Chapter 4: Forward or Back

Legolas was only vaguely aware that he was waking up.  He was not accustomed to being half-aware of anything; Elves were always conscious of their surroundings, waking or sleeping, unless they were sorely hurt or exhausted.  And Legolas was certainly exhausted.  The last time he had slept dreamlessly had been many years ago, after his last serious injury.  The long gash on his leg ached, bringing him nearer to wakefulness.

At length Legolas revived enough to realize that sunlight was penetrating the gloom of his shelter.  He inhaled deeply of the cold air, taking refreshment in the smell of trees and wet earth – the smell of life.  The rocky floor of the tiny cave irritated his shoulder, and he almost moved before he remembered the hobbit next to him.

Samwise Gamgee was still sound asleep with his sandy hair tousled and his mouth slack.  Legolas considered the temperature of the hobbit’s skin against his own with satisfaction.  Sam was blessedly warm, warm as Legolas had feared he would never be again after such a lengthy stay in the river.  It had been a near thing for Sam, who had been motionless when Legolas staggered into the cave the night before.  It had been imperative to warm him quickly, or he would have died.

Legolas stared at the rock that surrounded him, remembering that last hour.  He’d had only his supplies as Sam had lost his pack somewhere in the river.  Sam’s still, pale form frightened Legolas so that he nearly tore his bag in his haste to reach a blanket.  He always took extra care when packing, especially with blankets, which he rolled in oilskin to keep them dry.  Even the greenest soldier of the Greenwood knew that when the unexpected occurred, a dry covering could mean the difference between life and death.   With no small amount of relief Legolas discovered that the blankets were not the least bit wet, and thereupon lost no time in stripping Sam of his soaked garments, save for his smallclothes.  The work was maddening in its slowness.  Legolas’ own muscles were seizing up by then, and his whole body was trembling violently, to say nothing of his hands.  But he succeeded at last, and after removing his own tunic he gathered Sam in his arms and wrapped the blankets around them both as snugly as he could.

I had not meant to fall asleep, thought Legolas, though there is little else I could have done had I stayed awake.  At first he had anxiously watched Sam for signs of improvement, but eventually his own fatigue had overcome him.  It had required much of him to swim to the riverbank.  The cold had nearly frozen his blood, and Sam had weighed him down terribly, although Legolas had previously found hobbits to be light burdens.

Everything had turned out well thus far, considering how bleak the situation had been.  But Legolas was still concerned for Sam, who could have internal injuries from their brutal trip through the rapids.  There had been no time to worry about that last night, and even if there had been, Sam could not have been roused for any sort of examination.  Legolas knew of no way to check him for such injuries unless he was awake to tell if he felt any pain when touched.

Well, he will surely feel pain when he awakens, thought Legolas.  He must be as black and blue as I am.  He had done his best to keep Sam from striking the rocks by shielding him with his body.  Elves were hardy and fast-healing, infinitely better suited to withstanding a beating than the tender skin of a hobbit.  Unfortunately, it hadn’t been possible to fully spare Sam, not when the river had been tossing them about like a pair of rag dolls.

And yet Sam had survived!  Legolas silently marveled at the resilience of his small companion.  He had heard of hobbit-kind before the Council of Elrond – as a youth, he had been required to learn of the other races of Arda – but writings on hobbits were scarce, and as they kept mostly to themselves, they were utterly inconsequential to the Elves of the Greenwood.  Bilbo Baggins was the lone exception; the uproar he had caused in Thranduil’s halls had still not entirely died down, and Elves had long memories.  Legolas had not been at home when Bilbo and his Dwarven companions were there, and he had never seen a hobbit until his arrival at Imladris.  He suspected his thoughts had been like those of many others at the Council – that hobbits were cheerful, naïve, pleasant to be around, and wholly unsuited for an arduous journey into a land of darkness.

It was Aragorn who had first tried to disabuse him of his prejudices.  “You do not know these folk,” he had said.  “They may not be warriors, but they are made of sterner stuff than you think.  I have been traveling with them for many weeks now, and do not forget the years I have spent at the borders of the Shire.  I know the mettle of hobbits, and I say that Frodo and his friends have the strength see this task through to the end.”

