Author's Note: Just a quick note as I must get to work! Sorry for the delay
in getting this chapter updated. I had to go out of town but I'm back now,
so here is the next update. Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews!
You guys make writing these stories such fun! Hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 16 The Shire
Why won't the pounding stop? Sam thought dimly as he slowly regained consciousness. His head was throbbing relentlessly and he was confused as to where he was. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a pile of moldering straw, bound hand and foot. It was dark out, although the moon was shining brightly. Sam blinked, trying to bring the world into focus and at the same time, minimize the pain in his head. He could hear a rasping beside him and slowly turning his head he spotted Hertig lying beside him. The Rider was still unconscious and his face was pale in the moonlight, but Sam could make out the dark blood covering Hertig's face. Sam's felt his stomach drop has he realized his friend might be seriously injured. He peered around in the darkness and realized they were in a wagon of some sort. The wagon wasn't moving at the moment so he figured that was a good thing. At least it was easier on his head.
Off to the side, Sam heard voices and he realized their attackers must have made camp for the night. What were they planning on doing with him and Hertig, he wondered anxiously. Tentatively, Sam pulled on the ropes binding his hands behind his back, but they were unyielding to his efforts. He closed his eyes again to try and think, but the pain was making it difficult. Moments later, he let the comforting blackness of unconsciousness overtake him once more.
The next time he awoke, the wagon was moving and he was being bounced uncomfortably around in the hard bed. The straw did little to cushion him against the jouncing and aggravating the pain in his head. The bright morning sun was almost painful to Sam's eyes and he was unbearably thirsty. He looked over at Hertig and was disheartened to see the Rider was still out and looking pale. The dried blood and bruising on his face looked even worse in the light of day. 'This is all my fault!' he thought mournfully. Hertig wasn't even supposed to be here! He should be home with his family back in Edoras. Again, anger supplanted fear in his heart. This was his beloved Shire and none of this should be happening here! With renewed vigor, Sam began pulling on his ropes again attempting to loosen them even a little.
"Hey!" cried an angry voice above him. Sam peered upwards and saw a man sitting on the wagon seat glowering down at him. "Leave them ropes alone, rat!" growled the man, "Or I'll give you another knock on the head that'll make the first one seem like nothing and believe me, I'd like nothing better!" It was then Sam noticed the bloodstained bandage around the man's arm. He sighed in frustration and lay still. He couldn't feel his hands or feet anyway. Even if he did get loose, he wouldn't get very far. Besides, he couldn't abandon Hertig. He would just have to be patient and see what the day brought.
They stopped at midday and the wounded man came back to check on the prisoners. He had a long knife in his hand and he leered at Sam as he played the sharp point along Sam's throat. "I don't think anyone would miss one more lousy little shire-rat," he smiled, displaying his black and rotted teeth. "If it were up to me, I'd string you up along with that bunch over there!" He pointed with his knife behind Sam. "Oh! I guess you can't see 'em," he exclaimed in mock surprise. "Well, let's just take care of that!" The man reached over and grabbed Sam like a sack of potatoes and threw him over his shoulder. Sam moaned at the renewed throbbing in his injured head. With each step the man took, it felt like someone was pounding on Sam's skull with a very large mallet. However, even through his pain, he became aware of a very distinctive, very disturbing smell. It was the smell of death.
Suddenly the man stopped and dropped Sam to the ground at the base of a massive oak. For a moment, Sam almost blacked out, feeling the world reeling about him. Roughly, the man seized hold of Sam and rolled him onto his back. It was then Sam was met with the most ghastly sight he had ever had to endure. He had seen death aplenty on his journey, but this was something entirely different. This was far worse than anything he had experienced before! Dangling above him like some sort of obscene ornaments, were the decaying bodies of five hobbits: three men, one woman, and a boy. Carrion crows, disturbed by the presence of the men, waited in the branches, screeching angrily. Sam felt himself go cold then desperately rolled over to his side where he was violently ill. He could hear the men's foul laughter echoing in his ears.
"That's what we do to Shire-rats that don't do as they're told," the first man hissed in Sam's ear, then laughed again. Sam closed his eyes, fighting another wave of nausea. How could this happen? Were these atrocities occurring in Hobbiton as well? He should never have left!
