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The River  by Indigo Bunting

Chapter 2: Swept Away

“Come on, Mr. Frodo!”  Sam tugged hard on his master’s sleeve in a vain attempt to free him of his paralysis.  “Come on!”  Frodo didn’t move; he didn’t even seem to hear.  Sam looked upstream where the water was pounding toward them and felt his heart grow cold.  A true nightmare was bearing down on them, and they couldn’t get out of its way.

Mr. Frodo!

Frodo’s eyes were wide with fear, but he remained frozen where he was.

Sam let out a strangled cry of wrath and terror.  He could scarcely hear his own voice any more in the roar of the oncoming flood.

There was a sudden blur of movement beside them, and Sam found himself lifted off the ground in someone’s arms.  There was no more time for words or escape.  The next thing Sam knew, he was being hurled through the air.  White spray was all he could see.  He was thrown down into the river so hard, he felt that a mountain had been dropped on him.  Over and over he tumbled until he no longer knew which way was up; water as cold as snowmelt was all around him, stealing his breath.  Panic set his nerves on fire.  He was deathly afraid of water any deeper than that found in a bathtub, and he could not even tell if he was still in the arms of his would-be rescuer, so violent was the river’s fury.

It wasn’t until the tumbling abruptly stopped that Sam realized that his anchor was still there.  Whoever was holding him hadn’t let go, impossible as it seemed.  He felt a tug around his middle, and then his head suddenly burst above the surface.  He opened his mouth and noisily sucked in air.

Someone next to him was coughing and spluttering.  “Frodo!” Sam exclaimed joyously, though it came out as more of a croak; the cold of the water had nearly robbed him of his voice.  Frodo looked at him with wide eyes and his mouth worked soundlessly.

At last Sam’s thoughts turned fully to his rescuer.  He looked down at the hand that was gripping him close and saw long, pale fingers knotted into his shirt.

Mr. Legolas, thought Sam.  Of course.  There was little time to dwell on it.  The river was swollen and wrathful, and the three of them were rapidly moving downstream.  The relief Sam had felt upon seeing Frodo safe and whole was evaporating like mist under the sun.

“Frodo!” Legolas shouted above the noise of the driving rain.  “Can you swim?”

“Y-yes!”

“Samwise?”

The question flabbergasted Sam.  Me, swim?  In this?  He shook his head, unable to speak, and clutched Legolas’ side with both arms.

“I need the use of one arm to pull us to shore!” said Legolas, who had Frodo secured by the hand that was not holding Sam.  “You must stay next to me, Sam, or you will not stay afloat!  Frodo, hang on to him and keep your head up!”

Frodo nodded and reached out toward Sam with one arm.

Sam felt Legolas’ arm tighten about his middle.  “I have you!” said the Elf.  “You must release me and help Frodo.  I will not let you go!”

It was one of the hardest things that Sam had ever been asked to do.  He wanted nothing more than to cling to Legolas for dear life, but he saw the truth of the situation: Legolas couldn’t swim without at least one arm free, not in a raging river.  Frodo would be depending on him; if Sam let go, his master would be lost.  Frodo wouldn’t survive without someone to help him, whether he had grown up swimming in the Bywater or no.

Then there’s nothing else for it.  You’d better do what needs doing, whether you like it or not! Sam said to himself.  He drew a deep breath, placed his trust entirely in Legolas, and let go.

It was terrifying.  He was anchored to Legolas now only in one location and the river immediately threatened to drag him under.

“I have you!” Legolas repeated, and Sam felt just a little less fear.  “Frodo, I will hold you until Sam has secured you!”

Frodo nodded again.  With eyes as wide as saucers, he too let go of Legolas’ side.  Legolas carefully steered him toward Sam, who seized his master with both arms as soon as he was within reach.

“Sam?”

“I’ve got him, sir!” cried Sam as Frodo wrapped his arms tightly around his body.  At once Legolas let go of Frodo and began using his free arm to try and pull them through the water.

The precarious nature of the situation quickly became clear to Sam.  Even if he’d had both arms free and no hobbits weighing him down, Legolas would still have had a difficult time swimming to either shore.  The water was churning furiously and the current was swift.  But they had had some luck – they were drifting toward the left bank, the side of the river that they had been trying to reach on foot.  Legolas pulled at the water, and they drifted a little faster.