“Frodo, perhaps,” Legolas had replied.  “He is the eldest of the four and has already suffered much at the hands of the enemy.  It grieves me that such a creature as he should be so burdened, but his burden will have readied him for what lies ahead.  It is the others that concern me more.  From what you tell me, Meriadoc has barely reached adulthood, and Peregrin is not an adult at all.  Samwise is but a humble gardener, and all of them are eating, always eating!  Are such folk fit to thwart the Dark Lord himself?”

“More fit than you realize.  Wait until you have become better acquainted with hobbit-kind, and we will see if your opinion changes.”

Legolas smiled up at the roof of the cave.  His opinion had already changed; indeed, it had been changing since the day the Fellowship had set out from Imladris.  The three younger hobbits were faithful companions and endlessly optimistic, which was of vital importance to Frodo, who was clearly dreading the task that lay before him.  Legolas had to admit that no one could buoy the Ring-bearer’s spirits better than his own kin, and no others would be more fiercely protective of him.  Even Aragorn could not rival Sam in his care of Frodo.  Sam had made it his business to ensure that his master was rested, fed, and warm, especially when Frodo did not see to such things himself.  His loyalty was as unshakable as the roots of the mountains.

I think Frodo will need that loyalty ere the end, thought Legolas, looking down at Sam.  A little gardener you may be, Samwise, but look what a garden you now tend!

As if Legolas’ thoughts had been a summons, Sam stirred.  He yawned, opened his eyes, and blinked up at Legolas.  He seemed disoriented, and Legolas felt an anxious flutter in the pit of his stomach.  He did not think Sam had struck his head on bare rock at any point – his own fingers were battered enough from shielding it – but he had been so preoccupied with keeping them both afloat that he could not be sure.

“Hullo, Mr. Legolas!” Sam said at last.  “Where are we?”

A good beginning, Legolas thought.  At least he recognizes me.  “Good morning, Samwise,” he said aloud.  “We are in a small cave near the river.”  He refrained from elaborating, hoping that Sam would remember the rest on his own.

Sam’s brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened.  “The river….  I remember now.  It wasn’t a dream after all.”

“Alas, it was not.”  Legolas frowned when Sam trembled.  “Are you cold?”

“What?  No, but I can’t seem to help shivering when I think….  Good heavens!  Where are my clothes?”

“They are drying,” said Legolas.  “It was necessary to remove them, or you would not have lived through the night.”

“Oh.”  Sam seemed distressed by this straightforward explanation.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but I couldn’t seem to think clearly after a while.”

“What else do you remember?” Legolas prodded.

“I was so cold,” said Sam.  His eyes grew distant as he delved back into his memory.  “At first I felt like I was being stuck all over with needles, and then I stopped feeling much of anything at all, and then, what do you know?  Even though we were still in the water, I started to feel warm.”  He shivered again.  “I expect I was freezing.”

You were, Legolas thought, but he said nothing.

“I remember the rapids coming closer.  You were swimming.  And then you climbed out.”

“Your memory is better than I expected,” said Legolas.  He hoped he was not letting the full strength of his relief show.  It seemed Sam’s head had escaped serious injury, but it would still have to be checked.

Sam sniffed the air.  “I don’t smell any ashes.  I suppose it was too wet for a fire after that storm.”  He looked gravely at Legolas.  “You warmed me up yourself.  That much is clear as well-water.”

“There was no other option, but I was not certain it would work.  I feared you might have been beyond all aid.”

“But weren’t you cold, too?”

“Yes, but not as cold as you were.  I can withstand the elements better than you can, mellon nin.”

Sam smiled confidently up at Legolas.  “Well, I’m very glad you were with me.  You saved my life, to be sure.  I didn’t do a thing but add weight.”

Legolas gave Sam a serious look.  “That you were able to respond to me as long as you did is remarkable; that you could cling to me as I swam is nothing short of marvelous.  I do not think a Man could have done so much.”

Sam blushed.  “’Twasn’t anything so marvelous.  It’s you who’s the marvel, sir, swimming in frozen rivers and running up trees and seeing farther than’s natural.”

Legolas smiled, half in exasperation, half in amusement.

“What did that mean, what you just said?  Mellon nin?  I’ve heard you say it before.”

“That is ‘my friend’ in my tongue,” said Legolas.  He winced as another stab of pain assailed his leg.  “I must sit up.  Keep inside the blanket, and I will retrieve your clothes.”  He carefully extricated himself from Sam’s side and pushed himself into a seated position, grimacing when every muscle in his body protested.

