Chapter 3: The Searchers

CRACK!

Aragorn’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of the branch breaking.  Legolas’ eyes went wide and he turned his head to look back at Sam, trailing behind him in the water.

CRACK!

“Legolas!” Aragorn shouted.  In front of him, Boromir threw caution to the winds and flung out his arm as far as he could.  Aragorn longed to do the same, but he could not reach for his friends, or Boromir would fall into the river himself.

Legolas turned away from Sam and looked back at his fellows on the bank.  When his eyes caught Aragorn’s, the Ranger saw surprise and fear.  Legolas was no fool; he knew what awaited them downstream.  His hand sought a better grip and his face tightened as he tried to pull himself and Sam to safety against the murderous force of the river.

But even as Legolas set his jaw and pulled, the cracking sound came again, and the branch was wrenched in two.  Aragorn felt his heart falter.  Behind him on the bank, the hobbits were crying out in dismay.  He and Boromir stared, dumbstruck, as their companions were pulled beyond any help they could give.

Sam gazed back at the receding bank in utter shock, looking as if he could not quite believe what was happening to him.  In mere moments he began to sink, and the hobbits shouted in terror.  Seeing Sam’s distress, Legolas abandoned a lingering gaze at the Fellowship and heaved the hobbit above water again.  He pulled Sam around until they were facing each other and wrapped his arms protectively around Sam’s back.

Already the river was bearing them away; they were nearly to the riverbend where the treacherous rapids began.  The remains of the Fellowship could only watch as the water turned to white froth around Sam and Legolas.  Just before they passed around the bend, Elf and hobbit bumped against a standing stone and turned sideways.

And then they were gone.

“They are striking the rocks,” said Boromir in a hoarse voice.

The hobbits were weeping softly.  Gimli murmured under his breath in his native language – a prayer to Aulë, perhaps.

Aragorn felt almost ill with disbelief.  So close!  Sam had been so close to safety, and the river had ripped it away.  His heart was urging him to stand and give chase until Sam and Legolas were found, but his numbed body did not want to move.

“Oh, Sam,” Frodo sobbed.

“We should not stay here,” said Gandalf.  Aragorn recognized the wizard’s old trick of hiding his wounds behind an even gruffer voice than usual.

“But – where are we going?” said Pippin through his tears.  “Aren’t we even going to look for them?”

“Yes, we will look for them,” said Gandalf, “but we cannot do it now.”

“Why not?” cried Merry.  “What if they can’t get out?  What if they hit their heads on those rocks and –”  He stopped abruptly and bit his lip.

No one needed Merry to finish his thought.  And drown.

Gandalf heaved a great sigh.  To Aragorn’s ears, he sounded older than ever.  “If the worst comes to pass,” he said carefully, “then there will be nothing more that we can do for them.  And if they do make it out of the river, we will not be able to find them today.  It is getting dark, and the river may carry them many miles downstream.  At present we must look to the health of the Ring-bearer.”

“But I am all right,” said Frodo.  “Just let me warm up a b-bit, and –”

“No, Frodo,” said Gandalf.  “I can hear your teeth chattering from here!  Your strength is gone, and though you may not know it yet, you will feel it shortly.  We have lingered here too long; we must seek shelter and tend to you.  We have been shouting heedlessly in the middle of a stone-walled gorge.  Let us hope that we have not revealed ourselves to any of the Dark Lord’s spies!”

“But Sam!” Frodo said miserably.  “I can’t just leave him – he needs looking after!”

Aragorn closed his eyes and drew a deep breath in an effort to compose himself.  As much as he hated to admit it, Gandalf was right; they could not look for Sam and Legolas in the dark, and Frodo needed dry clothes.  Many others of the Fellowship were nearly wet through as well, even though they had not been dunked in the Feinduin.  Aragorn was one of them himself, and so was Boromir; they had each run off without a cloak upon hearing Gimli’s frantic shouts.