“Look, Sam!” Frodo suddenly cried, pointing at the left bank of the river.

Sam looked, and saw nothing.  Then he turned his eyes upstream, and his heart leapt within him when he saw, moving with all speed along the river’s edge, the rest of the Fellowship.  Even Gandalf was running, holding his robes away from his feet with one hand.

Sam swiveled his head to share a smile with Frodo, but it slipped from his face when he saw what was waiting for them a short way downstream.

“Oh, no,” Frodo gasped.

There was a bend up ahead in the river.  Dark rocks jutted out of roiling white water, and Sam couldn’t see where the dangerous passage ended.  “Mr. Legolas!” he cried.

“I see it,” Legolas replied, and redoubled his efforts.

They were still several feet from the bank, but there was a great deal of debris sticking out into the water.  Fallen trees, gnarled nests of roots, and old branches littered the edge.  It was one of these that Sam realized Legolas was trying to reach, but he was having little luck.  The wood was wet and slippery, and the strong current gave him little time to snatch at it as he passed by.  He HAS to catch something, thought Sam as Legolas grasped at a tree trunk, only to be pulled away by the river.  Those rocks are getting close!

The rapids loomed very close when fortune finally smiled upon them.  A thick and curiously bent branch was jutting out into the rushing water, and Legolas managed to seize it.  When he stopped moving the two hobbits were nearly torn from his arms, but he kept his grip on Sam, and Sam managed to hold on to Frodo.

The river wanted to rip them all away.  Water gushed up and over the branch, which was being pressed underwater by their weight.  Sam could feel a savage undertow tugging at Legolas’ feet, threatening to take them all back to the center of the river – and the rapids ahead.  Seeing their peril, Legolas wrapped his left arm completely around the branch and held tight.  “We must wait until the others come,” he said, sounding somewhat winded.  “I do not think that the two of you can pull yourselves out without aid.”

“I d-don’t think so, either,” said Frodo.  “I’m so c-cold!”

“They are not far,” said Legolas, craning his neck to look upstream.  “Take heart – we will soon be out of this river.”

They didn’t have to wait long, for the company was coming as quickly as they were able.  Aragorn and Boromir were in the lead, aided by their long legs; behind them came Merry and Pippin, and last came Gimli and Gandalf, both huffing and puffing.

“Legolas!  Are all of you well?” Aragorn cried as he came running up.

“Well enough for the moment,” Legolas replied, “but you must retrieve the hobbits quickly.  The water is icy cold!”

Boromir threw himself on the ground at the edge of the bank and stretched out his arm, but Gandalf was alarmed.  “No!” he exclaimed.  “You could be pulled in as well.  It is too far!”

“A branch, then,” said Gimli.

“Aye – a long, sturdy one!” said Aragorn.

No one needed any further instructions.  The hobbits dashed off into the undergrowth, followed closely by Gimli and Aragorn.  Only Gandalf and Boromir stayed.  The Man remained stretched out on the ground, whether to prepare himself to extend the branch when it came or to seize them if aught should happen, Sam did not know.

“How is your grip?” Boromir asked Legolas.  Legolas nodded curtly, and Boromir’s eyebrows climbed.  “You had better hurry!” he called after the others.

Yes – hurry! Sam thought.  Frodo was beginning to shake uncontrollably.

Mere moments passed before they heard Merry call out, “We have one!”  Gimli and Aragorn came running back to the bank with a great tree limb in tow, and the hobbits followed behind.

“Meriadoc, Peregrin, be ready to get your blankets out of your packs,” said Gandalf.  “Don’t do it yet!  Keep them dry until they are needed.”

Aragorn stretched himself out on the ground beside Boromir, as near to the edge of the rushing river as he dared to come.  Together the two Men pushed the limb, thick as Boromir’s arm, out over the water.  Gimli acted as anchor, bracing his feet against a tree behind them and holding the other end.

“Right,” said Aragorn.  “You first, Frodo.”

“W-what?” said Frodo through his chattering teeth.  “No!  Sam g-goes first!”

“Go on, Mr. Frodo!” cried Sam, shocked to his toes that Frodo could even entertain such an idea.

