HOLDING BACK THE FLOOD

Chapter 7: Leaf and Stone

“My good Legolas, do you know that the caverns of Helm’s Deep are vast and beautiful?  There would be an endless pilgrimage of Dwarves, merely to gaze at them, if such things were known to be.  Aye indeed, they would pay pure gold for a brief glance!”

“And I would give gold to be excused,” said Legolas, “and double to be let out, if I strayed in!”  ‘The Road to Isengard’, The Two Towers

Gandalf and Glorfindel stood together on the west bank of the Bruinen, casting their thoughts and feelings out in silence, and on many levels.

“Elrond spoke truly,” Gandalf said at last.  “They are gone.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel murmured.  “There is no hint of the Nazgûl in my heart, and the trees whisper not of them for many long leagues.”  He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, becoming conscious once more of the river singing loudly in his ears, and his horse nudging him playfully.

“I suspect that only a sole wraith remained when the rest fled south,” Gandalf said.  “One alone could evade your patrols, but not a company of them.”  He sighed heavily.  “Whatever he hoped to accomplish, is done.”

“Or failed,” Glorfindel added.  “We may never know.”

“I think we will,” Gandalf said grimly.  “Those in the cavern were closest to the source of the attack, and will have much to tell us.  We must hurry.”

Glorfindel mounted his horse in one graceful move.  “Indeed, my heart calls me to the cavern, and at once.  Only when it is emptied of those who remain will Elrond dare release the waters that threaten them.  Go to him, Gandalf.”

“I am returning to the House to lend what help I can,” Gandalf said, moving swiftly towards his own horse.  “Get word to us the moment everyone is out of that cave.”

*~*~*~*~*

Gimli checked Sam for other injuries as best he could in the glow of the small fire, but could find nothing obvious -- other than the gash on his head -- and felt no broken bones.  Sam’s face was pale beneath the dirt and blood, but his breathing was not labored.  I must collect water and tend to him properly, Gimli thought.  A light tap to the hobbit’s cheek and calling his name elicited no response, which worried him.  He wrapped Sam’s cloak about him, then pulled out the blanket and covered him with it.

“It is your turn, Master Elf,” Gimli said, turning to Legolas.  “I am no healer, but I will do what I can.”

Unlike Sam, Legolas’s breathing was ragged, and he had not moved from where Gimli had settled him.

“I fear I cannot help you dig us out, Master Dwarf.  I... my right leg may be broken, and I believe several ribs, as well.”

“Let me have a look,” Gimli said quietly, kneeling next to Legolas.  “Will you allow it?”

“Yes,” Legolas whispered.  He knew very little about Dwarves, or their ways, although this one seemed methodical, practical, and not without compassion.  More importantly, Gandalf and Lord Elrond treated him with respect and the hobbits did not fear him.

“How is your head, lad?”

Legolas had to smile.  No one had called him that in over a thousand years.

“It aches,” he admitted.  “I see two of you; a worrisome sight.”  Gimli chuckled, and Legolas was relieved he had not insulted him.  As Gimli raised his tunic, he was startled to feel water from the Dwarf’s beard drip onto his bare chest.

“Why are you wet?  We did not... aii!”  Legolas hissed as Gimli touched his chest gently.  He tried to focus his attention somewhere else.  “The water behind the walls... it sounds much different than before.”

“A great deal occurred in a very short time,” Gimli said.  He moved down to check the Elf’s legs.  “I had reached the end of the cavern and was returning when a powerful wind hit me.  I have never felt anything like it before.  I heard a great noise...” He nodded to the mountainous obstruction just a few yards away.  “... and then a fissure opened in the wall near to where I was standing.  Icy water blasted through it, knocking me to the ground... and stopped nearly as quickly as it began.  I do not know what has become of the water, or if it will return.”  He sat back on his heels.  “Two broken ribs, as far as I can tell, and your right leg above the ankle, as well; there is no protruding bone, which is encouraging.”  He suddenly looked back down the passage, into the darkness.  He got to his feet and pulled a burning stick from the fire.

“Lie still, Master Elf.”

Gimli clomped noisily away and disappeared into the darkness, and Legolas was surprised that the Dwarf's absence caused him to feel uneasy.  It is being underground, he told himself.  I do not belong here.  But to his relief, Gimli returned in just a few minutes, his arms full of dead branches which he piled against the wall.

“We must be prepared, but not waste our resources,” Gimli said.

Legolas nodded that he understood.  The cavern was large, but there was no way to know how long they would be here.  The air would grow stale soon enough without a large fire using it up.

“I retrieved my torch,” Gimli said, showing Legolas what else he had been carrying.  “The water doused it, but that is of no importance now.”  He raised the long, smooth length of wood high above his head, then brought it down with a crack over one knee.  It broke neatly in half.

“Splints?” Legolas asked.

“Aye, you have it,” Gimli responded, “and with your knife, I will cut off a length of this blanket to bind your ribs.  Let me see... my belt should serve, and hopefully Sam will not mind if I borrow his braces...”

