". Durein herself now bore a ring, her father's ring of office, but the ring the Orcs had been searching for was unheard of here. It was a ring of power and evil, desired by a dark lord in a far off land. It didn't matter to them though, that no such ring resided here, their kind liked to kill, to pillage. It was a point of pride that more Orc carcasses littered the battlefield than of her people.
"Mistress, a word, please," murmured a voice at her elbow. The man had come up beside her while she had been lost in thought, now she turned to face him.
"Master Blian, yes, what do you need?" And she forced a shadow of a smile onto her lips.
Blian rubbed his hands together and seemed reluctant to meet Durein's eyes. Instead he looked to the same hills that she had been studying moments before, it looked to her like he was gathering the courage to speak his mind.
"Mistress, this is not the time to trouble you," he began. "But, I'm afraid it is of great importance."
Durein walked to the small stream that ran into the courtyard, with the intent of washing the blood off her hands. It was a stalling gesture, something to give her time to gather her scattered wits about her. The blood tinged the crystal water pink, washing away the gore of countless men and Orcs. It seemed a sacrilege to taint the water with the leavings of such evil creatures. It also seemed she would never be able to scrub the vileness from her hands.
She splashed cool water on her face; an inkling of what Blian had come to tell her was in her mind. She was the only one left to lead her people in this time of chaos and death, just as he was the only one left to lead his. There was much now that was of great importance.
"There is the matter of the dead to be buried, temporary shelter to be erected for the survivors, and of food for all," Durein sighed. She rubbed her eyes with the fingertips of still damp hands; the beginnings of a headache were forming. "I say send out volunteers to gather our dead and to pile what is left of the Orcs up and set fire to them. Then use the east courtyard to set up what we have that can be used as tents, more volunteers can be on hand to cook food and pass it out. We're lucky it's not winter, otherwise everyone would freeze."
She toyed with the ring that hung on a chain around her neck; it was far too large for her hand. The ornately carved silver band was all that was left of her father. She thought hard about what her father would do if he had survived. Was there anything that needed to be done that she was forgetting? There was a half formed thought bubbling to the surface when a voice rang out on the turret.
"Riders coming in! Looks like they have prisoners!"
Durein stood and watched the four horsemen ride in the gate with two halflings walking hand in hand in the center. One was pale, but had large lovely blue eyes. The other was heavier, darker in color and had brown eyes. Both were quite handsome, but the darker hobbit's protective stance over his companion caused a peculiar sliding sensation in Durein's middle. She remembered a time not so long ago when she was the one being protected…instead of the one doing the protecting.
For the first time Sam and Frodo noticed the two figures standing off to the side. One was an older, stately man, the other…the other figure was not to be believed. It was a hobbit. A hobbit lass no less.
~~tbc~~
Ok, I'm giving this a shot and if you like this story, please, please review it!! If I get enough reviews, I'll post the next part, if not, I might post the next part anyway (but, probably not)! I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but it'll most likely be an interesting ride.
Sam stuck close to Frodo, not an easy task since the two of them were being jostled about and herded like so many sheep. A promise was a promise; he would not lose Mr. Frodo no matter what. Before they had even broken camp that morning swords had been pointed in faces, and weapons had been confiscated.
Four horsemen, one at each point of the compass, were the ones responsible for the herding of the two frightened 'sheep'. All looked worn and grim…and confused. There was much debate on if they should even bother with Frodo and Sam; but in the light of recent events it was decided that it would be safer to take the two prisoners back with them.
Across a bloody, body part strewn battlefield they had been marched, making the bright sunshine seem cold on their backs in the face of so much death. Groups moved around, loading some corpses into piles, and others were placed onto wooden carts. In the distance the highest turrets of a fortress were coming into view.
"I don't like the looks of this, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, leaning closer to the frail hobbit.
"Nor do I, Sam, but what choice do we have?"
Sam looked at Frodo and knew the choices were between few and none. It was originally thought that this part Middle Earth was uninhabited, what a surprise it was to greet the sun with a sword in your face. Not the best way to start the day, Sam thought. Memories of mornings past in the Shire came to mind, first breakfast cooking on the fire. The round yellow face of the sun peaking over the green hills, birds singing, and his Gaffer calling to him to put both feet on the floor soon or he'd be sorry, make no mistake. A small sigh escaped before he could stop himself. He would have never thought it possible for a grown hobbit to be so homesick.
Frodo heard the sigh and slipped a cold hand into Sam's warmer one, a small gesture that never failed to comfort Sam, even in the darkest of hours. "We'll be ok, Sam, we will."
The front of the fortress loomed before them now, the large iron doors opened wide, and men milled around the courtyard within. Sorrow was etched in every face they met, and every man bore an injury somewhere on his person.