“You c-can’t swim!  If s-something happens –”

“No!  You’ve got to go first, Mr. Frodo!  You’re to keep It safe!”

“Sam -!”

Go, Frodo!” Legolas shouted.  There was no mistaking it for the command that it was.  Frodo gave up the argument and stretched out one arm, but the branch was still too far away.

“A little closer, Gimli,” said Aragorn.  The Dwarf stepped forward a pace, and the branch came within reach.  Frodo reached out and grasped a bit of tree root that was trailing in the water to steady himself.  With his other hand he reached for the branch.

“Careful!” said Boromir as Frodo grasped the lifeline.  “Don’t let go of him yet, Sam!”

“Don’t worry,” Sam said through gritted teeth.  “I won’t be doing that.”

Frodo shifted his grip on the branch until he got both hands around a large knot.  “I think… I think I’ve g-got it,” he said.

“Time to let go, Sam,” said Aragorn.

Behind him, Sam heard Legolas exhale sharply.  He wanted to wait longer, to be sure that Frodo was really secure, but he knew that there was no time to delay.  Carefully, he let his arms fall from his master’s side, and Boromir and Aragorn began to draw Frodo toward the bank.

“Steady now,” said Gimli.

Sam held his breath.  Frodo’s hold didn’t look as secure as he would have liked, and the river was still buffeting him fiercely.  If he couldn’t hang on…!

But to Sam’s relief, none of his fears came to pass.  The moment Frodo was close enough, Boromir reached out with one long arm and hauled him ashore.  Merry, Pippin, and Gandalf swarmed around him, wrapping him in woolen blankets and oiled cloth to keep him from being soaked anew by the rain.  Soon only Frodo’s shivering face was showing.

“Your turn, Sam!” said Aragorn.  He and Boromir were extending the limb again.

Sam looked at the wet wood.  Now it looked even less safe than it had when Frodo had taken it.

“Grasp that b-bit of root in the water,” said Frodo.  “It’ll keep you st-steady!”

“As will I,” said Legolas in Sam’s ear.  “Take the root first and the branch second.”

Sam nodded.  Tentatively, he reached out and gripped the tree root with his left hand.

“Good!” said Boromir.  “Now the other!”

Sam stared at the span of water between himself and the bank as if it were the deepest of chasms.  “You won’t let go, Mr. Legolas?”

“Not until I can no longer reach,” said Legolas.  “I cannot move until you are safely ashore.”

This wasn’t entirely to Sam’s liking, but there was nothing to be done about it.  “All right,” he said.  His heart was in his throat.  “I’m coming.”

Legolas kept one hand clamped around Sam’s left arm as he reached for the branch with his right hand.  It was cold and slippery to the touch, but his fingers found the knot that Frodo had clung to, and once he had his left hand around it, too, he felt somewhat secure. 

“Watch out, Samwise!” Gimli shouted.

Sam looked up.  His eyes scarcely had time to widen before a new, furious rush of water was upon him, flinging him back into Legolas.  It was only because of a warning shout from Gandalf that Men and Dwarf were able to let go of the limb before they were all hurled over the bank.  The branch was tossed out into the river like a matchstick and was quickly borne away.

“It is raining even harder!” Aragorn shouted.  “This flood is only going to worsen!”

“Now what?” said Boromir, just as loudly.  “Another branch?”

“No!” Legolas called, and everyone turned to look at him.  “There is no time!  This water-limb will not secure us for much longer – I can feel it weakening!”

“You must reach Sam with your arms!” said Gandalf.

“Aye!” said Boromir.  “Aragorn, hold my legs – I will try to stretch a little further!”

Aragorn quickly moved to comply.  He wrapped both arms around Boromir’s legs, and Boromir pushed himself out over the bank as far as he could go without toppling.  One hand he braced against the tree roots in the water to support himself; the other he stretched out to Sam.

Sam was horrified.  The extended branch had been bad enough; this seemed as madness to him.  If Boromir fell in the river, their situation would be ten times worse than it was now.

“Come on, Sam!” Boromir urged.

“We are not close enough,” said Legolas.  “I will push you forward!”  Sam felt pressure on his left arm where the Elf was still gripping it.  “Grasp the root again!  Pull yourself toward the bank!”

