Author's note: Just wanted to comment on my "quick" updates! I decided back
when I started this that I wouldn't start posting the story until it was
almost done. It drives me nuts to start reading a wonderful story that
never gets finished, and I didn't want to do that. I know life gets in the
way of writing, not to mention writer's block, but I figured it was better
to experience those before I started posting than in the midst of it!
Thanks again for your support!
Chapter 12 The Life of a Slave
It was a miserable life. The royal slaves were kept in the lowest basements of the palace. It was dark and dank; the air fetid. Each night, Sam and the others were chained to the walls and left until morning. They were fed little and beaten often. Most were ill and emaciated. Sam hardly looked any different from the rest of them. After his weeks on the road since the fall of Sauron, he looked nothing like the sturdy hobbit that first left the Shire so long ago. He doubted if even his Gaffer would recognize him now.
The slaves were given the hardest work; from digging salt in the burning salt flats of the south to chopping down massive trees in the north. Because he was a novelty in Harad, sometimes the Emperor would have Sam brought to one of his balls or gatherings. His favorite use for Sam in these cases was to strap a tray to his head and use him as a table to hold hors d'oerves. Sam was thoroughly humiliated by this treatment, but at least it provided a respite from the grueling physical labor.
None of the slaves lasted very long in this place. Sam collapsed each night in utter exhaustion. He had been there only a few weeks and already his meager resources were almost depleted. He hadn't been very strong to begin with, and the hard, unrelenting punishment was taking its toll. He was coughing again and none of his injuries had healed completely due to his malnourishment. But, he knew if he couldn't keep up, he would be killed. Any slave that couldn't complete his duties was summarily executed and dumped in a pit in the basement.
"I don't know how I'll ever survive this, Mr. Frodo," he gasped to himself as he dug in the salt. He often talked to Frodo. It helped to comfort him in this unforgiving place. Sam's face was crusted with white crystals of salt and it coated his nose and mouth. He had a cloth tied over his face, but it did little to protect him. The sun was blazing down on the slaves and several had already collapsed from heat and dehydration. The overseers stood unconcerned, relaxing under the shade of a canopy erected for their protection. They hardly worried about the slaves trying to escape in this inhospitable place. Any slaves that collapsed were simply left where they had fallen, providing nourishment for the scavenging birds of the area. Sam prayed he would survive this last day. If he did, it would be the end of his two week rotation and he and the others would return to the city.
When the sun finally began to sink low into the west, the slaves were gathered together for the long march back to the city. Ten of their number were left to rot on the salt flats. Several more would be lost on the two day march back. Sam knew that if he had to return to the scorching flats any time soon, he would be one of them.
They reached the city in the late afternoon. As the slaves and their overseers made their way up the steep hill to the gates, a horn blasted to their rear, warning them to get out of the way. Sam pressed himself against the wall of the mountain and looked on in amazement as a number of men rode past. The clothing they wore looked just like those worn by the Captain Faramir and his men. Could these be men from Gondor? He watched longingly as the riders disappeared up the hill. With a weary sigh, he prepared to follow.
The men reached the city gates long before the woebegone creatures they had passed on the road. These were emissaries from the new ruler of Gondor, King Elessar, who wished to make peace with the kingdom of Harad. One of the men, a tall, dark man, a ranger in his usual life, was frowning. He couldn't help but notice the unusually small slave in the line they had passed. There was something oddly familiar about him. One of his companions noticed his bemused expression. "Is there something wrong, Damrod?"
"I do not know," Damrod replied slowly. "Did you happen to notice the small creature among the slaves we passed on the road?"
His companion thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I do not remember. I was not looking at them as we passed."
Damrod continued to think. "He looked somewhat familiar to me. I do not know why, but I would like a better look at that slave. I think I will wait here by the gate for them to pass. Tell Lord Benar I will meet up with you at the palace." The other man nodded and rode on.
Damrod positioned his horse off to the side of the gate and waited. He decided he would do whatever was necessary to ease his curiosity. He didn't have to wait long before the first of the exhausted slaves made their way through the gate led by one of the overseers riding a large, brown horse. Damrod continued to watch until the small creature he had seen huddled against the cliff face stumbled through the gate. He stared intently and then it dawned on him. It was a hobbit! The large, furry feet and small stature left no doubt in his mind. He had been with Captain Faramir in Ithilien when they had captured the Ring Bearer, Frodo Baggins and his companion, Samwise Gamgee, the gardener. As everyone knew, Frodo had been rescued from the very foot of Mt. Doom seconds before it exploded, but Sam had not been so lucky. He had died in that blast. Damrod frowned, or had he?
His eyes followed the hobbit as he slowly made his way up the street. Damrod tried to picture Sam as he remembered him in Ithilien, but it was hard to match this haggard, wasted figure with the sturdy hobbit of his memory. As the hobbit approached, Damrod stepped forward and quietly called, "Sam!" Startled, the hobbit's head snapped up. Almost immediately, his eyes met those of Damrod's and for a mere instant he froze in recognition. It was Sam! Sam's mouth opened in surprise but kept on moving, the overseer's whip saw to that, but his eyes pleaded for help.
