Chapter 14: Tales to be Told

There were no two ways about it – Pippin was cold.  His fingers, his backside, his nose, and even his feet were chilled.  He briskly rubbed his gloved hands together to thaw his stiffened fingers and resisted the urge to look back at the fire.  Even though it was burning low and its heat did not reach far, it remained warm, inviting… and just out of reach.  He reminded himself that it wasn’t wise to think overmuch about what he couldn’t have.  Doing so would only increase his longing – and consequently, his sense of privation.  Anyway, it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the fire later after morning had broken and it had been built up again.  There would be no fresh meat or eggs to be had unless Strider or Boromir went hunting, but at least they would have tea.  Something hot to fill his belly would be just the thing – even if it was mostly water.

Abruptly Pippin realized that he was still thinking about the fire despite his resolutions to the contrary.  Mind your work! he chastised himself.  You’re supposed to be watching for the Men, not daydreaming about breakfast!

It was not the first time he had used the threat of the mysterious Men to snap himself back to attention, but it was as effective a technique at the tenth usage as it had been upon the first.  The proof of their malice lay just a few feet behind him, and he did not need to look at it to remember.  Images of Sam and Legolas, half-dead from their encounter with the Men, were seared into his brain.  They were enough to help him forget both the fire and his numbed body.

Pippin was on third watch with Gimli.  The two of them sat at opposite ends of the Fellowship’s small shelter, gazing out into the waning night.  Morning was not far off now; objects that had been indistinguishable in the dark were visible as layers of shadows upon an iron-gray backdrop.  The snow that lay thick upon the ground somehow looked less white than it had in complete darkness.

Upon summoning him for the watch, Strider had told Pippin that all was quiet and had been so since Legolas’ panicked awakening.  Neither Sam nor Legolas had stirred since then, at least not that Pippin could tell.  He had been relying upon his ears to notify him if either of them woke again.  If Legolas’ behavior was any guide, neither of them would lie quiet when they came to.  At least each knew that the other was alive, but Pippin would have wagered his best buttons that they would both demand more information upon being roused again.

Pippin sat and watched and thought while the gray light slowly increased around him.  During his watch he had seen nothing but the shadows cast by the low-burning fire, heard nothing but the wind and the river nearby, but in his imagination the shadows sometimes took the shapes of Men, tall and fell, coalescing among the boulders with lengths of steel in their hands.  He would snap his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, the phantasms would be gone.  It was hard, watching and waiting for an enemy who was almost certain to catch up with them.  Sam seemed quite certain that the Men would move heaven and earth to find a way across the river, and the Fellowship couldn’t even move from its current position.  There was nothing for it but to hope that the Men were thwarted in their crossing long enough for Sam and Legolas to recover – that, and be watchful.

Not unexpectedly, Strider was the first member of the company to stir, and with nearly half an hour till dawn yet.  Before reaching Rivendell, Pippin had noticed that Strider was almost always the last to lie down at night and the first to rise the next day.  He could not imagine how the Man managed to persevere with so little rest.  He supposed it had something to do with Strider’s many years out in the wild.  He had spoken little of them, but he was a Ranger, and that told Pippin enough.

Strider rose from his blankets fully dressed and immediately buckled his sword belt, which had been lying against his side all night, around his waist.  All of the sleepers had weapons resting nearby.   Pippin could see Boromir with his scabbarded sword, Frodo with Sting, and Merry with his Dagger of Westernesse.  Even Gandalf had Glamdring out, an item which he seldom bared.  Pippin had kept his own dagger close to hand while he had slept.

Strider looked at Gimli and Pippin in turn from where he knelt, and each of them shook their heads.  They had seen nothing of note during their watch.  Strider nodded, rose into a crouch, and made his way over to where Sam lay surrounded by Gandalf, Frodo and the fire.  He was forced to keep his neck and back awkwardly bent to prevent his head from striking the rock overhead, and yet he was able to move in near silence.

Although he was still supposed to be watching the terrain outside of the shelter, Pippin could not help glancing back at Strider every few seconds while the Man looked Sam over with a critical eye.  He reached out, lightly touched Sam’s forehead with the back of his hand, and frowned.  His frown only deepened when he leaned in and put his ear near Sam’s half-covered mouth.

Strider’s movements did not wake Sam, but they did stir Frodo from his sleep.  “How is he?” he whispered urgently, sitting up halfway.  “Is he well?”

“Not wholly,” Strider whispered back.  “I fear he has taken sick.”

“How sick?” Frodo demanded, sitting up further.

“I do not know, but for the moment it is better to let him be.  Go back to sleep, Frodo.  There is no need to rise just yet.”

“I’m quite awake now,” said Frodo.  The expression on his face plainly indicated that he wanted to stay with Sam, but Strider was occupying most of the space nearby and was paying him no mind.  With a sigh of resignation, Frodo threw off his blankets, buckled on his sword and made his way to Pippin, stepping carefully around the rest of the company.

“Quiet night?”

“Very.”

“Good.  I’d hate for these Men to come upon us in the dark.”

Pippin spared only a brief glance at his cousin.  The watch was still his responsibility.  “I’ve been thinking about that ever since I got up tonight.”

There was no humor in Frodo’s answering smile.  “I thought about it all through my watch, too; it was impossible not to.  I’m sure they would rather attack us at night if they could.”

“Maybe they won’t be able to get across the river.”

“Maybe,” said Frodo, “but Sam seems certain that they’ll show.  If they can’t cross the river now, they’ll cross it when it falls again, and they’ll at least try to find us.  With their dogs, they might be able to do it.”  He sighed heavily.  “I don’t know whether to hope that they stay away long enough for Sam and Legolas to heal or that they just come and get it over with.”

Pippin turned to stare at Frodo, temporarily forgetting his duty.  “What?”

“Do you want to be wondering whether they’re behind us all the way to Mordor?”

“No,” Pippin spluttered.  “But someone’s going to die if they come, and it might not be one of them.  They could be better fighters than we are.”

“Not if they fight like the Men on the clifftop.  Legolas handled them all very well.”

“But he’s not in any condition to fight now,” said Pippin.  “Besides, he had help.  If Sam hadn’t gotten the drop on them, he might be dead right now.”