A small stream ran down one side of the courtyard and into a stone pool, miniature rainbows hovered above the water's surface. Trees and flowers were abundant, a riot of colors and smells assaulting the eyes and nose. Sam looked about, momentarily forgetting about the four guards in trying to see if any of the plants were familiar to him.
"I haven't seen such a pretty bit of earth since we left the Shire," Frodo breathed, wide blue eyes trying to take in all details at once.
"Aye, Mr. Frodo, it's lovely. Reminds me much of Bag End in the spring, it does."
"Master, Mistress," the lead horseman said, bowing his head at the pair standing in the courtyard next to the stream.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Durein wiped her hands on already dirty clothes, nodded to the only other woman in the room, Isliene, and exited the tiny room that smelled of death and hopelessness. Into the high arched stone hallway she walked, past other tiny rooms filled with the dead and dying. Anguished moans and cries dogged her footsteps, nipping at her heels even as she pulled on the iron ring that opened the heavy wooden door that lead to the outside.
Green gently rolling hills met her tired eyes, the smell of fresh earth and growing things wafted to her on a stiff breeze. How she loved the land she had fought for, the land that so many good people had died for. Her father…Durein bit her lip hard…her father would have been proud of what she had done today. She had leaded her people into the final battles again the Orcs, the battles after her father had fallen.
It was a sad day because many lost families, friends, and homes in the past few weeks they had been under siege. A way of life had died; a new way would be born and nurtured in the coming years. In the end even some of the women had gone out to fight for their children and to protect what was left of their livelihood. Durein had been one of the few to do so. The blood that soiled her tunic was her own, not only the blood of those she killed and those she helped to heal. 'Can't think of those I killed today, must concentrate on those that I help live.' The thought brought a strangled sob to her throat; she swallowed it back and dug her ragged fingernails into the palms of her hands. 'Have to stay in control. I can fall apart later…when this is over, when we're all safe again.'
The Orcs had come out of the north, sweeping across their very doorstep, looking for someone called the "Ring bearer". Durein herself now bore a ring, her father's ring of office, but the ring the Orcs had been searching for was unheard of here. It was a ring of power and evil, desired by a dark lord in a far off land. It didn't matter to them though, that no such ring resided here, their kind liked to kill, to pillage. It was a point of pride that more Orc carcasses littered the battlefield than of her people.
"Mistress, a word, please," murmured a voice at her elbow. The man had come up beside her while she had been lost in thought, now she turned to face him.
"Master Blian, yes, what do you need?" And she forced a shadow of a smile onto her lips.
Blian rubbed his hands together and seemed reluctant to meet Durein's eyes. Instead he looked to the same hills that she had been studying moments before, it looked to her like he was gathering the courage to speak his mind.
"Mistress, this is not the time to trouble you," he began. "But, I'm afraid it is of great importance."
Durein walked to the small stream that ran into the courtyard, with the intent of washing the blood off her hands. It was a stalling gesture, something to give her time to gather her scattered wits about her. The blood tinged the crystal water pink, washing away the gore of countless men and Orcs. It seemed a sacrilege to taint the water with the leavings of such evil creatures. It also seemed she would never be able to scrub the vileness from her hands.
She splashed cool water on her face; an inkling of what Blian had come to tell her was in her mind. She was the only one left to lead her people in this time of chaos and death, just as he was the only one left to lead his. There was much now that was of great importance.
"There is the matter of the dead to be buried, temporary shelter to be erected for the survivors, and of food for all," Durein sighed. She rubbed her eyes with the fingertips of still damp hands; the beginnings of a headache were forming. "I say send out volunteers to gather our dead and to pile what is left of the Orcs up and set fire to them. Then use the east courtyard to set up what we have that can be used as tents, more volunteers can be on hand to cook food and pass it out. We're lucky it's not winter, otherwise everyone would freeze."
She toyed with the ring that hung on a chain around her neck; it was far too large for her hand. The ornately carved silver band was all that was left of her father. She thought hard about what her father would do if he had survived. Was there anything that needed to be done that she was forgetting? There was a half formed thought bubbling to the surface when a voice rang out on the turret.
"Riders coming in! Looks like they have prisoners!"
Durein stood and watched the four horsemen ride in the gate with two halflings walking hand in hand in the center. One was pale, but had large lovely blue eyes. The other was heavier, darker in color and had brown eyes. Both were quite handsome, but the darker hobbit's protective stance over his companion caused a peculiar sliding sensation in Durein's middle. She remembered a time not so long ago when she was the one being protected…instead of the one doing the protecting.
For the first time Sam and Frodo noticed the two figures standing off to the side. One was an older, stately man, the other…the other figure was not to be believed. It was a hobbit. A hobbit lass no less.
~~tbc~~
