The Ring will come to Gondor
by Varda
Chapter Seven: A Life for a Life
At
first the Uruk-hai bound Sam’s hands and slung him on their shoulders,
but Sam was a sturdy hobbit and not light, and the strain on his arms
soon became intolerable. Out of pride and anger Sam did not cry out but
after a while he fainted, his curly head falling forward against the
Uruk’s black armour.
‘Stop!’ roared Lurtz, his keen yellow eyes at once perceiving Sam’s
plight. He strode back through the ranks of his Uruks, thinned by the
warriors they had unexpectedly encountered on Amon Hen, and pulled
Sam’s head back by the hair.
‘Bring them to me alive, and unspoiled!’ The words of Saruman echoed in
Lurtz’s head, and his dim but methodical brain lumbered into gear and
he spat an order at his Uruks….
Sam awoke to cold water being splashed on his face. He spluttered and opened his eyes, and looked round.
He was on the ground, his hands still tied, while all round the company
of Uruk-hai squatted in a circle, glaring balefully at him with their
small yellow eyes. They had paused on the bank of a small stream, and
the sound of the water running merrily over mossy stones was the only
cheerful thing Sam could apprehend at that moment. For now he realised
it was not all a horrid dream; he had been captured and was being taken
to the stronghold of the enemy. Sam felt a tightness in his chest; what
if they tried to get information out of him? What if they asked him
about the Ring….?
A shadow fell across Sam’s gaze and he looked up; it was the
mountainous Uruk who had seized him. Sam’s head ached from the blow
with which Lurtz had stunned him when he tried to draw his sword. The
creature bared its long tusks, and for a moment Sam thought he was
about to sink them into his throat….but instead Lurtz spoke, in an
almost solicitous tone; with a shock Sam realised he was smiling…
‘Halfling better?’
Sam stared stupidly, and only when the smile vanished and a fierce scowl appeared he realised Lurtz was asking him a question.
‘Better?’ he said dully, then added quickly ‘Yes, better! My arms, they don’t hurt so much….’
As Lurtz nodded in satisfaction Sam said to himself; ‘..a lot you care, you great brute…’
As Lurtz turned away Sam realised that he was not the only reason they
had stopped; all about him the Uruk-hai were fishing bits of dried meat
and hanks of black bread out of their pouches and gobbling them down.
He looked up at the sun and was shocked to see it was low in the sky;
it was not evening, but early dawn. He had been unconscious for a whole
night!
Fear clawed at Sam’s heart, stout as it was. What had become of Frodo?
He had at least not been taken, for he was not with them. But had he
been slain? The very possibility froze Sam’s heart. There were others
who might have killed Frodo, and Sam despite himself thought of the
strange glint in Boromir’s eye as he watched Frodo go off by himself
into the forest to think over his next move. And then Boromir himself
had disappeared…..
Sam’s agitated thoughts were interrupted by an Uruk nudging him with
its foot and handing him a crust of hard bread and a piece of greasy
meat. He took the bread but not the meat, and made himself swallow it
down. No, he could not believe that Frodo was dead. That would make it
all in vain; Sam had to believe Frodo was alive, or why should he live
on himself?
As soon as they were finished the food the Uruk-hai got quickly to
their feet and resumed their swift pace. Sam was bundled up and carried
under the arm of a great heavily armoured Uruk. When the creature
tired, which did not take long bearing the sturdy hobbit, he was passed
on to another. The jolting and jerking sent the sick and sore hobbit
into a daze; he was aware of a great forest passing, trees without end.
Then the jolting became less and he realised they were running more
swiftly across grassy plains. He was set down and fed again, then fell
asleep as he was carried, and woke to another dawn, this time drizzling
and grey. He felt cold and hungry, but had no rest for long as the
Uruk-hai traversed a wide open land veiled in misty rain. Then he fell
asleep again….
Saruman stood at the window of Orthanc as dusk fell, his back
deliberately turned to the pedestal where the Palantír sat, dark
and silent. He had no wish to look into its depths this night; for the
first time since he had given himself to it, he was afraid to bring it
to life, afraid to face Sauron ….
It had been the most astonishing stroke of luck, Gandalf coming to
Isengard! From the Grey Fool Saruman had learned where the Ring was. Of
course, he had not told Sauron, but eagerly laid plans to capture it
for himself….
But the plans had not gone as he hoped; the Uruk-hai he sent to snatch
the halflings had encountered Sauron’s orcs at Parth Galen and there
had been a battle. By now Sauron would not need a Palantír to
know Saruman his lieutenant had betrayed him…
Saruman had never in his long existence felt afraid. But now a cold
feeling crept over him; he was aware of the great power of Sauron, his
immeasurable capacity for cruelty. Above all Saruman feared
confinement…he shook himself; he would have to be more wily, and even
more cruel than Sauron himself….