The hobbits looked terrible.  Frodo was soaked to the skin and shaking like a leaf.  Merry and Pippin’s faces were streaked with sweat and tears.  All three of them were cut to the heart by the loss of their friends, and they were looking for direction, whether they knew it or not.

Aragorn knew very well that in times like these, it helped to have someone else making the important decisions.  Such circumstances left one free to deal with one’s grief.  There was nothing Aragorn wanted more than to follow his own impulse to take off running down the riverbank; long had he and Legolas been friends, and Sam had grown very dear to him.  But he did not have the luxury of feeling the full weight of his own sorrow at present.  The hobbits trusted him implicitly and deferred to his judgment after Gandalf’s, and so it fell to him to support the wizard and reassure them.  It was his duty.

“Legolas is looking after Sam now,” said Aragorn, finding his voice at last.  It was stronger than he had dared to hope it would be.  “And you may believe me when I say that if anyone has a chance of surviving this river, it is he.”

“Do you think so?” asked Pippin, wiping his eyes.

“I know so.  Elves can withstand the elements better than any mortal, and they are strong and agile.  Legolas will have reserves of strength long after Sam’s have given out.”

Pippin looked just a little less doubtful.

“But Sam can’t stand the cold like Legolas can,” said Merry.  “Look how Frodo shivers!  And Sam is still in the water!”

Aragorn wished there was something more that he could say.  “Legolas has walked Middle-earth for far longer than any of you.  He will do everything he can to keep Sam alive and hale.  And Sam is made of sterner stuff than we give him credit for; he will not give in without a fight.”

The hobbits looked as if they wanted to argue but could not find any other argument to make.

“Back to the shelter, before Frodo catches his death of cold,” Gandalf said softly.

With heavy hearts, the Fellowship turned away from the river and headed back upstream.  Gandalf walked in the lead as always, followed by Gimli, who remained solemn and thoughtful.  The hobbits trailed behind the Dwarf; Merry and Pippin walked on either side of Frodo, each holding one of his arms.  The Ring-bearer’s head was bowed with sorrow.  Boromir and Aragorn brought up the rear.  Aragorn sensed that the other man wished to speak privately with him, and he slowed his pace to let a gap form between themselves and the hobbits.

“I must ask,” Boromir began, “whether you were being entirely truthful with the hobbits regarding Sam’s and Legolas’ chances.  Do you really think they will escape this fell river?”

Aragorn schooled his face to stillness.  Boromir had seen more of his true feelings than he had thought he would.  He wondered what the Steward’s son wanted.  Did he seek reassurance himself, or did he wish to be taken into Aragorn’s confidence?

Aragorn did not fully trust Boromir.  He had made his desire to bring the Ring to Minas Tirith more than plain at the Council, and Aragorn did not think he had entirely reconciled himself to his defeat.  That Boromir was a brave man who intended to hold to his vow, he had no doubt.  But the Ring had a strange way of whispering in the corners of one’s mind, as Aragorn knew all too well, and Boromir was not skilled at hiding what it tempted him with.  Only time would tell how well he resisted its call. 

But there is no reason not to take him into my confidence in this matter, thought Aragorn.  He is an honest man, and honest men are not immune to temptation.  I do not wish to tip the scales in the Ring’s favor by keeping him at arm’s length.  And it would ease my heart to have someone to share my burden with.

That was enough to help him decide.  He would be candid with Boromir as he could not be with the hobbits, at least where their lost friends were concerned.  “I do not know,” he said truthfully.  “I did not exaggerate the resilience of the Elves.  Legolas can be as stubborn as a stone, and he will be all the more determined to reach the shore because Sam is with him.  Yet he was already beginning to tire when we pulled Frodo from the river, and that I cannot ignore.  He has the rapids to face now.”

The sound of their small companions’ voices drifted back to them.  Merry and Pippin were trying to comfort Frodo, who was lamenting the loss of Sam with many bitter tears.

“The hobbits are not as concerned for Legolas as they are for their own,” Boromir observed.