“Mr. Legolas!” Sam gasped.  “Your arms!  Your back!”

Legolas looked down at his right arm to see the cause of Sam’s distress.  His skin was mercifully unbroken, but it was turning an ugly shade of purple in several places.  While he could not see his back, he could imagine what it looked like; the rocks he had bumped against in the rapids had seemed innumerable.

“It’s not right,” said Sam, aghast.  “Do Elves bruise easily?  I wouldn’t have thought so.  Strider says you’re stronger than Men are.”

“We are,” said Legolas.  “Did he also tell you that we heal more swiftly than the Secondborn?”

Sam nodded.

“That is why I look as I do.  You will look much the same, but not for one or two days, I think.  Do you not feel the effects of yesterday’s journey?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t really moved yet….  Oh!”  Sam winced and recoiled within the blankets.

All Legolas’ thoughts of his own injuries vanished at Sam’s cry.  “What pains you?” he asked urgently, bending over the prone hobbit.

“Only my wrist,” said Sam.

“Is that all?”

“Well – I feel everything from yesterday,” said Sam.  “I’m stiff as a board, to use the old chestnut, but nothing else pains me.”

“Let me see it,” said Legolas, and Sam gingerly raised one hand from within the blankets.  Legolas took it as gently as he could and applied careful pressure.  Sam watched apprehensively, clearly expecting to feel a lance of pain, but he never made a sound.

“It is not broken,” said Legolas, “but I think it is sprained.  It should heal well if we can only keep it motionless for a few days.  Lie still for a moment.  I am going to have a look at your head.”

“I don’t think I ever struck it,” said Sam.

“We are neither of us perfectly clear regarding our river trip,” said Legolas.  “I must be sure.  Head wounds can be dangerous and difficult to detect.”  He carefully pushed a knot of curls out of the way and felt at Sam’s scalp with his fingers.  “Tell me if you feel any discomfort.”

Sam lay quiet for a few moments while Legolas gently prodded at his head.  “At least it’s my left hand that was injured,” he said suddenly.  “I should feel quite helpless without the use of my right.”

“Why is that?” said Legolas with some amusement, not looking up from his study.  “Is your right hand superior to your left in some way?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it is,” said Sam.  “Not in looks, I mean, but I use my right hand so much more often.”

“You do?”

“Of course!  I write with it, I do my chopping and stirring with it, I hold my walking-stick with it… all sorts of things.”

Legolas was fascinated.  “You mean to say that you only do these things with your right hand – never your left?”

“Don’t you?”

“No.  I do all those things with both, though I daresay you chop and stir more often than I.”

“I don’t know of anyone in the Shire who can write with both hands,” said Sam, who seemed just as intrigued by this discovery as Legolas was.  “I’ve tried letters with my left hand before, and they came out looking nothing like they ought.”

“Why did you not practice with both when you were very young?”

“I don’t know.  Hobbits all have one hand that seems to do things better than the other.  It just feels natural.  Writing with both hands!  If that doesn’t beat all!”

“There,” said Legolas, withdrawing his hands from Sam’s head.  “I detect no injuries.  It would have been best if I had examined you yesterday, but I did not dare leave you alone, not even to build a fire.  As for myself, I do not believe I have taken any serious hurt.”  He leaned forward and reached for Sam’s shirt, which he had hastily laid out to dry on the rocky ground, and felt the wound in his leg tear a little.  Warm blood immediately began oozing down his thigh.  He grimaced and tried to wipe away the red with his hand, hoping that Sam would not see, but it was too late.

“No serious hurt?” cried Sam.  “You’re bleeding!  No, don’t bother trying to hide it,” he admonished.  “I can see it from here.”

Legolas sighed.  “I knew the wound was there,” he admitted, “but I had no time to see to it yesterday.”

“Give me my clothes, please, and I’ll patch you up once I’m dressed.”

“You do not have to ‘patch’ me.  I have sustained light injuries many times when there was no one to tend to me but myself.”

“Begging your pardon,” said Sam, “but if there’s one thing I’ve learned since leaving the Shire, it’s that while you warriors may be skilled with your weapons, you don’t take proper care of yourselves once you’ve been hurt.”