Sam felt around with his left hand and closed his fingers around another snarl of roots beneath the surface of the water.  Legolas pushed, and he pulled forward as hard as he could, flinging out his right arm toward Boromir.  His muscles were weak from the cold and exertion, and his effort fell half a foot short.

“Reach, Sam!” Boromir bellowed.  “Reach!  I nearly have you!”

Behind Boromir, the others were shouting encouragement, Frodo loudest of all despite his chattering teeth.  “Come on, Sam!  Reach!”

Sam looked up at Boromir, who was stretching his arm as far as he possibly could.  He was so close, and yet those last few inches seemed so far to go.  The water pulled relentlessly at him, trying to force him downstream, and he was tired.  He was no match for such power.

“Don’t give up!” Aragorn shouted from his place beside Boromir.  “You can make it, Sam!”

“Come on, Sam!” the hobbits shouted.  “Come on!”

The faces of the company were filled with desperation.  They’re frightened for me, Sam thought sluggishly, for me and Legolas.  He was very cold; it was becoming difficult to hold his thoughts together.  His left hand on the gnarled root was going numb.  Got to try again, Samwise.  Can’t leave your master here without you; he needs looking after!

“Once more, Sam,” came Legolas’ strained voice at his back, echoing his thoughts.  “You must try once more!”

Sam lifted his arm and reached with all his might.  With his other hand he clung to the tree root, trying to pull himself within reach of Boromir’s hand.  He inched toward the bank.

“That’s it!” Aragorn shouted.  “That’s it, Sam!”

The hobbits continued yelling; their voices rose in pitch as Sam neared his goal.  Even Gimli and Gandalf were caught up in the moment and were shouting along with them.

“Almost there,” Boromir grunted.

Without warning, the tree root gave.  Sam felt it ripped wetly from his hand, and immediately the river sought to fling him away.

Sam’s body abruptly stopped moving.  Legolas had caught him with one hand; his other hand still anchored them to the fallen branch.  The two of them were stretched out in a line, in danger of being sucked into the middle of the river.  On the bank beyond Legolas, the others were white with fright.  The hobbits had been terrified into silence and were staring with wide eyes and open mouths.  Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli were scrambling to try and extend themselves further so that Legolas could catch one of their hands.

CRACK!

Sam felt a shudder pass through Legolas and into him.

“It’s giving way!” Gimli roared.

Legolas turned his head to look back at Sam.  The Elf’s wide, frightened eyes said more than any words could say.

CRACK!  Another jerk rocked Elf and hobbit in the river.

“Legolas!” Aragorn shouted.  Boromir desperately reached for them.

Sam felt the muscles in Legolas’ arm tighten as he struggled one last time to pull them to safety.

One final, shattering crack rent the air, and the tension in Legolas’ arm vanished as his lifeline snapped.

“NO!” the hobbits shrieked.

Sam stared at the receding faces of the company, all of them gaping in horror and disbelief as he and Legolas were swept away.  His eyes sought Frodo’s face, but no sooner had he found it than he began to sink into the icy water.  As his head dipped beneath the churning surface, his friends vanished from sight.  A dull throbbing filled his ears.  He flailed desperately but he couldn’t make himself rise.  His mouth worked in soundless panic, and he swallowed a mouthful of water so cold that it seemed to burn.

Suddenly Sam felt a tug on his arm and his head broke the surface.  Coughing and spluttering, he felt his face being pressed against Legolas’ chest as the Elf’s arms wrapped tightly around his back.  “Hold on!” Sam heard him shout.  “Keep your head down!”

Sam turned his head so that he could see more than just Legolas’ tunic.  They were bobbing along so swiftly that Sam knew they would soon be around the riverbend and out of sight of the rest of the Fellowship.  The water churned white, and now and then a great black rock jutted above the surface.  Utterly terrified, Sam clung to Legolas.  They were going to be dashed to pieces!

With his head turned to the side, Sam’s ear was pressed against Legolas’ chest; and so it was that when the Elf’s back made contact with the first rock, he heard his sharp exhalation of breath and felt a jolt pass through him.  They stopped in their motion for the briefest of moments, and then the unceasing force of the water pushed them onward.