“They honor him with their confidence,” said Aragorn.  “They have not been traveling with him long enough to lose their awe of him.  Perhaps my words have had more effect than I thought, and they hope as I do – that Legolas’ abilities will allow him to prevail, and with him, Sam.”

“But you share not their reverence,” Boromir said softly.  “Elves have their limits.  How long can Legolas be submerged in such cold before his muscles cease to function?”

Aragorn shook his head.  “I do not know.  At least he will be moving, which will keep him somewhat warm.  I find that I can hardly begin to guess at his odds.”

Boromir paused thoughtfully for a moment before speaking.  “I am unable to be very optimistic.  I felt the cold power of that stream with my own hands!  But I will try not to despair; at least they have a chance of survival.  Neither you nor I would have lasted long in such water.”

“No, we would not,” Aragorn agreed.  “We must take courage.  Tomorrow we will search for our companions, and mayhap we will discover that they are still alive.”

“If they have pulled themselves out, will you be able to read the signs?  I have learned to respect your skills as a tracker, but surely this rain will hamper even you.”

“It will,” said Aragorn, “but consider this: Sam will not be able to climb up a riverbank, so Legolas will have to carry him.  A weary Elf burdened with extra weight should move with something less than his usual grace; he should be unable to stop himself from leaving traces that I can read.  If we are very fortunate, then Legolas will have the presence of mind to deliberately leave signs for me.”

Boromir suddenly laughed.  “Truly did the Elves name you Estel!  I find I am taking heart in spite of myself.”

Aragorn smiled grimly.  If Boromir’s hopes were higher, then he had indeed done his duty well – better than he had meant to.  He had told his fellow Man the truth, and it had somehow looked hopeful even though his own heart was heavy with doubt.  If Boromir and the hobbits could feel easier about Legolas and worry mainly for Sam, it was no loss to him.  He would surely do enough worrying on Legolas’ behalf for the entire group.  Legolas was far too old a friend for him to be able to feel anything less.

The remains of the Fellowship returned to Gandalf’s shelter and the fire that they had already built.  The trout had been lost, but Gimli’s rabbit traps had been successful and Merry and Pippin had discovered a good many chestnuts, so there was still a hot, substantial meal to be had.  No one spoke while supper was being readied.  Sam usually volunteered to help with the cooking even when he was not appointed to do so, and his absence was keenly felt.

Night had fallen by the time the food was prepared.  The meal was eaten with little conversation.  No one felt like talking and there was nothing to say.  The food tasted like ashes in Aragorn’s mouth.  One glance around the fire showed him a series of folk who were chewing mechanically.  Only Gandalf met his eyes, and his weathered face was as somber as Aragorn knew he himself must look.

Aragorn volunteered for the night’s first watch and did not object when Boromir did likewise.  The hobbits professed not to be tired, but Gandalf insisted they lie down in their blankets, and the little folk were soon asleep in spite of themselves.  Once Gandalf and Gimli had agreed upon their respective watches, they each rolled themselves in their own blankets.  In mere minutes the only sounds in the camp were the snores of wizard and Dwarf and the gentle crackling of the burning logs.

Aragorn took a seat at the edge of the firelight, facing away from the flames.  A chill wind blew through the evergreens with a lonesome sound.  He thought of Legolas and Sam, somewhere out in the biting cold night if they hadn’t drowned hours ago.  Everything depended on their ability to find shelter.  If they had not, then they had already frozen.  The fire gave a particularly loud pop as a pocket of sap inside one of the logs exploded.

Aragorn had no idea how long he had been staring out at the surrounding rocks when a voice spoke.  “You are weary.  Why do you not take to your own blankets?”

Boromir’s approach had taken Aragorn completely by surprise, and he jumped.  To Boromir’s credit, he did not comment even though it was the first time that he had successfully caught Aragorn with his guard down.

“We are all weary,” Aragorn said evasively.

“None more so than you and the hobbits,” said Boromir.  “The slump of your shoulders belies your earlier words to me.”