“A warrior must be able to press on even when he is injured.”

“I suppose he must, but we’re not in the middle of any battle just now, and there’s plenty of time to tend to you.”  Sam set his jaw and fixed Legolas with a very stern look.  “I will see that cut taken care of, Mr. Legolas, if I have to sit on you to do it.”

“If you insist,” said Legolas, turning away to hide his smile.  When Sam took that tone, he sounded like his own formidable adar when he had caught Legolas doing something he oughtn’t.  He picked up Sam’s shirt, and his mirth turned to dismay when it moved through the air with no more flexibility than an oaken plank.

“Well!” laughed Sam.  “I think that was rather too much starch, sir.”

“Frozen!  You cannot wear this.  It seems we must build a fire after all,” Legolas said unhappily.

“But that will take time.  What about the others?  They’ll be worried about us.”

“Undoubtedly, but we are a long way ahead of them, and I do not think a few hours’ delay in setting out will make a great difference.”

“Poor Mr. Frodo!” said Sam.  “I know he’ll be worried, bless him.  I hope Merry and Pippin have enough sense to see that he eats breakfast this morning, because if I know my master – and I do – then he’ll do his best to refuse it.  I don’t understand it, but he often stops eating when he’s distressed.  It’s very un-hobbitlike.”

Legolas was only half listening.  He was thinking about something much more important than whether Frodo ate his bread and jam that morning.  It was true that he’d not had a moment to spare for building a fire the night before, but even if he had, he would have thought twice about it.  He hadn’t yet told Sam what he had discovered while scouting along the riverside.

Men.

Legolas was loath to build a fire even now.  Though its glow would not be a beacon in the daylight, its smoke might be.  Still, he could not seriously consider asking Sam to don his icy garments.  Sam would readily agree to do it if he knew what Legolas knew, but his stout heart could not protect his mortal body.  The tiny ice crystals would melt against the heat of his skin, and wearing damp clothing would be a severe risk to his health in the cold Narwain wind.

Then we shall have to have a fire, thought Legolas.  At least we may have it here within the cave, which will hide us from unfriendly eyes, and the gray sky may disguise the smoke.  Ai, how the Naugrim would laugh if he knew how glad I am of this cave!  He would never let me hear the end of it.

“If we must have a fire, then we ought to start it as soon as possible,” said Legolas, banishing the Dwarf from his thoughts.  He tried not to dwell on the Dwarf too much in general; doing so made him irritable.  “I will go in search of dry wood, but much of what I bring back may be damp.”

Sam frowned.  “Why you?  You have that horrid gash on your leg yet, and all those bruises, and you’ve not even got a dry cloak to wrap yourself in!  Really, sir, you don’t look at all fit for the job.”

“I, at least, am clothed from the waist down,” said Legolas.  “You will have neither a shirt nor trousers until we have thawed them, and I will not hear of you laboring with your injured hand.  I will look for a suitable splint while I gather fuel.  As for my cut, you can search for bandages in my pack while I am gone.”

“Oh, very well,” Sam said peevishly.  “I suppose you’re right, but I still don’t like it.  Won’t you at least take a blanket?”

“I would prefer you to keep them all.  Have we not just established that you are vulnerable to extremes of temperature as I am not?”

Sam shook his head.  “Elf or no Elf, it simply isn’t right.  You ought to keep yourself warm, sir.  There will be plenty of blankets left for me.”

Sam’s arguments did nothing to change Legolas’ opinion about the blankets, but the hobbit was so adamant that he gave up the fight and wrapped one about his shoulders before stepping out into the wan sunshine.  He watched and listened carefully but saw no signs that any sizable living thing was near, save the trees.  He had not expected to find any traces of yesterday’s Men – he and Sam had left them behind as surely as they had left the rest of the Fellowship – but Men were not the only creatures that they wished to avoid.

Legolas’ thoughts were ever on Aragorn, Mithrandir, and the others as he searched behind boulders and under dead leaves for wood that would serve for the fire.  He’d had no chance to warn them that strangers were near.  He had not actually seen the Men, but their traces had been very recent and their scent had lingered.  Their tracks had indicated that they were heading downstream.  Had the Fellowship’s frantic shouts been heard?  Had he and Sam been spotted during their trip down the rapids?  Legolas hoped not.  If the Men realized they had company in the gorge, then they were more likely to find the rest of the Fellowship than himself or Sam.  The Men were very close to the Fellowship even though they were on opposite sides of the river.  If Aragorn and Mithrandir were not cautious, they could easily be discovered.