A clatter of shod feet on the stone steps of the staircase startled
Saruman, and he moved swiftly from the chamber of the orb to his study,
a long, high room occupied by a great table of black wood littered with
papers and goose-quill pens and boxes of maps and lists and spells.
Incense wafted from a tall iron stand and a brazier glowed against the
chill of the spring evening.
The iron-bound door was heaved open and a wizened figure, neither orc nor man shambled in.
‘My lord Saruman…’ he wheezed.
‘Yes yes, what?’ snapped the Wizard.
‘The Uruk-hai have returned from the North……they have brought back a halfling!’
Sam was set down on his feet and his bonds cut. He blinked in the
glare, and swayed slightly, his legs feeling sore and weak. When he
became accustomed to the light, he realised he was in a large study,
cluttered with all manner of books and scrolls and candles and quills.
For a moment Sam was reminded of Mr. Bilbo’s study at Bag End, where he
had been taught his letters. But he sensed that these vast black-bound
books did not contain the bright and beautiful Elvish lays and lore
that filled Bilbo’s library….
‘Step forward!’ barked a voice, loud and imperious but also deep and
musical and not unpleasant to listen to. As if in a dream, Sam stepped
forward and looked up and saw, seated behind the table, an old man,
tall even sitting down, with long white hair and a silver beard and
eyes like black coals. They shone with a brightness not reflected from
the candles and his thin, yellow-skinned face softened into a smile as
he saw Sam looking nervously at him.
‘Do not be afraid, Halfling!’ he continued in his silky voice. ‘I will
not harm you. You are tired after a long journey. Here you will have
food, as much as even a halfling can eat, and a soft bed to sleep in.
But first, you must answer a few questions..’
The third hooded and cloaked man stood back and held the lantern, and
allowed his two companions to carry out their orders, for in his heart
he had no desire to slay what appeared to him to be a child. Yet he
could not look away, and so was not aware of the tall black-clad figure
that rushed out of the shadows of the jail corridor and crashed into
him from behind. His shout of warning was cut off by a blow to his head
and as the other two turned in surprise they saw only a blur of steel
and a tunic of black and silver. Then Boromir fell on them, running his
great broadsword through one and laying both hands on the hilts to
strike the head clean off the shoulders of the other.
Before the body had hit the ground, Boromir was on his knees beside
Pippin, gently loosening the cord from around his neck, chafing his
hands, calling his name…
‘Pippin! Pippin! It’s Boromir! You are safe now. Pippin, wake up!’
The jailer, who had sent word to Boromir out of fear that some
wrongdoing was in hand, stood behind him with a candle. The wavering
yellow light showed Pippin’s face still and tinged with blue, the lips
bloodless. A fierce red weal showed stark around his throat.
Boromir, almost in tears himself, lifted Pippin in his arms and held
him close as if to revive him with his own warmth. But Pippin showed no
signs of life. His eyes remained closed and a slight shudder ran
through his limbs then he was still.
‘It is I who deserve to die, not you, Pippin’ said Boromir aloud in his despair, not heeding the presence of the old jailer.
‘You were loyal to your friends, and to your oath. It is I who am the traitor. I would give my life to bring you back again…’
And he kissed Pippin’s cold brow and laid him down on the rough stones
of the jail. Behind him the old man wiped his eyes with a ragged
sleeve. Then suddenly they heard the hobbit give a tiny gasp, barely
audible in the silent jail.
At once Boromir lifted him up again, supporting his shoulders as he drew one painful rasping breath and then another….
‘He’s alive!’ shouted Boromir, as Pippin coughed and breathed more
deeply. He opened his eyes and seeing his old companion he tried to
smile.
‘Boromir…’he whispered. ‘I called you, and you came! I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me….’
For a moment unable to speak, Boromir merely shook his head. At last he said;
‘Come, Pip. We must get you to a safe place and look after you….’
‘I’ll be all right…’ said the hobbit bravely, but Boromir took him up
carefully in his arms and wrapped him in his great black cloak and bore
him down the passageway.
The jailer followed with the candle, stepping over the bodies. At the
end of the tunnel Boromir paused to let him unlock the door to the
upper levels. The light fell on the old man’s face and he looked at
Boromir and said in a low voice;
‘I served your father as a soldier in the army of Gondor….’
Boromir nodded. He had no time to waste, but the old man put a wizened hand on his arm to detain him.
‘I have seen many things in war, a great many deaths. But this….’
And he gestured at the hobbit.
‘..I never saw anyone brought back to life in such a manner!’
He stared at Boromir in the candlelight and whispered;
‘Beware, Boromir, lord of Gondor. You promised your life for his, and
one day, perhaps soon, you will be called on to keep that bargain…..’