"Cut the runt loose, Fig!" called one of the men by the wagon. He was the largest man with a scar running across his face from the corner of his left eye to the right corner of his mouth. It gave him a fearsome, lopsided look. "He ain't going noplace and he can cook and wash up. Might as well put him to some use!" The wounded Fig, nodded reluctantly, then taking his knife, he slashed through the ropes binding Sam's arms and feet. For a moment, Sam felt nothing, then he gasped in pain as the feeling returned. For several minutes the men just stood and laughed mockingly at Sam as he lay in the dirt grimacing in agony. Finally, the tingling and burning subsided and Sam slowly and unsteadily climbed to his feet. He kept his eyes carefully averted from the corpses hanging nearby and stumbled back towards the wagon.
One of the men had a small fire going and was preparing the midday meal. The men were in no particular hurry to get to Hobbiton and had no intention of giving up any more than they had to. "Here, rat," growled the man thrusting a pail at Sam. "There's a stream behind that grove of trees. Bring back some water. Don't get no ideas about runnin' off neither, or your long haired friend there will pay the price!" Sam swallowed apprehensively as he glanced towards the wagon where Hertig still lay. As he took the pail and turned towards the trees where the bodies hung, he noticed neither Manelys nor Trofast were anywhere to be seen. Sam hoped they were alright. He sighed wearily and headed to the stream, knowing the man was right. He couldn't run off and abandon Hertig.
There were four men taking the prisoners to Hobbiton. If it had just been Sam, they might have only sent one, but none of them trusted the powerful looking Rider. It was obvious to them that Hertig was a fighting man and not to be taken lightly. However, since the soldier had yet to regain consciousness, the men were relaxed and amused themselves with tormenting Sam.
To Sam, the journey to Hobbiton seemed to take weeks rather than days. The ruffians put him to work whenever they stopped and would beat him if he didn't work fast enough. That was bad enough, but it was what he observed throughout the countryside that truly upset him. Everywhere great tracts of forest were being cut down and burned, making room for more crops. Sam could see hobbits working out in the fields with men hovering over them wielding whips and clubs. Frequently, they passed wagons full of goods heading south and Sam had no doubt that none of the hobbits slaving in the fields would benefit from the sale of those items. The hobbits he could see looked thin and worn and more than once, he spied bodies hanging from trees, gently twisting in the breeze. The Shire had become a land of nightmares.
It took three days before they finally reached the outskirts of Hobbiton. Sam was thoroughly demoralized by what he had seen and the destruction of Hobbiton just made it worse. The beautiful trees lining the road had all gone. Ugly wooden shacks had replaced the snug hobbit holes and Bagshot Row was nothing but an open sore on the face of the hill. Sam felt sick.
Coarse looking men were everywhere, leaning against buildings, wandering the streets, just looking for trouble. They watched the wagon pass with leering faces. "Hey Mac!" cried one of the watchers to the scarfaced man, "Where'd you catch that fancy lookin' runt?" Sam looked down at his clothing. Although they were worn and dirty from the trip, they were still more elegant than typical Shire wear. He suddenly felt very conspicuous.
"You wanta see fancy, you should see his big, yeller-haired friend in the back," Mac called back. "All kinds o' fancy armor and such." He pulled the wagon to a halt and several of the men came over to peer into the wagon.
Hertig was still not awake and lay securely bound in the wagon. Sam had been nursing him as best he could, but there wasn't much he could do. Every day he managed to get at least some water down his throat, but the Rider's condition remained unchanged. Sam was desperately worried for his friend.
""Whoa! Yer right about that one, Mac," said a short man with a mustache, a little nervously. "He's a big 'un alright. Where'd ye catch these two?"
"Down by Sarn Ford," Mac replied nonchalantly, picking his teeth with his knife. "Trying to sneak in over the border, they was! Bunch of us heard 'em comin' and laid an ambush. Caught 'em completely by surprise! Can't have riff-raff like this just walkin' in anytime they please, now can we?" The men all laughed and Sam felt himself growing angrier by the moment. Who was this trash calling "riff-raff"?