They struck another rock, sideways this time, so that both their shoulders took the impact.  They were turning as they rushed along, and Sam suddenly realized what Legolas feared – that he would strike his head.  But there was nothing he could do; the water carried them how it would, and his head was barely above the surface as it was.

The rocks grew more numerous.  Sam kept his jaws clamped tightly shut as he was buffeted from side to side, determined not to make a sound though his body was aching from the many impacts.  Can’t let the river know it’s getting the best of me, he thought, even though he knew it was irrational.  Won’t let it beat me.  Got to get back to Mr. Frodo!

One of Legolas’ hands was suddenly at the back of Sam’s head, fingers splayed out to cover as much surface area as possible.  Sam knew that they were about to strike another rock, and this time, he would be taking the brunt of it.  Legolas was as tense as a coiled spring.

They hit, and Sam could not stop his lips from opening to let forth a cry of pain, but no noise came out except a soft gasp.  It was as if he had no energy left for sound at all.

And so they rushed along, of no more consequence to the river than two fallen leaves.  They struck rocks and were sometimes pushed under only to break the surface again, whether due to the whim of the water’s flow or Legolas’ furious struggles, Sam could not tell.

Sam was aware that minutes were passing, but he was disoriented and out of his reckoning.  He didn’t know how long they had really been in the river, but it felt like hours.  He was actually growing sleepy, as odd as that seemed to him.  He could no longer feel Legolas’ tunic beneath his hands, and the pounding noise of the river was fading to a droning command.  Let go.  Go to sleep.  You are lost.  Let go.  Go to sleep.  You are lost.  Let go….

“Samwise!” said Legolas in an odd, breathy voice.  “You must… hang on!”

“C-c-can’t,” Sam stammered.

No mortal could have heard such a soft reply amid such an angry river, but Legolas’ ears caught it.  “No,” he said.  “Wake up!”

“Can’t get out,” Sam mumbled.

“I cannot… hold… dead weight!” said Legolas, still in that funny voice.

Hard for him to talk, Sam’s brain buzzed.

“Think… of Frodo!” Legolas urged.  “He needs you!”

He needs you.  Frodo.  Can’t leave your master alone – he’s got a job to do!

That did it.  Sam shook himself and threaded his fingers into the laces of Legolas’ tunic.  He was exhausted, but he could still raise his head enough to look at his companion’s face.  Legolas was looking back down at him, and Sam noted with some concern that the Elf looked as weary as he felt.

“Rapids mostly passed,” Legolas said shortly.  “Will try… and get out soon.”

Sam nodded sluggishly and looked around, trying to keep himself awake.  It seemed that Legolas was right about the rapids.  Their pace had not slowed much, but there were fewer rocks to be seen and the surface of the water was smoother.

Despite his best efforts, Sam was unable to hold his head up for very long, and soon he was resting against Legolas’ chest again.  Now that he was no longer fighting to cling to Legolas against the fierceness of the river, he could not stop a wave of drowsiness from washing over him.  Dimly he realized that he was no longer feeling cold; in fact, warmth seemed to be spreading through his numbed arms and legs.  As if from a great distance he could hear Legolas’ breathing, quick and shallow.

Sam’s face was suddenly dunked into the water.  Immediately it was pulled out again, and he spluttered incoherently.

“Am sorry,” Legolas panted.  “Trying to swim.”  Sam realized that Legolas was only holding onto him with one arm now; the other he was using to try and sidestroke his way to shore.  But it seemed that even his strength was finally giving out, and with every forward pull, Sam was dunked.

After only a few strokes, Legolas gave up and wrapped his arm around Sam again.  “I cannot,” he managed breathily.  “Will drown you.”  For a long moment they simply floated down the river.  Legolas seemed to be resting, and Sam struggled to stay awake.

After a few more minutes, Sam was roused by the sound of rushing water.  He opened his eyes and saw that the river was beginning to churn white in places once more.  “No,” he moaned into Legolas’ tunic.

“Sam,” said Legolas.  “My back.  You must… hold onto my neck.”

Sam thought for a moment, and was roused even further when he realized what Legolas meant.  “No,” he said.  “Can’t l-let g-go.”

“You cannot climb me,” said Legolas.  “It is… only way.”

“I’ll s-sink –”

“You will not,” said Legolas.  His voice gained strength and a note of urgency as he went on.  “I will not… allow it!”