But Legolas was not out of danger just yet, and neither was Sam.  The worst news yet remained to be revealed to the hobbit – namely, that they had come out of the Feinduin on the wrong side.  This put them on the same side of the river as the strange Men.  Legolas meant to walk upstream in the hope of meeting the Fellowship partway, but if these Men kept close to the river, their paths were likely to cross.  He could not say for certain that the Men were dangerous, but his heart had been troubled upon finding their tracks.  The Quest’s greatest hope still lay in secrecy.  Legolas had no desire to meet anyone who would be curious about an Elf and a hobbit traveling alone in the wilderness.

Legolas’ search proved to be fruitful, and he returned to the cave with an armload of mostly dry wood and a rabbit that had been a heartbeat too slow in running.  Sam was immersed in rummaging one-handed through Legolas’ pack for medical supplies.  He raised no objection when Legolas began arranging the wood near the back of the small cave, perhaps because he was too taken with the idea of breakfasting on roasted rabbit to notice.  Legolas was hungry too, for like Sam, he had eaten nothing since lunch the day before.

Most wood had to be very wet to thwart centuries of practice with flint and steel, and two small fires were soon throwing a cheerful light against the rock walls.  Once this was done, Legolas fashioned rudimentary shelves to hold their clothing up to thaw by propping long, cleft branches against each other and placing cross-branches between them.  He draped their stiff garments upon the cross-branches and placed the racks a short distance from the low flames, and was pleased when Sam’s shirt immediately began to wilt.

Sam was not so anxious to tend to the wound on Legolas’ thigh that he could not wait for the rabbit to be skinned, spitted, and placed above the flames to roast.  But once this was done he so clearly wanted to begin that Legolas obediently settled himself on the ground in front of the hobbit.

Although he could easily have seen to his hurts himself, Legolas had to admit that Sam had a deft touch.  While he used one of his knives to shape two pieces of wood into flat, thin plates for a splint, Sam carefully washed the wound and pulled away shreds of fabric that had stuck to the dried blood.  The cut was deeper than Legolas had thought, and Sam deemed it best that they sew it up rather than trying to use a salve.  After ascertaining that the wound had been thoroughly cleaned, Sam threaded a needle and paused.

“Perhaps you’d rather do this yourself.”

Legolas shook his head.  “No one enjoys stitching their own wounds.  But wait; the wood is prepared.  It will be much easier for you if we splint your wrist first.”

Sam held the two wooden slats in place on either side of his wrist while Legolas tightly wrapped them with a bandage to hold them in place.  When the end of the linen had been tucked into place, Sam experimentally wiggled his fingers, announced that he felt no pain, and took up his needle.  Legolas watched dispassionately – it took more than a few pricks to distress him – but he was amazed when he felt almost nothing at all.  “You could be a healer among your people,” he said.  “You do this with enough skill that I think you must have had some practice.”

“Some,” said Sam.  “After my mother died, I was the one who patched up my brothers and sisters when they got into scrapes.  My da was hopeless with a needle.”

 Legolas raised an eyebrow at this unexpected news.  So Sam had lost his mother, had he?  That made him the fifth member of the Fellowship to have undergone such a loss, along with Aragorn, Frodo, Boromir, and Legolas himself.  It was an unenviable thing to share, and Legolas was sorry to hear that Sam had had to endure it.  He wondered whether it would be unkind to ask a vague question or two about it, but Sam kept talking and Legolas let the moment pass.

“While you were gone, I took stock of our supplies.  I think there are some parts of yesterday’s story that you left out, because unless you’ve hidden it somewhere, I’ve lost my pack.”

“Yes – it is gone,” said Legolas.  “The river must have torn it away, although I do not know when.  It does not seem that you remember, either.”

“No,” Sam said sadly.  “It’s not too hard a loss, really, except for….”  He paused for a moment.  “I wish I’d let Bill carry my pots yesterday.”

“Surely you did not have them all in your pack?” said Legolas, astounded.