"We're takin' them to the Chief," said Fig, speaking up for the first time. "That little Shire-rat cut me with a sword! Aught to be hung from a tree for that!"
The others growled their agreement and eyed Sam threateningly. Nothing made these ruffians angrier than some little runt fighting back. Sam glowered right back. He was proud of having wounded one of these villains and would gladly do so again. Fig, noticing Sam's defiant look, reached back and cuffed him hard on the head. "You won't look so tough when we're done with ye," he snarled. Sam said nothing.
The wagon continued up the road until it finally came to a stop in front of Bag End. There was nothing left of Mr. Frodo's beautiful gardens that Sam had so lovingly tended. It was all mud and weeds. Behind it were ugly, tarred shacks. For what, Sam had no idea. His very soul felt wounded by all the destruction. Sam wondered again where his father was and if his siblings and their families were all right. Of course, he also worried about Rosie Cotton and her family.
The door to Bag End opened and out strutted none other than Lotho Sackville- Baggins, an obese figure with small, piggy eyes. He was dressed in fine velvets and silk resembling nothing less than a stuffed peacock. He was attended by two, surly looking men armed with clubs. So this was the Chief everyone was so afraid of, thought Sam grimly. He was not impressed. Lotho swaggered up to the side of the wagon and looked in.
"Well, well, well," he sneered in his whiney voice, "If it isn't Samwise Gamgee back from the dead! What happened, Sam, Frodo fire you?" Lotho laughed loudly at his own weak joke. Sam just glared. Lotho's eyes narrowed with irritation. He had become quite accustomed to others fawning over him or cowering in fear, and he didn't like this defiant behavior one bit. He would have to put a stop to it immediately. Lotho then noticed the unconscious figure of the Rider lying in the wagon bed. "What's this?" he demanded, turning to Mac. "Where did he come from?"
Mac looked down at Lotho and smirked. "He was with the hobbit there," he replied. "We ambushed 'em both and brought 'em along. Didn't think you'd want some great warrior on the loose, now would you?"
Lotho stared nervously at the soldier. "No, no," he faltered slightly, "Of course not. Well, take him to the lockholes and lock him up. We certainly don't want the likes of him wandering about!" He then turned again to Sam. "This one, however," Lotho's bravado was back, "He stays here. I think the gardens of Bag End could use some work and no one knows them better than Samwise Gamgee."
"The only flowers of yours I'd tend to, Lotho Sackville," Sam spat, not wanting to taint the Baggins name by associating with the likes of this little pimple, "Would be the ones on your grave!" Lotho pulled himself up to his full height, which still put him several inches shorter than Sam, and backhanded the defiant gardener across the face.
"If I say you'll plant me the grandest gardens in all of Middle Earth, you'll do it!" Lotho shrieked furiously, "And if you don't," a sly look came into his piggy eyes, "Well, the lockholes aren't very kind to the elderly. Your father, Hamfast is it? Might not fare too well if he were to find himself locked up. Hmm?"
Putting a hand to his bleeding lip, Sam could feel the blood draining from his face. The Gaffer locked up in some cold, dank hole? What was this monster thinking? But, Sam knew he was beaten. If he didn't tend the gardens of Mr. Lotho, his father would suffer for it. Mutely, he stared at Lotho, then slowly nodded. Lotho laughed contemptuously. "I knew you'd see it my way," he gloated. He turned to his men. "You two," he pointed to Mac and Fig,"Take that soldier over to Michel Delving and lock him away. He can stay there and rot for all I care." He turned to two others. "Escort my new gardener to one of the sheds in back and lock him in. He can start his duties in the morning." Lotho then turned and sauntered back into the Bag End slamming the door firmly behind him.
Sam stared mutely at the wagon as it moved away down the road. What would happen to Hertig now? One of the men roughly yanked Sam's arm and hauled him up the hill to one of the shacks. Opening the door, he flung the dispirited hobbit inside. A moment later, the door slammed shut leaving Sam alone in the dark. Lying on the cold, damp soil, hot tears stung Sam's eyes. This was hardly the homecoming he had envisioned. He had hoped to make things better and so far, he had only made things considerably worse.