The conversation paused at the reminder of Sam’s actions.  The image of Sam throwing himself at that first, wretched Man surfaced in Pippin’s mind as it had done so many times during the night.  In his wildest dreams he would never have expected such a thing of the unassuming gardener.  Sam was slow to anger, and even when he was angry, he was never violent.  Whatever it was that had happened to Sam and Legolas while they were gone, it was all too clear to Pippin that the Men’s final assault on Legolas had driven Sam to the end of his rope.

Frodo’s face was troubled for a long, quiet minute, but at length he shook himself and spoke again.  “These Men are just why Elrond saw fit to form a Fellowship.  Legolas and Sam may not be of any use just now, but that still leaves seven of us.  Boromir and Gimli know what they’re about, and I can scarcely imagine a better fighter than Strider.  Gandalf will do for the sorcerer.  You, Merry and I will be ready to jump in if we’re needed.”  Frodo did not seem to notice that he was gripping Sting’s hilt.  “Yes, we will be in danger when they come.  But we are already in danger; we have been so ever since we left the Shire.  I think you are right – someone will have to die – but we have good folk on our side.  I will not weep for the Men when they fall.  It was they who began this quarrel, not us.”

Pippin had nothing to say to that.  Silence fell again, broken only by the scraping of Strider’s boots and knees on the hard ground as he moved about the shelter.  He was now at Legolas’ side, peering beneath the bandages.  His actions did not rouse Legolas in the slightest.  Pippin turned back to his vigil, frowning.  He knew very well that it was nigh unto impossible to sneak up on an Elf; he had tried to do it more than once and failed every time.  Why, then, did Legolas not stir when Strider touched him?  He had woken fully enough in the middle of the night.

The light grew steadily as the rest of the Fellowship began to wake one by one.  With the exception of Sam and Legolas, everyone was up and moving before the sun rose.  The fire cast more warmth about the shelter when it was rebuilt, enough that Pippin could feel the chill dissipate a little.  He waited as patiently as he could for Gandalf to finish his morning ablutions.  The watch would continue at all hours and the wizard would be taking his place.  He intended to get some more sleep after he was relieved, but not until breakfast had been cooked and eaten.  Everyone knew that sleeping on an empty stomach brought bad dreams, and he’d already had his fill of those.

Strider refused to allow a single one of them to go near the river until he had scouted the area.  “We do not need any of these Men leaping out of the boulders while we are filling our waterskins,” he said.

And shooting us in the back, Pippin thought, but he kept it to himself.

Strider was not gone long; the tea water, taken from the extra skins that Bill carried, was only tepid when he returned.  “I have seen no signs of the Men on either side of the river,” he reported, unslinging three ducks from his shoulder.  “If they have managed to cross, they did not do it here.”

“Could they have crossed already?” said Gimli.  “Is it even possible?”

“Certainly it is possible, although they would have to swim to do it, which would greatly increase their danger.  If they wait a little while – and are able to find a ford – then they will be able to cross in relative safety.  The river is falling.”

“How long before it is back to its usual height?” asked Gandalf.

“Two days, perhaps,” said Strider.  “It was already falling yesterday.”

“We cannot depend upon having that much time,” Gandalf murmured.

“And when will they be well enough to travel?” said Boromir, nodding toward the fire where Sam and Legolas still lay sleeping.

Strider seated himself cross-legged beneath the shelter, handed one duck each to Merry and Boromir, and promptly began plucking the third himself.  “If Sam is not too ill, then he could walk some distance tomorrow so long as his health was carefully watched.  But Legolas will require two or three days before he will be strong enough to continue, so Sam should have more time to rest than that.”  A few moments passed before he became conscious of the many faces staring at him in amazement.  “What is it?” he asked.

“Two or three days?” Pippin repeated dubiously.  “That’s all?”

“Yes,” said Strider, “and closer to two than three.  He will not be fully healed by then, but he will be well enough to walk.”

“You said he’d heal fast,” Merry said faintly.  “I didn’t know you meant that fast.”

“Do you see how soundly he sleeps?  All of his resources are devoted to restoring him to health.  He will not wake until he is ready to do so, and it would require some doing on our part to rouse him beforetime.”

“You have not yet told us how you were able to catch him,” said Boromir.

Strider hesitated for a moment before replying.  “He was clinging to a fallen tree with his right arm.  I am sure that his left was useless.”  He took up one of the duck’s wings and began plucking vigorously.  Feathers flew as he spoke.  “In a way, he was not holding on to the tree so much as it was holding on to him.”

“The tree was still alive?” said Frodo.

“No, it was quite dead; but he had managed to wedge his good arm into a cleft branch.  It was a wise thing to do.  He was senseless when I found him.”

“Still, it is well for him that you run so swiftly.”  Gimli turned toward the rest of the group and elaborated, “I arrived to find Aragorn crawling out on the trunk of the tree, far from the safety of the bank, reaching down for an unconscious Elf who was slowly being dragged under by the current.”

“And you came out after me,” said Strider.  “It would have been perilous to tow him back to shore without your help.  The water was swift, and very cold.”

“A cruel river, to be sure,” said Gimli.

“Perhaps, but this same river that divided our Fellowship provided Sam and Legolas with an escape route – and now grants us a certain degree of protection.”

“For a little longer, I trust!” said Merry.  “I would feel better if they were at least awake before the Men caught up with us.”

“We seem to have little choice for now but to wait and see,” said Boromir.  “We must be on our guard all day, but even more so at night.  Once they have found us they will wait until dark to make their move – unless their leader has taken leave of his wits.”

“Speaking of being on guard, I believe it is time I relieved you, Peregrin,” said Gandalf.

“And a relief it is,” Pippin said truthfully, rising from his seat.  He stretched his stiff muscles and made no attempt to hide rubbing at his numbed posterior.  He cast an eye toward the water pot and the ducks but was bound to be disappointed; the water was nowhere close to the boil and the fowl were only partially plucked.  Breakfast seemed to be some way off yet.  Resigned, he made his way to the blankets that he had vacated in the middle of the night.

“You might as well get some sleep, Pip,” said Merry from over his bird.  “There’ll be nothing to do until these have roasted.”

And I’ll be on watch again in a few hours, thought Pippin, suppressing a sigh.  It was not that he begrudged the work – he knew why it was important – but time spent on watch invariably left him either bored or anxious.