“No.  Bill had the biggest two, so the others will have something to cook in, at least.  But the saucepan…!  And my good frying pan!  They were with me.  And there’s something else missing, too.”  Sam looked up from his work with a grave expression on his face.  “Where is your bow?”

Legolas’ shoulders slumped slightly.  He remembered perfectly the impact with the rock that had destroyed his weapon.  He had felt it splinter against his back, had heard the sound of breaking wood sharp and clear even amid the noise of the rain and the flood.   His father had gifted him with it many years ago, and Legolas had used it so often that it had almost seemed to be a living part of himself.  He could trace every detail of its carvings in his memory.

“My bow is lost,” he said at last.  “I did not try to stop it from being washed away.  It was damaged beyond repair.”

Sam’s features softened in sympathy.  “Oh, sir.  I’m very sorry.  It was a mighty weapon, to be sure.”

“Thank you.”

Sam was silent for a moment, but then his face broke into a hopeful smile.  “But you still have your knives, at least, and that’s lucky.  If you had to lose one or the other, I’d say it’s better to lose the bow, meaning no offense.  A knife’s useful for more things than killing.”  He held up his bound wrist and grinned.

Legolas smiled back.  Indomitable hobbit! he thought.  You are a credit to your race.  “You are right,” he said.  “And more than that – given enough time, I can fashion a new bow.  All I need is a young tree to shape; I have extra strings.  The forests of Arda could not easily replace my blades.”

“I should like to see that.  We hobbits are skilled enough with bows and arrows – at least, those of us who take the trouble to learn are – but I’ve never seen a bow made before.  There!  You are all sewn up.  Don’t exert yourself too much, mind, or the stitches won’t hold.  Now, how is that rabbit coming along?”

The rabbit was roasting nicely, and presently both Elf and hobbit were tucking in.   Legolas would willingly have given up part of his share to Sam, for although it puzzled him, the fact was that hobbits’ appetites were difficult to slake despite their small size.  The suggestion appalled Sam, who insisted on dividing the animal equally.

The cave grew quiet as they ate, and Legolas decided there would be no better time than the present to acquaint Sam with all the particulars of their situation.  Sam’s spirits were elevated due to the hot meal, and he could digest the information along with the rabbit while they prepared to leave.

“Sam,” said Legolas, “did you wonder why I did not come to you when you first called me yesterday?”

The question took Sam by surprise.  “Yes,” he replied cautiously.  “I suppose you’re going to tell me why.  And judging by the look on your face, I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.”

“I heard you calling, but I had strayed farther from the bank than I meant to, and I could not reach you quickly.  And I strayed because I had found fresh tracks leading away from the riverbank.”

Sam’s lips parted.  “Tracks?  Whose?”

“The tracks of a party of Men.  I followed them to a campsite that had been recently used.  They had made no effort to hide the fact that they had been there.”

“But I didn’t think there were any towns in this wilderness.  I may not have a head for maps like Mr. Frodo, but I looked at a few of them in Rivendell, and there was nothing marked between there and the mountains – except for the Feinduin.”

“There are no settlements for miles.  These Men are far from their homes.”

“But what are they doing out here?”  Sam’s eyes widened.  “You don’t think they’re looking for us?”

Legolas gazed solemnly back at him.

“You do think they’re looking for us!”

“We cannot know for certain.  Possibly they have nothing at all to do with our quest, but what could have brought them all this way?  Hunters need not travel so far to find game.”

“Maybe they’re just traveling, like us.”

“Perhaps – but most reputable travelers would be found on a road.  And the odor that lingered at their campsite was… troublesome.”

“What do you mean, troublesome?”

Legolas shook his head.  “I cannot tell you.  I have smelled unwashed Men before – Aragorn and Boromir often assail my nose – but theirs is the smell of sweat and grime, of honest labor.  There was something in this scent that troubled my heart and bade me be wary.  What is more, the trees seemed glad that the strangers had gone.”  He paused.  “I have no wish to meet with these Men.”

“Could you tell which way they were heading?  Are they going the same way we are?”

“They seemed to be following the river downstream.  The Fellowship was not going to go that way, but now that you and I must be found….”