Chapter 16 The Shire
Why won't the pounding stop? Sam thought dimly as he slowly regained consciousness. His head was throbbing relentlessly and he was confused as to where he was. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a pile of moldering straw, bound hand and foot. It was dark out, although the moon was shining brightly. Sam blinked, trying to bring the world into focus and at the same time, minimize the pain in his head. He could hear a rasping beside him and slowly turning his head he spotted Hertig lying beside him. The Rider was still unconscious and his face was pale in the moonlight, but Sam could make out the dark blood covering Hertig's face. Sam's felt his stomach drop has he realized his friend might be seriously injured. He peered around in the darkness and realized they were in a wagon of some sort. The wagon wasn't moving at the moment so he figured that was a good thing. At least it was easier on his head.
Off to the side, Sam heard voices and he realized their attackers must have made camp for the night. What were they planning on doing with him and Hertig, he wondered anxiously. Tentatively, Sam pulled on the ropes binding his hands behind his back, but they were unyielding to his efforts. He closed his eyes again to try and think, but the pain was making it difficult. Moments later, he let the comforting blackness of unconsciousness overtake him once more.
The next time he awoke, the wagon was moving and he was being bounced uncomfortably around in the hard bed. The straw did little to cushion him against the jouncing and aggravating the pain in his head. The bright morning sun was almost painful to Sam's eyes and he was unbearably thirsty. He looked over at Hertig and was disheartened to see the Rider was still out and looking pale. The dried blood and bruising on his face looked even worse in the light of day. 'This is all my fault!' he thought mournfully. Hertig wasn't even supposed to be here! He should be home with his family back in Edoras. Again, anger supplanted fear in his heart. This was his beloved Shire and none of this should be happening here! With renewed vigor, Sam began pulling on his ropes again attempting to loosen them even a little.
"Hey!" cried an angry voice above him. Sam peered upwards and saw a man sitting on the wagon seat glowering down at him. "Leave them ropes alone, rat!" growled the man, "Or I'll give you another knock on the head that'll make the first one seem like nothing and believe me, I'd like nothing better!" It was then Sam noticed the bloodstained bandage around the man's arm. He sighed in frustration and lay still. He couldn't feel his hands or feet anyway. Even if he did get loose, he wouldn't get very far. Besides, he couldn't abandon Hertig. He would just have to be patient and see what the day brought.
They stopped at midday and the wounded man came back to check on the prisoners. He had a long knife in his hand and he leered at Sam as he played the sharp point along Sam's throat. "I don't think anyone would miss one more lousy little shire-rat," he smiled, displaying his black and rotted teeth. "If it were up to me, I'd string you up along with that bunch over there!" He pointed with his knife behind Sam. "Oh! I guess you can't see 'em," he exclaimed in mock surprise. "Well, let's just take care of that!" The man reached over and grabbed Sam like a sack of potatoes and threw him over his shoulder. Sam moaned at the renewed throbbing in his injured head. With each step the man took, it felt like someone was pounding on Sam's skull with a very large mallet. However, even through his pain, he became aware of a very distinctive, very disturbing smell. It was the smell of death.
Suddenly the man stopped and dropped Sam to the ground at the base of a massive oak. For a moment, Sam almost blacked out, feeling the world reeling about him. Roughly, the man seized hold of Sam and rolled him onto his back. It was then Sam was met with the most ghastly sight he had ever had to endure. He had seen death aplenty on his journey, but this was something entirely different. This was far worse than anything he had experienced before! Dangling above him like some sort of obscene ornaments, were the decaying bodies of five hobbits: three men, one woman, and a boy. Carrion crows, disturbed by the presence of the men, waited in the branches, screeching angrily. Sam felt himself go cold then desperately rolled over to his side where he was violently ill. He could hear the men's foul laughter echoing in his ears.
"That's what we do to Shire-rats that don't do as they're told," the first man hissed in Sam's ear, then laughed again. Sam closed his eyes, fighting another wave of nausea. How could this happen? Were these atrocities occurring in Hobbiton as well? He should never have left!