Sam couldn’t help himself; he laughed against Legolas’ chest at their impossible predicament, though it only came out as wheezing.  “C-c-can’t… move arms….”

“Sam!”  There was real fear in Legolas’ voice now.  “You must try!  Rapids… don’t want to… face another.”

“Y-yes,” Sam stammered.  He couldn’t make his lips form any other words.  “Yes.”

Legolas seemed to understand him.  “Will go under… come up beneath you.”

“Yes.”

“You can rest… on the pack.”

Sam nodded.  His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

“Ready?”

“Yes!”

“Let go!”

Sam opened his fingers.  Legolas slid away, down into the choppy water.

There was nothing there.  There was nothing beneath him, nothing to hold him up.  Sam was too tired to even struggle now, and he quickly began to sink.  A panic took him as his head was submerged.  Legolas wasn’t there.  He was drowning, and he couldn’t get back to the surface….

Something solid suddenly came up beneath his chest, and Sam reflexively snapped his arms around it.  An instant later his head broke the surface, and he heaved in a hoarse breath of air.  There before him was a mass of wet hair.  He was looking at the back of Legolas’ head, and he was resting on the traveler’s pack that was strapped to the Elf’s back.

“Hold on,” Legolas gasped.  He reached out into the water with his arms and pulled them back toward him, one after the other, and Sam felt that they were moving sideways.  He turned his head and looked downstream with eyes that did not focus well; the rocks were closer now, and the noise of the river was louder.

Faster, Sam thought as Legolas swam.  Their speed downstream was increasing, and if Legolas couldn’t reach the bank before they came to the rapids….

Legolas was making sounds of weariness with every stroke.  His head dipped in and out of the water as he rose and fell under Sam’s weight.  Sam had no idea how close they were to safety; he was too tired to lift his head and see.  He could only watch the rocks drift closer and listen as Legolas fought to beat the current.

Faster! Sam thought desperately.  The rapids were very near now.  Legolas’ breaths were coming with a painful sound.

And just when Sam was beginning to despair, Legolas stopped.  Sam stopped with him.  Water rushed by their motionless forms.

“We have… reached the bank,” Legolas gasped.  Relief flooded through Sam, and he sighed into Legolas’ wet hair.

“Can you move?”

Sam tried to shake his head, but his body no longer responded to his will.

Legolas did not ask the question again.  Sam heard him draw a few deep breaths and felt his body tense.  Then they were moving forward with short, jerky movements, and Sam knew that Legolas was pulling himself out of the river.  He opened his eyes and saw a tangle of great white tree roots in the water.  One of Legolas’ shaking hands was clutching them in a death grip.  They jolted up and forward together, one handhold at a time.

And then it was over.  Legolas’ knees struck ground and Sam finally let go, rolling off the Elf’s back and coming to rest facedown on the wet earth.  His fingertips weakly scratched at the mud, familiar and comforting.  He could scarcely believe that he had escaped the river, but he was out – really out.  He hadn’t drowned after all.  Hot tears of joy leaked down his frozen face.

Sam heard a scraping sound beside him and opened his eyes to see Legolas straightening up where he knelt.  He was moving with obvious difficulty, and his face tightened as if he were in pain.

Legolas, Sam thought dully.  Is he hurt?  He couldn’t keep the thought in his head for long; sleep was coming on, and he didn’t think he could hold it at bay this time.

Cold hands turned him over.  Sam blinked at Legolas’ face above him, swimming in and out of focus.

“Sam,” said Legolas, still breathing heavily, “we cannot stay here.”

Sam closed his eyes, unable to respond.  Legolas muttered something that he couldn’t make out.  Elvish? he wondered thickly.  He heard more scraping sounds and felt himself being grasped around the middle.  With a groan of exertion, Legolas lifted him off the ground.  A moment later Sam’s head was lolling helplessly on the Elf’s shoulder as he walked away from the river.

Sam wanted to open his eyes.  He wanted to speak to Legolas, to tell him he was sorry for all this trouble, but he hadn’t the strength.  The only sounds were Legolas’ strained breathing and the whisper of his boots on wet, rotting leaves.  In mere moments the rhythmic footfalls had proved too much for Sam, and at last he succumbed to sleep.





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