“That sounds like a fine idea,” said Gimli, who was on his feet again, having been relieved by Frodo.  “But I could use a stretch before lying down again.  What do you say, Master Took?  Care to join me in filling your waterskin?”

Pippin readily accepted.  He was weary, but a walk would be pleasant after sitting still for so long.  It could not be too dangerous to be out in the open; Strider had just had a look around, and if he had not seen the Men, then they likely weren’t there.  Pippin was accounted a fair tracker in the Shire, but he had been impressed by Strider’s skill time and again.

“Keep your eyes open,” said Strider as Pippin and Gimli made ready to depart.  Only a slight thinning of his mouth betrayed his displeasure at letting them go off alone.  Pippin was not surprised; Strider always liked to be in front, scouting.  That he had only just returned would make little difference to him.

“Have no worries on that account,” said Gimli, who was collecting the last of the empty waterskins.  “We’ll not be forgetting who put us in this pickle to begin with.”

Pippin waited until they had moved off a short way before turning to Gimli and saying, “A few days ago, I might have thought that you were referring to Legolas just now.”

Gimli barked out a terse laugh.  “A few days ago you might have been right, but it does not seem right to tease him when he has been laid so low.  It is not sporting; he ought to have the chance to come up with a retort.”

Pippin felt a pang of regret at Gimli’s words.  It was not the first time that he had lamented the animosity between the Elf and the Dwarf.  He could see why there might be some hard feelings between the two because of the bad blood that lay between their fathers, but that should only take them so far.  If he understood the situation correctly, their feud was an offshoot of a long-standing chill between Elves and Dwarves in general.  He knew something of ancient quarrels – there were certain families in the Shire that avoided one another as much as possible – but he had always thought them rather silly.  Most of the time, no one could remember what had begun the trouble in the first place.  What was the point of being angry over something that had happened so long ago?

The real shame of it was that Legolas and Gimli were both fine folk, and if either of them had been of another race, they would have gotten along famously.  For his part, Pippin liked them both.  He had been uncertain around Legolas at first, but the Elf had proved to be a pleasant fellow with no airs at all.  Gimli he had liked from the beginning.  The Dwarf was congenial and fond of a good joke, and there was usually a twinkle in his eye.  It was because of that twinkle that Pippin had felt an instant kinship with him.

The last of the boulders came into view, revealing the river beyond and the cliffs on the other side.  A chill ran through Pippin’s body and he slowed his steps, suddenly reluctant to pass beyond the relative safety of the fallen rocks.  Gimli showed no such qualms and continued on with nary a pause.  He was nearly to the water’s edge when he realized that Pippin was no longer beside him.  “Come on,” he said, fixing Pippin with his dark eyes.  “It’s as safe now as it will ever be while these Men still live, and we need the water.  One of us has to keep a lookout.”

Pippin knew that he was right.  He reminded himself that Strider would not have let them go if he thought danger was imminent, and that now was no time to turn coward.  He had begged Gandalf and Elrond to let him join the Fellowship, and though Elrond had acquiesced, he had still held misgivings about sending him.  Pippin could not bear the thought of proving him right.  There was really no point in delaying; the sooner they began, the sooner they’d be done.  He inhaled deeply and stepped away from the boulders.

Gimli turned and knelt at the river’s edge when he saw that Pippin was coming.  Pippin walked forward at a measured pace, looking for all the world as if he were just out for a stroll down the lane – except for the fact that his eyes were ceaselessly scouring the riverbanks and clifftops.  He stopped next to Gimli and rotated slowly, taking in a full view of the gorge.  There were no signs of life that he could detect, and yet his skin prickled at the feel of invisible eyes staring at him.  He felt so exposed standing there; anyone could look down from the cliffs overhead and see them.

Gimli did not say whether he felt the eyes, but he did work quickly, and to Pippin’s relief they were soon leaving the bank with their arms full of cold skins.  He began to feel much easier once they stepped among the boulders again.  “So that’s what Frodo meant,” he murmured.

“What’s that?” said Gimli.

Pippin blinked, realizing that he had spoken aloud.  “Oh, nothing.”

Gimli threw him a wry look.  “Aye – nothing.  You are certainly keeping your thoughts close of late.”

Pippin flushed a little.  He had a reason to be less than talkative these days; they all did.  Still, he supposed that he didn’t have to avoid talking about everything – just the Ring.  Words could not express how grateful he was to Merry for easing his burden, but he didn’t feel up to discussing it with anyone and everyone.  “Frodo said he would almost rather the Men just came and got it over with,” he said.

“Ah,” said Gimli.  “That I can understand.  I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder all the way to Mount Doom.”

A smile crept onto Pippin’s face in spite of himself.  “That’s just what Frodo said, almost.”

“Knowing what we know from Sam, the idea of dealing with the Men now has a certain appeal,” said the Dwarf.  “I would rather face my foe and take my chances than be stabbed in the back because I never knew he was there.”

“I didn’t see anyone, but I felt like they were watching me,” Pippin admitted.  “We’re the bull’s-eye on a target, and I don’t like it.”

“We none of us do, lad,” sighed Gimli.  “We none of us do.”

 Pippin and Gimli offered no comments upon their return to the shelter, and by this the others understood that they had seen nothing noteworthy.  They had not been gone more than five minutes, and there had been little change in Sam, Legolas, the water pot or the ducks in that time.  Pippin needed no further urging to lie down and take a nap; the weight of the unseen eyes had only added to his weariness.  “Wake me up when breakfast’s ready, Merry,” he said, wrapping himself in his blankets.

“We’ll save your share, and Gimli’s, too,” said Merry.

“I don’t want you to ‘save’ anything.  Wake me up.”

“We’ll save it,” Merry replied pleasantly.

“Fresh duck and fresh tea, Merry.”

“Get some sleep, Pippin.”

Pippin sighed, turned over, and scooted just a little bit closer to the fire.  He had to give it up; Merry was not going to budge.  He told himself that it wouldn’t be so bad anyway; he wouldn’t sleep so long that the duck wouldn’t taste fresh, and they had plenty of tea.  It would be very nice to have something hot to drink upon waking – strong tea, with just a little bit of sugar.  It was too bad there weren’t any pastries to go with it.  That was the first thing he’d do when the Ring was destroyed and they all got back to civilization – get a big pot of tea and a tray full of crumpets and scones.  Blueberry scones.  And strawberries, and clotted cream.  And milk and honey for the tea.