Damrod stood watching as Sam and the other slaves continued towards the palace. If it was indeed Samwise Gamgee, the missing hobbit, then he had to find some way to rescue him. By the looks of him, it would have to be soon.
Chapter 12 The Life of a Slave
It was a miserable life. The royal slaves were kept in the lowest basements of the palace. It was dark and dank; the air fetid. Each night, Sam and the others were chained to the walls and left until morning. They were fed little and beaten often. Most were ill and emaciated. Sam hardly looked any different from the rest of them. After his weeks on the road since the fall of Sauron, he looked nothing like the sturdy hobbit that first left the Shire so long ago. He doubted if even his Gaffer would recognize him now.
The slaves were given the hardest work; from digging salt in the burning salt flats of the south to chopping down massive trees in the north. Because he was a novelty in Harad, sometimes the Emperor would have Sam brought to one of his balls or gatherings. His favorite use for Sam in these cases was to strap a tray to his head and use him as a table to hold hors d'oerves. Sam was thoroughly humiliated by this treatment, but at least it provided a respite from the grueling physical labor.
None of the slaves lasted very long in this place. Sam collapsed each night in utter exhaustion. He had been there only a few weeks and already his meager resources were almost depleted. He hadn't been very strong to begin with, and the hard, unrelenting punishment was taking its toll. He was coughing again and none of his injuries had healed completely due to his malnourishment. But, he knew if he couldn't keep up, he would be killed. Any slave that couldn't complete his duties was summarily executed and dumped in a pit in the basement.
"I don't know how I'll ever survive this, Mr. Frodo," he gasped to himself as he dug in the salt. He often talked to Frodo. It helped to comfort him in this unforgiving place. Sam's face was crusted with white crystals of salt and it coated his nose and mouth. He had a cloth tied over his face, but it did little to protect him. The sun was blazing down on the slaves and several had already collapsed from heat and dehydration. The overseers stood unconcerned, relaxing under the shade of a canopy erected for their protection. They hardly worried about the slaves trying to escape in this inhospitable place. Any slaves that collapsed were simply left where they had fallen, providing nourishment for the scavenging birds of the area. Sam prayed he would survive this last day. If he did, it would be the end of his two week rotation and he and the others would return to the city.
When the sun finally began to sink low into the west, the slaves were gathered together for the long march back to the city. Ten of their number were left to rot on the salt flats. Several more would be lost on the two day march back. Sam knew that if he had to return to the scorching flats any time soon, he would be one of them.
They reached the city in the late afternoon. As the slaves and their overseers made their way up the steep hill to the gates, a horn blasted to their rear, warning them to get out of the way. Sam pressed himself against the wall of the mountain and looked on in amazement as a number of men rode past. The clothing they wore looked just like those worn by the Captain Faramir and his men. Could these be men from Gondor? He watched longingly as the riders disappeared up the hill. With a weary sigh, he prepared to follow.
The men reached the city gates long before the woebegone creatures they had passed on the road. These were emissaries from the new ruler of Gondor, King Elessar, who wished to make peace with the kingdom of Harad. One of the men, a tall, dark man, a ranger in his usual life, was frowning. He couldn't help but notice the unusually small slave in the line they had passed. There was something oddly familiar about him. One of his companions noticed his bemused expression. "Is there something wrong, Damrod?"
"I do not know," Damrod replied slowly. "Did you happen to notice the small creature among the slaves we passed on the road?"
His companion thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I do not remember. I was not looking at them as we passed."
Damrod continued to think. "He looked somewhat familiar to me. I do not know why, but I would like a better look at that slave. I think I will wait here by the gate for them to pass. Tell Lord Benar I will meet up with you at the palace." The other man nodded and rode on.
Damrod positioned his horse off to the side of the gate and waited. He decided he would do whatever was necessary to ease his curiosity. He didn't have to wait long before the first of the exhausted slaves made their way through the gate led by one of the overseers riding a large, brown horse. Damrod continued to watch until the small creature he had seen huddled against the cliff face stumbled through the gate. He stared intently and then it dawned on him. It was a hobbit! The large, furry feet and small stature left no doubt in his mind. He had been with Captain Faramir in Ithilien when they had captured the Ring Bearer, Frodo Baggins and his companion, Samwise Gamgee, the gardener. As everyone knew, Frodo had been rescued from the very foot of Mt. Doom seconds before it exploded, but Sam had not been so lucky. He had died in that blast. Damrod frowned, or had he?
His eyes followed the hobbit as he slowly made his way up the street. Damrod tried to picture Sam as he remembered him in Ithilien, but it was hard to match this haggard, wasted figure with the sturdy hobbit of his memory. As the hobbit approached, Damrod stepped forward and quietly called, "Sam!" Startled, the hobbit's head snapped up. Almost immediately, his eyes met those of Damrod's and for a mere instant he froze in recognition. It was Sam! Sam's mouth opened in surprise but kept on moving, the overseer's whip saw to that, but his eyes pleaded for help.
Damrod stood watching as Sam and the other slaves continued towards the palace. If it was indeed Samwise Gamgee, the missing hobbit, then he had to find some way to rescue him. By the looks of him, it would have to be soon.