“Gandalf’s going to lead them along the river to look for us,” said Sam, nodding thoughtfully at the ground.  When he looked back up at Legolas, his face was hard.  “Those Men might see them.  Mr. Frodo could be in danger!”  He leapt to his feet, still clutching the blankets about himself.  There was a light in his face that Legolas had never seen there before.  “Are my clothes dry yet?  We ought to start off, sir!”

“Wait!” said Legolas, holding up a hand.  “I have not told you everything.”

Sam fixed him with one flashing eye.  “Tell me, then,” he said grimly.

“We are not on the same side of the river as the Fellowship.”

For a moment, Sam did not seem to have heard.  His face went slack, and he blinked a few times.  Then he said, “You mean… we went through all that and we didn’t even get across?”

The words stung for a reason that Legolas did not immediately understand, and his back stiffened reflexively.  When he spoke there was an edge to his voice that he could not suppress.  “The current was pushing us toward this bank.  There were more rapids ahead, and I was weary.  I did not like it, but I had to choose the shore that was nearest.  I do not think either of us would have survived another attempt to reach the other side.”

Sam’s face went scarlet.  “Oh, Mr. Legolas!” he cried in tones of deepest mortification.  “I didn’t mean – that is, I didn’t – I’m not blaming you at all!  How you managed it all I’m sure I don’t know; and you saved my life, too!  I just reckoned that… well, I didn’t think.  Forgive me, sir.”

Legolas knew he’d done wrong at the very moment he finished speaking.  His heart burned with remorse for the wounded look in Sam’s eyes, and he chastised himself for not guarding his tongue.  Sam was the last creature in the world that Legolas would resent, and he had no illusions about the high esteem the hobbit held him in.  Upon departing from Imladris, nearly three days had passed before Sam had even spoken to him.  Every time they had locked eyes the gardener had gulped like a fish out of water, blushed, and looked away.  Today was the first time they had ever held a true conversation, and Legolas regarded their nascent friendship as fragile.  What had possessed him to speak so rashly?

And just as he wondered at his own folly, the answer came to him.   Sam is not angry with you.  You are angry with yourself.

Legolas knew it for truth.  He was angry with himself.  He would not have been so vexed if he were alone in his current predicament, but he wasn’t alone.  Sam had been depending on him to bring them both to safety, and he had failed.  He had found a way out of the river, but he had only brought them out of one snare and into another.  Now they were sundered from the Fellowship, goodness only knew how far from the nearest crossing, and a group of Men was coming toward them – Men that were probably trouble.  He ought to have found some way to make it to the other side.  Did he not possess the fabled endurance of his race?  Had he not triumphed in other, equally perilous situations?

Well, thought Legolas, we live still, and we may yet triumph.  I moan like a cat stuck up a tree.  What was done was done; it was the present moment that needed his attention.  Self-recrimination could come later.

“There is nothing for me to forgive, and so I cannot grant you forgiveness,” Legolas said aloud.   “It is I who must ask for your pardon.  I spoke ungraciously to you and caused you injury.  I know your words did not mean what I foolishly took them for.  I, too, find it difficult to believe that after so much danger and effort, we are right back where we started.  I am disappointed in myself, not in you.”

Sam was not mollified yet.  “I didn’t mean it like that, sir, truly.  I was just so surprised –”

“Please, Sam,” said Legolas, rising to his knees and taking one of the distraught hobbit’s hands in his own larger palm.  “I will hear no more apologies from you.  You have done me no offense; I was in the wrong.  And I ask again, as your friend, for your forgiveness.”

Sam did not look as if he knew what to make of this, but after a long moment of staring into Legolas’ face, he nodded his head a few times.  “Yes, yes; certainly,” he said unsteadily.

Legolas smiled.  “Hannon le.”

Sam’s own smile in return was tentative, but it was genuine.  “Hannon le?”

“That is ‘thank you,’ ” said Legolas, ignoring his aches as he rose to his feet.  He pulled Sam’s shirt off the long branches and felt the fabric in several places.  “It is dry, and very warm!  Put it on before it grows cold.”

Sam eagerly accepted the garment and tugged it over his head.  “Oh,” he sighed, and the expression on his face was one of rapturous delight.  “It feels like it’s just come off the clothesline in June!  Quick – give me my stockings and trousers.  Who knows when I’ll be this warm again?”

Legolas pulled his own tunic over his head and allowed himself a moment to luxuriate in the feeling of heat soaking into his abused muscles.  He stretched his arms and back to work out some of his stiffness, which was considerable.