Aragorn straightened his back, but he did not attempt to deny the truth.  “Yes, I am tired – in body and in spirit.  But I do not wish to lie down just yet.  I would not be able to sleep.”

“Neither would I,” said Boromir.  “Hope often lingers while the sun is shining, only to flee in the dead of night.  Out in the wilderness, desperate prayers are sometimes all we have.”  He paused, and then added: “It is pointless to feel guilty, but I cannot but regret that I was unable to catch hold of Sam’s hand.  He was so very near.”

“You reached as far as you could.  I saw your face.”

“Aye – but that does not make it any more palatable.”

Aragorn made no reply.  None was needed.  He understood how Boromir felt, and Boromir knew that he understood.

“You knew Legolas before the Council, I take it,” said Boromir.  “You have never spoken of it, but you have not tried to hide your familiarity with him.”

“I did,” said Aragorn.  The wind picked up again, and he shivered and pulled his cloak more closely about himself.  “Living in the house of Elrond, I crossed paths with other Elven lords.  I met Legolas years ago when he and some of his kin came to Rivendell.  We took a liking to each other.”

“I sometimes forget that he is the son of a king,” said Boromir, who was still watching the other side of the camp.  “He does not behave as I would have expected him to.”  Aragorn suddenly felt the other man’s eyes on his back, but Boromir did not say what he was likely thinking.  I forget that you are of a royal lineage, too.

“He is not Thranduil’s oldest child,” said Aragorn.  “Being a younger son has given him freedoms that his elder siblings could not enjoy.  He has often been away from home, scouting or acting as an emissary, but that does not mean he would not be well qualified to lead his people.  He has been trained for it since birth.”

“I know full well the responsibilities that come with being the eldest son of a ruler,” Boromir murmured.  “At times I envy my own brother, who has fewer obligations.  And yet… not all of his burdens are lighter than my own.”

Aragorn glanced up at Boromir, who did not seem to be aware that he had fallen silent.  The distant look on his face indicated that his mind was wandering down other paths.  Aragorn did not disturb him.  He needed no more details of the situation of Faramir, second son of the Steward.  During his many travels he had heard rumors of the dynamic between the Lord Denethor and his two sons.  The tales were many and varied, but they all agreed on one point: Denethor did not show his love to his sons with equal fervor.  He knew much of the Steward from Gandalf and Lord Elrond, and what they had to say of him, of his pride and strong will, didn’t make the stories difficult to believe.

Boromir did not stay lost in thought for long.  He was soon sweeping the boulders and trees with his eyes instead of staring at nothing, but he did not resume the conversation.  Aragorn was content to let the silence remain.  He had no wish to wake the others with unnecessary noise, and he did not really want to speak aloud of their missing companions any more – at least, not that night.

There were many questions that Aragorn wanted answers to but couldn’t get until the morrow.  If Sam and Legolas had survived the river, were they injured or hale?  Had they found shelter for the night?  Would they be able to dry themselves without freezing to death?  Which side where they on?  If they were on the wrong side, would he be able read the signs from that far away?

“Your eyes are not seeing what they are looking at,” Boromir said suddenly.

Aragorn blinked.  He realized that Boromir was right; he had been staring into the darkness without seeing it at all, which was hardly watchful behavior.  He was surprised to find that his eyelids were heavy in spite of his worries.  It seemed that sleep would claim him after all.

“Take some rest,” Boromir urged.  “We will all need our strength tomorrow.”

“You are alert enough to manage the watch on your own?”

“Aye.  I will wake Gimli when his turn has come.”

“You have my thanks.”

Boromir smiled.  “Sometimes even a Ranger must be told to go to bed.”  He stepped away from the low-burning fire to watch the camp’s perimeter.

Aragorn took his blankets from his pack, wrapped himself up, and lay down in an empty place on the ground near Frodo.  The Ring-bearer still looked worried, even in sleep.  Aragorn felt a surge of protectiveness rise within him.  We will find them if it can possibly be done, Frodo, he thought.  The Valar send that they are alive when we do, or I do not know what you will do.