And a loaf of fresh brown bread, with cold yellow butter.

And some jam to go with it….

Raspberry jam….

“Pip.”

Pippin twitched.  What was it that was touching his arm?  He wanted it to go away.  The food in front of him was enticing.

“Pippin!”

The touching suddenly became shaking, and Pippin’s eyes popped open to see Merry gazing down at him.  “What…?  How long have I been asleep?” he muttered groggily.

“Not quite two hours.”

Pippin blinked up at Merry.  “Are you sure it wasn’t five minutes?  I was dreaming about breakfast.”

The corners of Merry’s mouth quirked upward.  “I expect you were.  We’ve already had ours –”

“I told you to wake me up!”

“Shush!  You needed the sleep more than the food, and we saved some duck for you.  But that’s not what I came to tell you.  Strider says that Sam is coming ‘round.”

“He is?” Pippin cried softly, sitting up halfway.

“I knew you wouldn’t forgive me if I let you sleep through it,” said Merry.

“I wouldn’t,” said Pippin, sitting up fully and throwing his blankets off.  Looking around, he saw Strider sitting on the other side of the fire near Sam.  Frodo was seated at his servant’s side, watching him critically.  He and Gandalf had been replaced on watch by Gimli and Boromir – because the two of them wanted to be near Sam when he awoke, Pippin supposed.  The Dwarf and Man glanced repeatedly in their direction, torn between their duty as watchmen and their desire to see that their companion was well.

Sam’s eyelashes were fluttering sluggishly when Pippin and Merry joined the little circle.  No one spoke when he slowly opened his eyes and then closed them again; but when he repeated the action, groggy and bewildered, Strider gently began to prompt him.  “Sam?”

Pippin and Merry both leaned forward expectantly.

“Sam.”

Sam blinked owlishly up at the circle of faces above him.  He did not appear to recognize any of them, and Pippin found himself holding his breath even though Sam had known them all the day before.  Then, at long last, he murmured, “Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo’s face broke into an expression of unrestrained joy.  “Yes, Sam.  It’s me.”

“Sam,” Strider said quietly, and the hobbit’s groggy gaze shifted to him.  “Do you know where you are?”

Sam’s eyes slowly roamed the shelter, taking in the low ceiling of rock and the snow that lay piled just outside.  “No,” he said.

“You are back with us – with the Fellowship,” said Strider.  “You are across the river, and we are beneath a shelter of sorts.”

“The river,” Sam repeated.  His brow furrowed, and suddenly his eyes flew open as wide as they would go.  “Mr. Legolas!” he gasped.

“We found him,” Strider said with deliberate calm.  “You saw him last night.  Do you remember?”

“He’s hurt bad, Strider,” Sam croaked.  Pippin wondered at the continuing hoarseness of his voice; he certainly sounded as if he had a frog in his throat.  “They shot him, and I couldn’t….  He’s hurt bad.”  His eyes pleaded with the Man.  “Where is he?  Is he still alive?”

“Yes, he is alive.  He is sleeping now, just there.  In a few days he should be as good as new.”

Sam’s eyes darted around, much more quickly this time, until they found the long, fur-swathed figure on the ground.  He studied it intently before speaking again.  “As good as new.  Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Then it’s better than I dared to hope for.”  Sam closed his eyes.  “I tried to hold on to him.  When I lost my grip, I thought….  How did you find us?”

Pippin did not miss the glance that Gandalf and Strider exchanged at these words.  From the look on Merry’s face, it appeared that he had not missed it, either.  The two Big Folk looked… cautious.  “We saw you jump off of the cliff,” said Strider.  Pippin and Merry frowned at each other.  They had seen a good deal more than that!

Sam blanched, and Pippin’s confusion deepened.  What reason did Sam have to look guilty?  “We had to escape,” he said.  “It was run or die, and we hadn’t anywhere else to go.”  His voice caught on the last few words, and suddenly he burst into a fit of coughing.  Pippin winced at the deep, rattling sounds he heard.  He didn’t know much about taking care of the sick, but that cough sounded serious.

Strider placed the back of his hand against Sam’s forehead when the hobbit stilled again.  “I do not like the sound of that.  How are you feeling?”

Sam swallowed and immediately winced.  “Not so good, sir.”

“You feel a little warmer than you should be.  Tell me what ails you.”

“Well, my… my throat is sore, and I think I’m going to cough again, and I just ache all over.  And….”

“And what?”

“I’m hungry,” Sam admitted, flushing slightly.

“Bless me!” Pippin cried.  “Of course you’re hungry; it’s been at least a whole day since you last ate, and that’s not fitting.  We have some duck and broth – would you like that? – and tea.”  He glanced up at Strider, who nodded his approval.

Sam essayed a smile.  “Sounds lovely.  The Men didn’t put too much thought to feeding us.”

“I’ll fetch it,” said Merry, fishing a tin cup out of a nearby pack.

A brief silence fell while Merry tore up bits of duck and dropped them into the broth.  While Pippin felt as impatient for information as the others looked to be, Sam appeared to be lost in thought.  He turned his head in the direction of the river, his expression unreadable, and Pippin surmised that he was listening to the sound of the water.  Presently he wet his lips and murmured, “How is it that I’m not dead?”

Pippin could not tell whether Sam was talking to himself or wanted an answer.  “What do you mean?” said Gandalf.

Visibly startled, Sam looked up at the wizard.  “Oh.  I mean – well, I can’t get my reckoning straight.”

“You jumped off the cliff,” Gandalf prompted.  “Where after that does your reckoning fail you?”

Sam looked uneasy, but he opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a new bout of coughs.  Pippin shook his head.  Sam needed some broth and a good rest, but the Fellowship needed some answers from him, too.

