more of the movieverse ficlet

[rabidsamfan]

http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/243852.html#cutid1 -- part one
http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/245239.html#cutid1 -- part two


Sam had spent the first part of his turn on watch wondering which of the trolls was which. They were a lot bigger in real life than they had ever seemed in Bilbo’s stories, that was true enough, and he shivered to think how large Smaug must have been; much larger than the pretend-dragons that he and his friends had burgled while they played. Everything about the wide world was bigger and stranger and colder and harder than it had been in a story, and not much the better for it as far as Sam was concerned.

Except perhaps for Strider. The Man certainly could walk farther and faster on less food and sleep than anyone Sam had ever imagined. And he wasn’t afraid of much – though Sam wondered if that was just because all the fear had been knocked out of him by travelling through the Wild. Perhaps… In all Sam’s acquaintance, only Mr. Bilbo and Gandalf had travelled far, and they were brave too.

He shivered and rubbed at the bruises he’d gotten at Weathertop when the Nazgul had knocked him aside, still grateful that he hadn’t been hurt worse and faintly indignant that he hadn’t been worth more than a swipe from the flat of a blade. If only he had realized that the wraiths were afraid of fire! He could have brought a torch from the cookfire – kept them away from Frodo just a bit longer, just long enough for Strider to come with his great long sword. It’s my fault he was stabbed, Sam thought, remembering Frodo’s scream. I should have got up sooner. Got between Them and Him somehow. Even after Frodo had vanished it had been possible to figure out where he was, just by watching the wraiths. And it was Sam’s secret shame that he’d lain there and watched without moving. A part of him was glad he’d been taken out of the fight so quickly, but he’d not let it happen again.

Not that I should need to fight them anymore, Sam realized. Once we get the Ring to Rivendell we can all go home again, and high time too. Once Mr. Frodo was free of the cursed thing, everything would be all right.

The thought wasn’t as comforting as it might have been, not on a dark night, with nothing between him and the shadowed forest but a waning torch. Sam eyed his best weapon uncertainly -- The flames were starting to show more blue than yellow, the rough bandaging of the oil-soaked cloth around the wooden handle disintegrating into ash. He’d have to light the last prepared torch in his stock before much longer, and that would make an end to that defense. He didn’t think they had much oil left – nor much in the way of cloth that could be turned to rags. Unless Strider had something in that slingbag he carried. The blankets were needed elsewhere, at least for the moment, although Sam doubted that Merry’s construction would fool anything for very long. Just long enough, that was all he was hoping… just long enough for that Elven lady to get Frodo away.

It was strange, but Sam had thought she was carrying a light at first, one that didn’t flicker or fade like the torchfire he was watching now. He’d never thought for a moment that she might be a threat, hadn’t thought whether to draw his sword as she swung down off her horse and headed straight for poor injured Frodo, hadn’t even tried to step into her way. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember what she’d been wearing, still seeing the dark echoes of the torchlight behind his eyelids.

A horrid screech and a frantic cry from Pippin roused him from what had nearly become a doze, and Sam stared at his nearly extinguished torch with dismay. It took all the strength he had to move carefully, gently bending down to gather the last torch from the ground and then holding it where it might catch up the last few fingernails of flame. Hoofbeats warned him that he was taking too long, that the Nazgul had tired of waiting behind and were coming, but he’d learned the hard way that he had no skill with the sword at his belt – not enough to strike fear into a wraith, certainly.

He caught back a sob as the oil-soaked cloth began to burn bright, and thrust the torch upwards, knowing that the ice which was wanting to make his belly regret every bite of supper meant that the wraith was nearly on top of him. A horse screamed, and Sam dared to look up, found himself under the broad belly of a leaping beast, the backhooves coming relentlessly toward his head.

He ducked, but the hoof caught the torch in his hand, throwing him onto his back and tearing the rough wood out of his grasp. He rolled under the nearest troll, out of the way of a second black horse and a third.

Pippin was shouting, the pony was screaming. Sam untangled himself from his cloak and looked frantically about. Something was burning an armslength away, flames spreading from it to the layer of fallen leaves on the forest floor. For a moment he couldn’t think, but then he realized that it was his new-lit torch, and that the handle was towards him.

By the warmth under his belly he knew he was even more frightened than he’d been at Weathertop. Surely they didn’t need to carry the charade this far? Didn’t need to defend a roll of blankets as they’d tried to defend Frodo? But even as part of him argued to stay hidden in the shadows, Sam was reaching for the torch and scrambling forward, pausing only long enough to use his cloak to smother the burning leaves.

His hands were sweating, his palms stinging where the rough wood of the torchhandle had scraped them. Sam came up from under his shelter behind a horse, nearly catching its tail afire by accident. He couldn’t see what was happening, much more than to tell that the wraiths were getting in each others’ ways. The clang of metal on metal told him that Strider was fighting, but Sam couldn’t see past the horses’ legs.

It went against his grain to hurt a poor dumb animal, but this was an emergency and Sam bit his lip and darted forward, trying to get the flames of his torch near enough to one of the horses' heels to startle it. It kicked of course, but he’d been expecting it would, and scuttled back under his troll just before a bucketsized hoof crashed into the hard rock above him.

To his delight, the trick seemed to work. The horse twisted and ran, taking its rider with it. Sam gritted his teeth and headed back out, looking for another horse to frighten, but they were all leaving now, flying in all directions. He had to dodge again to avoid being run down, but he couldn’t help but jump up again to yell wordlessly at the retreating backs, like a lad who’d just won a snowball fight in winter.

He stood there panting, and for a moment his own heart was all he could hear, but then he became aware of a voice behind him, and words.

“Strider! Strider, wake up! Sam! Pippin! Help me! He’s hurt!”







Thanks to cara_chapel for a quick, but crucial beta.