I do not know what I will do.

------------------------------------

 “Strider.”

Aragorn stirred at the feel of a hand shaking his shoulder.  Why was he being disturbed?  Surely he had closed his eyes only a moment ago.  And he was in the middle of a dream; everyone knew how difficult it was to wake up in the middle of a dream.

“Wake up, Strider.  It’s morning.”

“Yes, and we need you.  We’ve got to find Sam and Legolas.”

Sam.  Legolas.  The names were like a splash of cold water in the face.  Weariness and the dream fled together, and Aragorn opened his eyes fully and looked around.  He was surprised to see the rest of the Fellowship breaking camp.  Gimli was hiding all traces of the fire, Gandalf was rolling his blankets, and Boromir was loading baggage onto Bill.  Frodo, Merry, and Pippin were all sitting very close to Aragorn and watching him expectantly.

“Why did you not wake me sooner?” said Aragorn, sitting up.  He was amazed that he had slept through both the morning light and all the company’s preparations.

“Gandalf said to let you sleep,” said Merry.  “Here.  We’ve got your breakfast for you.”  He held out a slice of bread with jam and a wedge of cheese.

Aragorn’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the food, but breakfast would have to wait.  Now that daylight had come, he was eager to begin the search.  “Keep it a while longer,” he said.  “I can eat while we walk.”

This seemed to be just the sort of thing that the hobbits wanted to hear.  Their eyes brightened fiercely at his words.  “We’re almost ready to leave,” Pippin said in a businesslike manner.  “Stand up and fix your boots, and I’ll roll up your blankets for you.”

Aragorn did as he was asked.  He stood up, stretched his muscles, adjusted his sword-belt and laced his boots while Pippin and Merry shook out his blanket and rolled it into a tight bundle with practiced precision.

“Here,” Frodo said gravely.  He was holding out Andúril in its scabbard with both hands.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I cleaned it for you.  After all the wet yesterday, it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It was the right thing to do,” said Aragorn, touched by Frodo’s thoughtfulness in the midst of his own loss.  “Rust is ever a concern out in the wild.”  He looked the Ring-bearer over as he buckled the sword to his belt.  “You look well.  Do you feel any ill effects from yesterday?”

“No,” said Frodo.  “I’ve not caught so much as a cold.”  He fixed Aragorn with a solemn gaze.  “I hope you can find them.”

“If either one of them has left the smallest trace on this side of the river, I will find it.”

“And if they are not on this side of the river?”

Aragorn exhaled slowly.  “I will do everything that I can no matter where they are.  But take heart; if they are alive and well, then they will be looking for us, too.”

“And as you said yesterday, there’s a good chance of that,” Merry said stoutly.  “Go and fill your waterskin, Strider!  The chores are almost finished.”

“And don’t dawdle,” said Pippin, “or we shan’t wait for you.”

Aragorn strode away from the campsite at a brisk pace.  It was but a short distance from the campsite to the river, and presently he was overlooking the ill-fated crossing.  The Feinduin was high and swift after all the rain.  Its currents were brown with mud that had been churned from the banks.  Debris flowed freely amid the waters – branches and leaves and even whole tree trunks.  The river was not as wrathful as it had been yesterday, but it was still angry.  Aragorn hoped that they would not find Sam and Legolas on the wrong side of the river, for there would be no safe crossing anywhere until the water level receded.

The others were ready to leave when Aragorn returned to the camp.  Gandalf was in the midst of delegating tasks to the hobbits.  “Frodo, look about the path with me as we walk.  Meriadoc and Peregrin, you both keep an eye on the far bank; your eyes are younger and sharper than ours.  There is no telling which side of the river they may be on.”

“What are we looking for?” asked Merry.

“Footprints, although the rain will likely have erased them,” said Aragorn, joining the circle.  “Ground that has been trampled, bent branches, damaged plants – anything to tell you that someone has passed that way.”

“What will you be looking at?” said Pippin.