“We jumped,” Sam grated when his coughs subsided again.  “Legolas held on to me somehow.  It was so cold, and I couldn’t breathe… felt like the longest time… and I couldn’t tell up from down.  But we came up again after all.”  He paused for a moment and his eyes grew distant.  “We were going downstream, and the Men were shouting overhead, and then they started shooting at us.  Legolas pulled me under.  I think he was trying to swim, or hide, and then….”  Sam’s eyes grew sad, and his voice quavered slightly.  “They shot him.  He lurched, and he went stiff – and then he let go of me.  I expect he couldn’t help it; I know he didn’t want to.”  Another cough interrupted him, but he picked up again directly.  Pippin wondered if he had forgotten that he had an audience.  “I came up somehow, and when Legolas came up again, he wasn’t moving anymore.  I caught his cloak and I tried to swim, but I didn’t do a very good job of it, and before long I couldn’t hold on anymore, and the river took him away.”  His chin trembled, but he drew a sharp breath and compressed his lips, obstinately refusing to shed tears.  “And then… I don’t know what happened.  Blink of an eye, and something pulled me down.  I couldn’t hardly move.”  Sam’s face stiffened.  “And that’s where my reckoning stops.  Next thing I know, I’m looking up at Mr. Merry.”

Pippin looked around at the others.  Strider, Gandalf, Boromir and Gimli were all watching Sam intently, the guard forgotten for the moment, but Frodo and Merry were not.  Frodo was gazing into space, seeing something that was not there, and Merry was frozen in the act of dropping a handful of duck into the tin cup.  Sam had pulled himself back into the present, but he was determinedly not looking at anyone.  Pippin wondered what it felt like to drown, and shuddered.

It was Boromir who spoke first.  “It was the water that pulled you down, I think.  We found you underwater, pressed against a rock.  It was difficult to pull you out.”

Pippin’s eyes found Merry again.  His cousin was pouring broth into the cup, and his mouth had acquired an assuredly stubborn set.  Pippin knew that look all too well.  Merry was not planning on saying anything about his part in the rescue.  Well, he was not about to let that happen; Sam ought to know who had saved his life.  “And it was Merry who got you breathing again,” he said.

“Really?” said Sam, turning to look at Merry.

Merry kept his eyes on his work.  “Yes.”

“So that Watch business of yours really works,” Sam murmured.  “If that doesn’t beat all.  I never thought I’d be one of those poor hobbits that got fished out of a river.  I’m… I’m glad you know what you’re about, Mr. Merry.”

“So are we all,” said Merry, turning to him with the soup.  Pippin knew that that would be the end of it.  Merry would not bring the subject up again, and Sam likely wouldn’t, either.  He had always said that it was sensible to avoid rivers; now that he had nearly drowned, he might not want to come within a mile of any river ever again.

After Frodo had propped him up, Sam took the cup in both hands and drew a long drink of the broth.  “It’s wonderful,” he sighed.  “Much better than hard bread and cheese.”

Sam drank slowly, and the company waited.  Frodo appeared to be very calm, supporting Sam on one side, but Pippin could see that Strider and Gandalf were eager to proceed.  They sat quietly while Sam finished, but when Merry poured more broth for him, Gandalf broke his silence.  “Yesterday you told us of the Men.  You said that there remained only four, and that one of them was a sorcerer.”

Sam nodded.

“You also said that this sorcerer exercised his powers.  Can you tell us what he did?”

“I told you what he wanted,” Sam said apprehensively.

“Yes, my dear hobbit – but what did he do?  It would be helpful for me to know what I will be opposing.”

Gandalf’s tone was gentle, but Sam was beginning to resemble a cornered animal and Frodo was growing angry.  “He doesn’t want to talk about it,” he said tartly.

“I understand that these Men were not kind to you or to Legolas,” said Gandalf.  “I know that you may not feel ready to speak of what happened, and that I am asking much of you – but I do not press you without great need.”  Sam squirmed uncomfortably, and Gandalf made his wrinkled face as kindly as possible.  “What if you simply start at the beginning?  Forget the Men for a moment, and think about how you escaped the river the first time.”

“At the beginning,” Sam muttered, looking away from Frodo’s apologetic face.  “Well….”  He drew a deep breath, coughed again, and fixed his eyes upon an unremarkable spot on the rocky ceiling.  “The branch broke.  Legolas held me up so I wouldn’t be drowned.  He swam once we got past the rocks, and I just held on for I don’t know how long.  He made it to the shore, and he pulled the both of us out.  Then he carried me; I don’t know where, on account of my falling asleep.”  Sam swallowed and winced, and Pippin pitied the soreness of his throat.  “I woke up the next morning and wasn’t dead after all.   He’d taken all my clothes off and wrapped us up in a blanket; he said he’d had to do it, or I’d not have lived.  ”

“That is true,” said Strider.  “Your wet clothes would have drawn badly needed heat away from your body.”

“Don’t know how much heat I had left in me by then anyway,” said Sam, and Pippin found himself sharing a brief smile with Frodo.  That sounded a little more like the hobbit they knew.  “I’d hurt my wrist, so Mr. Legolas wrapped it up for me, and I stitched him up a bit.  We talked about what we were going to do.  We couldn’t get back over the river, and we reckoned there was no point in going downstream, so we decided to walk up and hope we met you partway or found a way across.  Legolas told me about the Men, but we hoped –”

“Wait!” Gimli exclaimed.  “He already knew that there were Men about?”

“He went scouting around while Mr. Frodo and I were fishing, and he found traces,” said Sam.  “It’s why he didn’t come when we called.”

“Such strange fortune,” said Boromir with a shake of his head.  “If he had come but a little sooner, the three of you might have avoided the flood.”

“A little later, and Sam and I would have perished,” said Frodo, and Boromir nodded his head in concession of the point.

“It is unfortunate that we did not know of this sooner,” said Gandalf, “but what’s done is done.  Please go on, Samwise.”

“Well, we walked upstream,” said Sam.  “I can’t remember whether it was the second or the third day before the Men caught us.”  He hesitated again, and the pause was so long that Pippin was sure Gandalf was about to prod him, but at last Sam sighed and continued.  “Legolas was talking to the trees, hoping they’d give him some warning if the Men came close.  Said he didn’t have a good feeling about them.  But there weren’t many trees around, and by the time he got close enough to one to hear, there wasn’t no going back.  Legolas laid a false trail and we hid.”

“And he laid that trail for the dogs?” asked Strider.

“Yes, for the….  How did you know about them?”

“The whole company passed us moving downstream.”

“You didn’t let them see you!” Sam cried.

“Not then,” said Gandalf, sounding wearied.  “We hid ourselves well – but they caught a glimpse of us after you fell.”

