A Rather Chaotic Revision of The Fellowship

~Twenty~

"I told you, I don't know!" cried Sam, writhing away from the creature. Something sharp and hungry, something metal pressed to his throat. Sam flinched to a standstill as he felt a trickle of warm blood.

"You was with 'em," the orc snarled, voice barely decipherable through a thick accent. "And you hobbits can't just disappear!"  Sam reeled backwards, gasping as the orc struck him full in the face.

What was lucky about this moment, at least, was that none of the orcs had actually seen Frodo vanishing. They knew nothing of the Ring he bore, or its said powers. (Only that the hobbits held something very precious to the master, and they had best retrieve it in the interest of their own "health"-- that was what Sam had heard from a particularly angry one, that must have been very motivated.) But that happened to be the only good news to Sam, and it was not very much of a lifesaver during his rather fierce interrogation.

"I don't . . . know," said Sam, stumbling to his feet. He couldn't spill to them, about Frodo. About the Ring. "He just . . . slipped down the mountainside."

"Then how come we didn't see him?" answered the orc, as he and two others simultaneously hoisted Sam roughly to his feet. Sam kicked for a moment, and he was sent spinning off.

"He could have gone back to the cave . . ." muttered one of the orcs lingering by the back, scratching his long nose.

The leader whipped around with a glare -- perhaps angered that this underling had made what had to be the most intelligent statement all day. "No one asked for your comment, Bagronk!" He gave the unfortunate thing a whack in the head, while Sam inwardly cringed at the said name -- even the orcs' own language had been designed to be a perfect, black mirror of themselves, deliberately foul and horrid.

With that, the orc gave one final glare to his companion Bagronk, and began walking even faster in the same direction. But Sam was nearly yanked off his feet as the orc's hand shot out and snatched him by the collar, pulling the hobbit along as he walked. Sam knew better than to struggle, but did growl some ugly things under his breath. (Now, these were things that, in fact, Sam Gamgee did not quite remember thinking up or learning until at least sometime after his kidnapping, and although he firmly denies it, the odds are sure enough that it was the orcs that passed it all down to him.)

At that moment the orc gave him another, nastier glare. "For the last time, filth, keep your mouth shut."

Samwise bristled, but stayed completely silent. He had not consciously realized it, but he was exhausted. Two days in the mountains with little food had left him on a state which, if he was perhaps not so frustrated with being captured, and his only ally gone and invisible -- and Frodo had eaten even less than him over the last few days. For the moment, he was surviving on the remainder of some dried meat and crackers he'd kept in his pocket for a few days, then completely forgot about after the orcs first attacked and Gandalf led them on that hazardous trail down the mountain. Frodo had eaten some, he'd had to. Sam wasn't going to let him starve. At least, not then. He didn't have a clue where Frodo was now.

They went on, through the thinning snow. Every once in a while Sam would stumble, catch a glimpse of a shadow on the barren rocks, or a crunch in the snow that simply had to be unnatural. For there was no one there to make that. The winds still roared, crying like a lonely beast up above, and he thought he saw an eagle. It must have been lower to the ground than Sam had originally measured; for up in the clouds, with its great wings spread and vivid against the pale skies, it could have been bigger than him if it was at Sam's altitude -- but that was impossible. The sun glared between the eagle's brown feathers, setting it aflame to bright gold against the sea of snow and rock, and for a moment, it was more than just a stray bird.