"Cut the runt loose, Fig!" called one of the men by the wagon. He was the largest man with a scar running across his face from the corner of his left eye to the right corner of his mouth. It gave him a fearsome, lopsided look. "He ain't going noplace and he can cook and wash up. Might as well put him to some use!" The wounded Fig, nodded reluctantly, then taking his knife, he slashed through the ropes binding Sam's arms and feet. For a moment, Sam felt nothing, then he gasped in pain as the feeling returned. For several minutes the men just stood and laughed mockingly at Sam as he lay in the dirt grimacing in agony. Finally, the tingling and burning subsided and Sam slowly and unsteadily climbed to his feet. He kept his eyes carefully averted from the corpses hanging nearby and stumbled back towards the wagon.
One of the men had a small fire going and was preparing the midday meal. The men were in no particular hurry to get to Hobbiton and had no intention of giving up any more than they had to. "Here, rat," growled the man thrusting a pail at Sam. "There's a stream behind that grove of trees. Bring back some water. Don't get no ideas about runnin' off neither, or your long haired friend there will pay the price!" Sam swallowed apprehensively as he glanced towards the wagon where Hertig still lay. As he took the pail and turned towards the trees where the bodies hung, he noticed neither Manelys nor Trofast were anywhere to be seen. Sam hoped they were alright. He sighed wearily and headed to the stream, knowing the man was right. He couldn't run off and abandon Hertig.
There were four men taking the prisoners to Hobbiton. If it had just been Sam, they might have only sent one, but none of them trusted the powerful looking Rider. It was obvious to them that Hertig was a fighting man and not to be taken lightly. However, since the soldier had yet to regain consciousness, the men were relaxed and amused themselves with tormenting Sam.
To Sam, the journey to Hobbiton seemed to take weeks rather than days. The ruffians put him to work whenever they stopped and would beat him if he didn't work fast enough. That was bad enough, but it was what he observed throughout the countryside that truly upset him. Everywhere great tracts of forest were being cut down and burned, making room for more crops. Sam could see hobbits working out in the fields with men hovering over them wielding whips and clubs. Frequently, they passed wagons full of goods heading south and Sam had no doubt that none of the hobbits slaving in the fields would benefit from the sale of those items. The hobbits he could see looked thin and worn and more than once, he spied bodies hanging from trees, gently twisting in the breeze. The Shire had become a land of nightmares.
It took three days before they finally reached the outskirts of Hobbiton. Sam was thoroughly demoralized by what he had seen and the destruction of Hobbiton just made it worse. The beautiful trees lining the road had all gone. Ugly wooden shacks had replaced the snug hobbit holes and Bagshot Row was nothing but an open sore on the face of the hill. Sam felt sick.
Coarse looking men were everywhere, leaning against buildings, wandering the streets, just looking for trouble. They watched the wagon pass with leering faces. "Hey Mac!" cried one of the watchers to the scarfaced man, "Where'd you catch that fancy lookin' runt?" Sam looked down at his clothing. Although they were worn and dirty from the trip, they were still more elegant than typical Shire wear. He suddenly felt very conspicuous.
"You wanta see fancy, you should see his big, yeller-haired friend in the back," Mac called back. "All kinds o' fancy armor and such." He pulled the wagon to a halt and several of the men came over to peer into the wagon.
Hertig was still not awake and lay securely bound in the wagon. Sam had been nursing him as best he could, but there wasn't much he could do. Every day he managed to get at least some water down his throat, but the Rider's condition remained unchanged. Sam was desperately worried for his friend.
""Whoa! Yer right about that one, Mac," said a short man with a mustache, a little nervously. "He's a big 'un alright. Where'd ye catch these two?"
"Down by Sarn Ford," Mac replied nonchalantly, picking his teeth with his knife. "Trying to sneak in over the border, they was! Bunch of us heard 'em comin' and laid an ambush. Caught 'em completely by surprise! Can't have riff-raff like this just walkin' in anytime they please, now can we?" The men all laughed and Sam felt himself growing angrier by the moment. Who was this trash calling "riff-raff"?