Sam dressed swiftly and began tidying up the small campsite.  “We’d better decide what we’re going to do, sir,” he said as he gathered the bandages and thread together.  “I don’t know whether we should go upstream or down, but we’ll never find the others if we just stay here.”

“It is not an easy choice.  The Fellowship will be walking toward us; that much is certain.  We might see them if we walk upriver, but it will take at least two days to meet; I think we traveled some miles downstream yesterday.  In any event, we will still have to find a crossing somewhere, and I do not know how long it will take for the water to recede.  Any crossing would be too perilous to attempt at present.”

“And there are those Men to think about,” said Sam.  “Going upstream could lead us to them, too.  We could look for a crossing downstream – but do you know where the next one is?”

“I do not.  Aragorn and Mithrandir know this region better than I, but they are not with us.  I had thought we might climb up the walls of the gorge and walk along the top of the cliffs, thus avoiding the Men and affording us a better view of the far bank; but neither of us is hale enough to climb safely, and we could waste hours in looking for a suitable way up.”

“If we can’t go up or down or side to side, then we must follow the river.  I think we ought to go upstream, Men or no Men,” said Sam.  “We don’t know what’s waiting for us if we go forward, but at least we know what to watch for if we go back.  And if we find the Fellowship, then we can just walk along the banks together until we come to another crossing.”

These choices were too few for Legolas’ liking, but there was nothing to do but select the best one, and Sam had already done that.  “That sounds like wisdom to me,” he said, and Sam beamed as if he had never been paid a greater compliment.  “But we must be cautious and avoid the strangers.  The Ring-bearer’s safety is of the greatest importance; the Quest must not be discovered.”

Sam nodded gravely.  “Aye.”

They disassembled Legolas’ shelves and smothered the fires with sandy soil from the riverbank.  The charred wood was buried beneath wet leaves and stones, and they swept the ashes from the rocky floor.  Legolas rolled the blankets as it was too difficult for Sam to pack them tightly with only one good hand; but Sam, never one to stand by idly while work was being done, busied himself by filling their waterskins at the river’s edge.

“I suppose that’s all, then,” said Sam when he returned to the mouth of the cave.

“Your weapon,” said Legolas, handing him his belt with the scabbarded dagger.

“How are we going to avoid the Men if we don’t know where they are?” Sam asked, buckling his blade to his side and swinging his cloak about his shoulders.

“I will listen to the trees,” said Legolas.  “They will warn me of the coming of Men.  And we are downwind of their last position, so I will likely smell them as well.”

Sam laughed suddenly.  “Well, you can spot a robin on a branch a mile off, so I’d not be surprised if you could smell it, too.”

“You give my nose too much credit,” said Legolas with a wry grin.  “These Men are no challenge for it, I assure you.  I know not the strength of hobbit senses; it may be that you will catch their scent as well.”

“After all you’ve told me, I think I’d rather not,” said Sam.  “If the time comes, we will see, but maybe we’ll be lucky and they’ll have gone some other way.  Shall we be off?  I don’t want Mr. Frodo to worry a moment longer than he’s got to.”

They stepped out into the dim daylight, leaving the obliging cave behind.  Legolas walked in front, his eyes sweeping this way and that, searching for any sign of other folk.  He listened as well, to the wind and the birds and the speech of the trees; none of them gave tidings of danger.

Sam’s habitual reticence around Elves seemed to have vanished completely.  He chattered like a squirrel as they walked, now offering an anecdote about life in the Shire, then indulging a shy curiosity about the Sindarin tongue.  Legolas was pleased by Sam’s interest and willingly answered his questions, but he could not fully devote his mind to the conversation.  He was already considering what might lie ahead of them in their path and what they would do if they met it.

Sam’s spirits were certainly rising as they went, for they were heading back to Frodo, but Legolas felt his misgivings grow with every forward step.  There was no evidence of either friend or foe nearby, and yet his heart still troubled him.  He was a captain of Eryn Galen, and he knew well that the fewer the routes of escape from a field of battle, the greater was the danger.  The circumstances were too neatly arrayed against them for Legolas’ liking, and he could not help but feel that they had been funneled into a path with too few directions in which to turn.

The sooner they met with the rest of the Fellowship, the better.