Pippin’s eyes slid from Gandalf to Strider, both of whom were watching Sam carefully, and something suddenly clicked into place.  They didn’t want Sam to know how much they had seen; that was why they were making it sound as if they had only seen the fall.  What he still didn’t know was why.  Did they think it would upset him?

A new spate of deep-set coughs wracked Sam’s frame, causing Frodo’s mouth to tighten, but now that he had begun he seemed better able to continue.  After another drink of broth he muttered, “Now I’m even surer they’ll come.  I’ll get to why,” he said when Strider opened his mouth to ask.  “We hid in a crack in the cliff, but the Men saw us anyway.  Garan – the sorcerer – talked with Legolas.  He was trying to get us to come out, but Legolas didn’t want to.  It wasn’t ’til I stepped out in front of him that they attacked us.”  Sam sighed.  “Legolas fought them, and I tried to, too, but I couldn’t move nowhere back in that crevice.  Amazing, he was; he might’ve even fought them off, if Garan hadn’t got his hands on me.  He killed one of them, knocked out another, broke Whit’s leg, and very nearly throttled Daerid.  Lucky for Daerid Garan had a knife at my neck or he’d’ve died there, too.”

Pippin could not help but be enthralled.  Sam’s story was like something out of the great tales Bilbo told, only this time it had happened to someone he really knew.   Even though it was obvious how the story turned out – thus far, anyway – he felt a thrill of fear as he listened.

“Garan kept me close after that.  Seemed to think Legolas wouldn’t dare try anything for fear he’d cut my throat.”  Sam’s mirthless laugh nearly became another cough.  “And he was right.  That’s how he got Legolas to climb up the cliff right then and there.”

“He what?” exclaimed Frodo.

“I hope the rock was more forgiving than what I have seen on the far side,” said Gimli, blowing out his mustaches.  “In my opinion, it would be dangerous to attempt any of those cliffs without a rope.”

“I don’t know a brass farthing’s worth about climbing,” said Sam.  “And I don’t want nothing to do with it, neither.  But whatever you’ve seen, this couldn’t have been any better; anyone with two eyes could see it was dangerous.  That’s why Garan had Legolas do it.  He didn’t care what happened to him.”  Sam frowned.  “Well, that’s not quite true.  But he cared more about me.”  His gaze became unfocused as he continued, staring into the past, and a small smile appeared on his lips.  “You should’ve seen it.  I know that sounds horrid, but it’s just – I’ve never seen the like.  Legolas climbed up with naught but a few cracks and lumps to hold on to.  And he was all bruised and cut from the rocks in the river.  Even the Men thought it was something.  They were afraid to try, and for good reason; any one of them would’ve fallen to their deaths, of that I’m sure.  There was a time or two when I thought Legolas was going to slip – but he didn’t.  And then, when he got to the top, he pulled every one of us up behind him with a rope.”  Anger darkened Sam’s face.  “Garan told Brund to go last, just to be cruel.  Brund was the biggest fellow in the lot by a fair bit.  No one helped Legolas pull, even after he got them up.  I don’t know how he did it; I really don’t.”

“Elves are strong,” Strider murmured, though he seemed to be as absorbed in the tale as everyone else.  “This Garan must have known as much; a Man could not do such a thing by himself.”

“He knew,” said Sam.  “I think he knew rather more about Elves than Legolas liked, so Legolas didn’t give him his right name.  Not the full one, anyway.”

“He would have been a fool to do otherwise,” said Boromir.  “The King of Mirkwood is the stuff of legend.  His name is known far and wide.”

“Well, ‘Legolas’ didn’t mean anything to Garan – but I daresay it does now,” said Sam.

“And what about your name?” Gandalf prompted.

“We said it was Sam Underhill,” said Sam, causing one corner of Frodo’s mouth to quirk upward.  “I can’t remember the surname Legolas chose; I didn’t have to repeat it, and that’s a relief.”

“And they meant nothing to him?”

Sam shook his head.  “He didn’t say nothing else about them – but he said he’d been ordered to search for Halflings and anyone with them.  Well, he didn’t so much tell me as I overheard him talking to Dorlic.”  He smiled grimly.  “So he didn’t know as much about hobbits as he thought.  I heard a lot of things he didn’t want me to know, like how they were all Saruman’s Men.  And that they’d been told to watch for a fighting Man and an old Man.  I figured that was the two of you,” he said, looking between Strider and Gandalf.  “And that’s when Garan told Dorlic that he couldn’t kill Legolas because –”

Sam abruptly broke off and closed his mouth.  No one said anything, but he flushed under the company’s scrutiny.  “Garan said that Saruman would have a use for him,” he finished lamely.

Pippin’s mouth thinned.  Sam was a poor liar; he’d had no practice at it.

“Sam,” said Frodo, sounding disbelieving, but Sam interrupted him.

“It’s not mine to say, Mr. Frodo, it really isn’t.  I should’ve bit my tongue.”

“But what -” Gimli began.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sam, a trifle sharply.  “They won’t get him anywhere near Isengard now.  And I don’t know as Legolas would want me telling.  It upset him something awful.”  Sam’s face went red again.  “And I’m still saying more than I ought.”

Pippin looked at the others, wondering what to make of this less than complete information.  The only person who looked as if he had more than an inkling was Gandalf, and he still seemed uncertain.  “Sam, I really think –” said the wizard, but to Pippin’s surprise, Sam did not let him finish.

“Legolas can tell you himself when he comes around.  If he wants to.  It won’t happen now; it can’t.”

“Very well,” said Gandalf.  Pippin was still curious – how could Sam drop hints like that and not expect them to want to know the rest? – but he thought it was wise of Gandalf to let it go.  Sam was determined, and it would take more than asking to wrest the details from him.  “When did you discover that these were Saruman’s Men?”

“The next morning.  I didn’t get to tell Legolas until almost dark.  They searched us, and then they kept us apart mostly.”

“And they did not say what they were looking for?”

Sam shook his head.  “Garan just said we had something valuable.  He didn’t know what it was, sure as I know my own name.”

“Saruman is no fool,” said Gandalf.  “He would not trust knowledge of the Ring to thugs.”

“He wanted to find out what it was all the same,” said Sam.  “We told him a fish story about who we were and he didn’t believe us.  He wouldn’t stop pestering us about it.”

“And how did he question you?” Gandalf asked quietly.