Legolas endured having his leg splinted and chest bound by walking in a memory of a green glade near his home, the spring blossoms bright and alive.

“That will have to do for the moment,” Gimli said, impressed by the Elf’s quiet strength – not unlike that of a Dwarf.  “Can you tell me what caused the rockfall?”

“It was strange,” Legolas said, trying to distance himself from the throbbing pains.  “We had nearly reached Frodo and Merry.  When Sam and I were but a short distance away, Frodo seemed to sense something troubling.  At that moment, I felt a... a force... buffet me… possibly that same wind you mentioned.  And then there was a cracking sound from overhead, and a large, dagger-shaped stone fell from the ceiling directly above Frodo.  He would surely have been killed had Merry not reacted quickly.  As it was, I believe he may have been hit by something when it shattered, for I heard him cry out.  Sam started to go to him, but rocks began to shower down almost where we stood.  He was struck and began to fall, and I could only try to... there was no... no time…”

Legolas stopped speaking.  He was growing light-headed from taking such shallow breaths.

“You did your best,” Gimli said.

“I should have been faster,” Legolas whispered, looking away.

“Nonsense,” Gimli said quietly.  “Rocks fall with fearsome speed.  You are both fortunate to be alive at all.” He gazed down at Legolas thoughtfully.  Sam was probably already unconscious when he fell.  He would have been buried in that rubble and suffocated, had the Elf not shielded him from the worst of it.  It was a selfless act, worthy of song and remembrance.

“How much time has passed?” Legolas asked.

“Not very long,” Gimli said.  “It is difficult to say precisely, but it cannot be more than an hour since the rockfall occurred.  But that’s enough talking for now,” he added briskly.  “We will have to wait to learn more about these strange occurrences until we can speak with Frodo.  I’m sure he's fine; he and Sam will be jesting about this as soon as we’re out of here.  Now, you rest while I gather together what supplies we have, and assess our situation more thoroughly.  I must find or make something that will hold water.”

“Gimli...” Legolas said, using the Dwarf’s name for the first time.  “I thank you for your aid.  And placing me here was most kind of you.”

“What do you mean?”

In response, Legolas reached out his right hand and rested it on top of a tree root, a massive thing that had broken through the cave floor over years of growth and steady pressure.

Gimli just shook his head.  He had not even noticed the root; if he had, it might only have occurred to him to chop it into kindling.  But if the Elf was comforted by it...

“You are most welcome... Legolas.”

*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn rode as swiftly as he dared.  He held Frodo carefully, loathe to let the injured leg dangle and be jostled unduly.  He guided the horse with his knees; without any guidance, the animal would head for the stables, and Aragorn had need of haste.

At first, Frodo’s hands about his neck felt cold as ice, but soon they loosened and fell, and Frodo lay limply in his arms.

“Strider,” came Pippin’s frightened voice from behind him.  “On Weathertop, after Frodo was hurt and you went looking for that plant, he had trouble staying awake.  Like... like now.”

Argorn’s heart lurched.  Even wrapped warmly in his own cloak as well as Pippin’s, Frodo was shivering.

Will he be able to bear this a second time, or is he still weakened from his first battle?  How could this have happened?

“Strider?” Pippin asked.

“It is all right, Pippin,” Aragorn said.  “We’re nearly there.”

They rode through a circle of trees that Pippin found familiar, then suddenly the Last Homely House was before them.  With a few words of Elvish, Aragorn brought the horse to a halt at the bottom of the steps, and dismounted as smoothly as he could with Frodo in his arms.

“Go on,” Pippin urged from his high perch.  “I’ll get down somehow.”

“Onto my shoulders, quickly,” Aragorn said, turning his back.  Pippin at once slid down the horse’s broad back and onto Aragorn’s shoulders.  The Ranger bent his knees, and Pippin hopped to the ground.  As soon as he did so, Aragorn strode swiftly up the steps and into the House.

“Where are you taking him?” Pippin asked, running at his side.

“To the Hall of Fire,” Aragorn said, having come to that inescapable conclusion during their short ride.  “No sunlight penetrates that room... in the event that Frodo and Merry’s guess is correct.”

“That’s very smart,” Pippin said approvingly.

Aragorn entered the ancient Hall, its vast space empty and quiet. He set Frodo gently on one of the thick rugs near the fire burning brightly as ever.

Pippin knelt and touched Frodo’s arm.

“You’re going to be fine, cousin. Just do whatever Strider says, all right?”

Aragorn looked down at the semi-conscious hobbit, his thoughts racing with what he needed. Water, bandages, surgical instruments... what else? What if the splinter of rock fought him, or slid from his grasp?  Was anyone left in Rivendell to assist him?

“Please do something,” Frodo had said.

Aragorn was touched by the hobbits’ trust in him. He would have to do his best, and quickly. He only hoped his best would be enough.

** TBC **