"We're takin' them to the Chief," said Fig, speaking up for the first time. "That little Shire-rat cut me with a sword! Aught to be hung from a tree for that!"
The others growled their agreement and eyed Sam threateningly. Nothing made these ruffians angrier than some little runt fighting back. Sam glowered right back. He was proud of having wounded one of these villains and would gladly do so again. Fig, noticing Sam's defiant look, reached back and cuffed him hard on the head. "You won't look so tough when we're done with ye," he snarled. Sam said nothing.
The wagon continued up the road until it finally came to a stop in front of Bag End. There was nothing left of Mr. Frodo's beautiful gardens that Sam had so lovingly tended. It was all mud and weeds. Behind it were ugly, tarred shacks. For what, Sam had no idea. His very soul felt wounded by all the destruction. Sam wondered again where his father was and if his siblings and their families were all right. Of course, he also worried about Rosie Cotton and her family.
The door to Bag End opened and out strutted none other than Lotho Sackville- Baggins, an obese figure with small, piggy eyes. He was dressed in fine velvets and silk resembling nothing less than a stuffed peacock. He was attended by two, surly looking men armed with clubs. So this was the Chief everyone was so afraid of, thought Sam grimly. He was not impressed. Lotho swaggered up to the side of the wagon and looked in.
"Well, well, well," he sneered in his whiney voice, "If it isn't Samwise Gamgee back from the dead! What happened, Sam, Frodo fire you?" Lotho laughed loudly at his own weak joke. Sam just glared. Lotho's eyes narrowed with irritation. He had become quite accustomed to others fawning over him or cowering in fear, and he didn't like this defiant behavior one bit. He would have to put a stop to it immediately. Lotho then noticed the unconscious figure of the Rider lying in the wagon bed. "What's this?" he demanded, turning to Mac. "Where did he come from?"
Mac looked down at Lotho and smirked. "He was with the hobbit there," he replied. "We ambushed 'em both and brought 'em along. Didn't think you'd want some great warrior on the loose, now would you?"
Lotho stared nervously at the soldier. "No, no," he faltered slightly, "Of course not. Well, take him to the lockholes and lock him up. We certainly don't want the likes of him wandering about!" He then turned again to Sam. "This one, however," Lotho's bravado was back, "He stays here. I think the gardens of Bag End could use some work and no one knows them better than Samwise Gamgee."
"The only flowers of yours I'd tend to, Lotho Sackville," Sam spat, not wanting to taint the Baggins name by associating with the likes of this little pimple, "Would be the ones on your grave!" Lotho pulled himself up to his full height, which still put him several inches shorter than Sam, and backhanded the defiant gardener across the face.
"If I say you'll plant me the grandest gardens in all of Middle Earth, you'll do it!" Lotho shrieked furiously, "And if you don't," a sly look came into his piggy eyes, "Well, the lockholes aren't very kind to the elderly. Your father, Hamfast is it? Might not fare too well if he were to find himself locked up. Hmm?"
Putting a hand to his bleeding lip, Sam could feel the blood draining from his face. The Gaffer locked up in some cold, dank hole? What was this monster thinking? But, Sam knew he was beaten. If he didn't tend the gardens of Mr. Lotho, his father would suffer for it. Mutely, he stared at Lotho, then slowly nodded. Lotho laughed contemptuously. "I knew you'd see it my way," he gloated. He turned to his men. "You two," he pointed to Mac and Fig,"Take that soldier over to Michel Delving and lock him away. He can stay there and rot for all I care." He turned to two others. "Escort my new gardener to one of the sheds in back and lock him in. He can start his duties in the morning." Lotho then turned and sauntered back into the Bag End slamming the door firmly behind him.
Sam stared mutely at the wagon as it moved away down the road. What would happen to Hertig now? One of the men roughly yanked Sam's arm and hauled him up the hill to one of the shacks. Opening the door, he flung the dispirited hobbit inside. A moment later, the door slammed shut leaving Sam alone in the dark. Lying on the cold, damp soil, hot tears stung Sam's eyes. This was hardly the homecoming he had envisioned. He had hoped to make things better and so far, he had only made things considerably worse.