Sam drew himself in until he seemed to be hugging himself.  “Well, he… he called us liars, and… he asked us lots of things.”

“Yesterday you said that he tried to force you to talk.”

“He said he’d hurt Legolas.  And me.”

“All right.  And what was this unnatural thing that he did?”

Sam was looking hunted again, but Frodo pressed his hand and said, “It’s all right, Sam; just tell him.  He needs to know.”  Sam’s face fell and he dropped his eyes.  He wrung his hands for several moments, but at last he sighed and muttered something.

“What was that?” Gandalf asked gently.

“I said, he got inside my head.”

“Ah,” said Gandalf, who looked and sounded as if this were a significant piece of news.  He kept his tone mild as he continued.  “Tell me exactly what he did.”

“I don’t know how he did it,” Sam muttered sullenly.  “He touched my face, and then he was just… there.  Inside my head.”

“How do you mean?”

Sam flushed crimson.  “I could hear him talking to me, and his mouth wasn’t moving.  It was loud.  He said horrible things, and I thought… I thought maybe he could read my mind.”

“Do you think he did?”

“I don’t know!” Sam cried.  “He could talk to me in my head, so why shouldn’t he be able to do it?”

“What did he say to you?”

“What does it matter?  I swear I didn’t tell him anything, not apurpose, but –”

“Just tell me what he said.  In your mind.”

“Well, he… he said he’d harm us, but that was nothing new; and he asked me if there were more hobbits, and whether I had….”  Sam trailed off and the gleam of desperation faded from his eyes.  “Oh!” he gasped.

“Yes,” said Gandalf.  “I think that you and I have come to the same conclusion.  If this Man could truly see your thoughts, he would have no need to continue questioning you.  The ability to connect mind to mind is held by very few, and even fewer of those can glimpse another’s thoughts at will.  I cannot imagine a mortal sorcerer having this skill.”

“But it was Saruman that taught him,” said Sam, who did not look quite contented with this answer.  “And Legolas said that if that’s what happened, then Garan lost a piece of his soul somehow.  He’s not just any Man!”

“Perhaps not.  But I say to you all again – if Garan faces me, I have no doubt as to which of us will be the victor.  And I am certain that he did not read your mind, Samwise.  Now, as to how you were able to escape?”

The look of relief that had crossed Sam’s face at Gandalf’s reassurance was gone as quickly as it had come.  He stiffened visibly, and Pippin thought that he was going to avoid answering again.

“We were walking upriver.  Garan called a halt.  A wind came up, and some trees fell over.  One of them crushed Whit, and one of the dogs.  The other dogs ran away.  Garan took three of the Men with him to look for them.  Dorlic and the others wanted to harm Legolas while they were gone, but he fought them off.  He killed them all.”

It was all Pippin could do to keep from gaping.  It was not the sudden flatness of Sam’s voice that made him stare, though it had certainly caught his attention; rather, it was the half-truth he was telling them, and not very well at that.  Sam really was a terrible liar.

“Garan and the other Men came back.  They had their bows out, and we had nowhere to go.  We weren’t keen to give ourselves up, so… we jumped.”

Pippin did not understand.  Why was Sam glossing over all of the details?  It had not been just a wind that came up; it had been a phenomenon.  He hadn’t mentioned Legolas’ being tied to the tree, or Garan threatening him with a sword.  And what about what he had done?  If he hadn’t stabbed that Man, Legolas would never have had the opening he needed.  True, it had been shocking – but Sam was a hero.

“I see,” said Gandalf.  “Let us talk of the remaining Men.  Who are they?  What do you know of them?”

Pippin stared incredulously, not believing that Gandalf would let this pass, but Frodo caught his eye and shook his head slightly.  The set of his jaw said quite plainly that he would brook no opposition, and Pippin smoothed his features.

Sam’s easement at his escape from the topic was palpable.  “Garan, Erich, Daerid, and Brund are still alive.  I don’t know about the dogs, but I didn’t see them.  You ought to be glad that Dorlic and Jakov are dead; ‘nasty’ doesn’t even come near the mark.  Garan you mostly know about already.  He’s a cruel fellow; you’d best remember that.  Brund – he’s the big Man – he doesn’t say much, but he does what Garan tells him.  Erich sneers a lot, and I think he’s not the cleverest, but he’d never cross Garan and he’s a wicked one to boot.  And Daerid has it in for Legolas.  He’s the one that near got himself strangled, if you’ll recall.”  Sam’s eyes moved back to where Legolas lay.  “He’s really going to be all right?  He’s terrible still.”

“Don’t worry about Legolas,” Frodo ordered gently.  “Strider has been taking good care of him.”

“It’s not fair, his getting through all that only to….”  Sam’s chest hitched, and he coughed several times before subsiding.  “What do we do now?”

“We wait and watch,” said Gandalf.  “If the Men come before we are ready to depart, then we will fight them; if they do not, then we will leave when you and Legolas are well enough to travel.”

“Oh, they’ll come,” said Sam.  “If they’ve seen that there’s more hobbits about, they’ll come.  I think they want Legolas dead now, and never mind what Saruman wanted him for.”  He looked up at Frodo, and his face grew troubled.  “You and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin had best get out of the way if you see them coming, sir.  Garan might go mad when he sees he’s close.”

“We’ll leave it all to the Big Folk if we can,” Frodo assured him, “but we’ll not be letting them get close to you or to Legolas.  We thought we’d lost you before; we won’t lose you again.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Sam whispered, “but you just watch yourself.”

The interview appeared to be over; Gandalf asked no more questions of Sam, who seemed relieved to be done.  His voice was still hoarse, and each successive cough plainly pained him more.  Strider felt his forehead again and announced that he had a slight fever.  “Not too high, I think, but I don’t want it to get any higher.  When did you start feeling ill?  Your cough sounds as if you have had it for some time.”

“I’ve not been coughing for long, but I wasn’t feeling well… two days ago, I think it was.  And it feels like it’s been much longer,” he added softly.

“Well, you have been very fortunate thus far, having escaped injury and death,” Strider said gravely.  “And now that you are reunited with us, I must ask you to do as I bid you in matters of health – at least for the next few days.  If you rest and eat and drink what I prepare for you, then both you and Legolas should be ready to travel at nearly the same time.”

“If those Men leave us alone.  And they won’t.”

“Leave them to us,” said Gandalf.  “And worry no more about them for the present, if you can.”

Sam subsided at last and the Fellowship fell silent.  Pippin did not much feel like talking in the wake of his story, for his heart was much too full.  Poor Sam – and poor Legolas!  The things they had endured!  And what else had they faced that Sam had not mentioned?  Pippin knew that there were things Sam wasn’t telling them; he’d omitted all the details of the skirmish on the clifftop, and he had been reluctant to give his tale at all.  Pippin could only imagine that something had happened that Sam could not bring himself to speak of.  The Men had probably been crueler than he was letting on.

Pippin suspected that where Legolas was concerned, the Fellowship had heard mostly truth; Sam was far less hesitant to speak of him than he was of himself.  Sam’s eyes softened whenever they fell on the Elf’s still body, and pride filled his voice when he spoke of his deeds.  Though Pippin had yet to hear aught from Legolas save a few desperate words, the newfound intimacy between Elf and hobbit was indisputable.  It was a remarkable change from the tentative distance that had existed between them before.

The Fellowship’s introspective mood continued as the day wore on, and conversations were few and far between.  Sam drank the powdered herbs that Strider prepared for him and spent most of the time asleep.  Frodo was content to sit with him throughout the day, although he would eventually have a turn at the watch like everyone else.  The rest of the company took turns sleeping and guarding, with only brief forays outside the shelter for firewood, water, and fresh meat.  During the whole course of the day Legolas did not stir at all, and though Strider did not seem worried, Pippin could not help wishing that he would open his eyes, and soon.  Elves were a peculiar lot, but it did not seem right that he should sleep for so long without waking.

Evening fell silently on Pippin as he found himself on watch again.  He did not find it difficult to bear; even though the company’s danger increased with the darkness, the confidence that Gandalf and Strider projected was bracing.  He felt better, too for the warm presence of his kinsmen, and for Gimli and Boromir – two impassive sentinels between Sam and Legolas and the world outside.

Now that full dark had finally arrived, no one seemed to feel like sleeping.  Pippin could feel the mood of the company vibrating around him: grim vigilance wound through with a thin vein of anxiety.  It was very quiet, with only the sound of the running river and the crackle of the fire to break the silence.  Pippin could not see much sky from where he sat, but he could see a little, and stars glimmered wherever the heavens were visible.  The air was as cold as ever, but it felt cleaner somehow; perhaps it was because the sky was no longer overcast.  But for the knowledge that there were two wounded friends behind him and four Men somewhere nearby, Pippin might have found it quite peaceful.

The stillness was so protracted that Pippin jumped when Bill suddenly nickered and shifted in his hobbles.  He was not the only one to do so; every head turned in the pony’s direction.  Frodo pressed a hand to his heart and looked down at Sam, who was still asleep.  When nothing else happened, long breaths were exhaled all around.  Pippin saw more than one hand straying away from a sword hilt.  Gimli muttered something unintelligible in Dwarvish.

It had not been quiet for long when Bill nickered again.  Pippin was much less startled this time, but when Bill continued to shift and make noises of protest, he began to wonder what was bothering the pony.

“Bill!” Frodo hissed.  “Be quiet!”

“He’s been in his hobbles for too long,” said Merry.  “He’s restless.  Perhaps we should let him loose for a little while.”

No one replied, and after a moment Bill ceased his noise.  But just as Pippin was beginning to think that the pony’s complaint had been merely a passing concern, Bill snorted and stamped his hooves, somewhat more impatiently this time.  Merry shifted where he sat, growing increasingly restless as Bill continued making noise.

Pippin was beginning to think that Merry might be right; Bill might attract unwanted attention and ought to be quieted.  He was just about to open his mouth and say so when Merry said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” and stalked out of the shelter toward Bill.

“Merry,” Strider said in a low, warning voice, but Merry simply waved his hand irritably.  Bill was a mere few feet away, and he had already reached the pony’s side.  The shelter’s low ceiling and the various members of the Fellowship blocked a good portion of the fire’s light, but some of it still leaked out to illuminate the pair.  Merry reached up to touch Bill’s head with one hand.

Suddenly, unaccountably, Pippin felt a ripple of uneasiness flash from his head to his feet.  He did not like the sight of his cousin out there at the edge of darkness, even if it was just a few steps away.  The boulders seemed to loom menacingly around him.  “Leave Bill be,” he heard himself saying.  “He’s all right.”

“Come back, Merry,” said Gandalf, almost on top of Pippin.  There was no mistaking the note of urgency in his voice.  He was unsettled, too.

Pippin heard a gasp at the fire behind him and turned to look in spite of himself.  He had just enough time to register Sam’s frightened face and Legolas’ wide, open eyes before Bill let out a piercing whinny and jerked his head out of Merry’s hands.

Pippin’s fear became a sharp spike in his gut.  “Get back here, Merry!” he cried, and he was not the only one.  That whinny had been nigh unto a scream.

Merry stumbled back a pace, too startled to react quickly.  Pippin blinked when he realized that Strider had left the shelter and was nearly at Merry’s side.  Bill neighed again and nearly reared up off the ground despite his constrained legs.  Strider reached out to seize the stunned hobbit and pull him away.

A naked sword suddenly flashed from out of the shadows, slicing at Strider.  Strider threw himself backwards and toppled over, clapping one hand to his neck as he fell.  Merry shrieked and turned to run, but no sooner had the sword struck than a long arm flung itself about his chest and dragged him out of sight.

“Merry!” Pippin cried.  His hand groped for his sword hilt, but he could not seem to find it.  Why could he not find it?  It was right there at his side!

Strider’s head hit the ground with a horrible jolt.  Boromir and Gimli were scrambling to their feet as swiftly as they could without striking their heads, drawing their weapons as they went.  They had scarcely set one foot outside the shelter when a voice bellowed, “Stop!”

Unseen, Merry gave a sharp cry that was quickly muffled.  Boromir and Gimli stopped dead in their tracks.  Gandalf stayed his hand, which had been reaching for his staff.  Pippin stared out into the darkness, searching wildly for any sign of Merry, but he was hidden from view.  Then the voice spoke again, and his heart began hammering a wild tattoo inside his chest.

“Don’t move an inch, any of you, or I’ll break its neck!”