“Both sides of the river,” said Aragorn, “but the far bank will require most of my attention.  If Boromir and Gimli will watch this side, it will speed our journey.  Boromir, I know, has some experience in tracking.”

“I am not your equal,” said Boromir, “but I know what to watch for.”

“And I am no Ranger, but I am not wholly inexperienced,” Gimli added.

“Good,” said Aragorn.  “All of you, alert me to anything you see!  Most signs may be false, but if Sam and Legolas have left any trail, I do not want to miss it.”

The rest of the company agreed wholeheartedly, and with that they set off, heading downstream along the riverbank.  Boromir and Gimli took the lead.  Merry and Pippin followed, their eyes fixed so firmly upon the far bank that Aragorn feared they would trip and fall over the tree roots underfoot.  Gandalf walked behind them with Frodo, who was leading Bill.  They were looking for anything that Boromir and Gimli might have missed, and warned the oblivious younger hobbits when large obstacles presented themselves in the path ahead.

Aragorn took up the rear.  He was not worried about the Fellowship trampling any signs on the path that they were walking; Boromir would not miss anything that was that close to hand.  He mostly kept his eyes trained on the far bank, looking for gaps in the foliage although there would likely be nothing to see until they had passed the rapids.  He doubted Legolas could have swum to either bank with rocks and white water all around.  Occasionally he looked at the forest around the company, searching for a branch wedged in a cleft stick, a small pile of stones, or any one of a number of trail signs that Legolas knew.

There was little conversation as they walked.  The sky was iron gray, and although it was not raining, it was very cold.  Now and then a sharp-toothed breeze would come along and the company would pull their cloaks closer about themselves, but the wind could not break the solemn concentration of Men, Dwarf, hobbits or wizard as they cast their eyes in every direction.

There were a few false alarms early in the morning.  The hobbits gasped in anticipation when Gimli announced a path of trampled undergrowth that led away from the river’s edge, but Aragorn’s heart barely gave a murmur within his breast.  They were still passing the frothing rapids, and he was not surprised when the path turned out to lead nowhere.  Then Frodo thought he saw a gap in the thicket on the far bank, and hopes were again raised until Aragorn pronounced it to be a deer track.  Boromir discovered some broken branches that looked promising until Aragorn discovered that they had fallen from a nearby tree, most likely during the previous night’s storm.

Even with seven people on the lookout, the pace was slower than Aragorn would have liked.  He grew frustrated as midday approached and they still could not see the end of the rapids.  He had found no sign that any two-legged creature had passed that way for some time.  Logically, he knew this was hardly cause for worry; Legolas and Sam had traveled much more quickly in the river than the Fellowship could afford to do while keeping such a close watch on the surroundings, but he could not explain the shadow that was growing in his heart.  Something was urging him to find Sam and Legolas, and find them quickly.  Aragorn supposed it was merely his own sorrow and anxiety getting the better of him, but he had learned not to ignore his instincts, and so he could not dismiss the feeling as nothing.

Aragorn was just about to suggest a brief stop for the midday meal when Merry suddenly said, “What’s that?”

Everyone looked where he pointed.  At first all Aragorn saw was a tangle of roots and branches in the water, choked with debris.  But no – something else was caught there, something bulky and brown and too big to be a mass of leaves or sticks.

A pack.

The hobbits gasped.  Boromir’s jaw dropped.  For all his experience in the wilderness Aragorn was just as surprised as the others and stood stock-still where he was.

It was Gimli who recovered first.  With a speed not hinted at by his stout frame, he ran to the edge of the river and unsheathed his axe.  By the time the others had hurried over, Gimli had caught one strap on his half-moon blade and was dragging it up the bank.

“That is too small to be Legolas’ pack,” said Boromir.

“And too heavy, too,” Gimli said gravely.  “I predict we’ll find Sam’s beloved pots inside.”  He drew the little pack onto the rocky path.  Aragorn knelt beside it and undid the fastenings, and sure enough, Sam’s pots were revealed.

It was too much for the three hobbits, who had poured their whole hearts into the morning’s search.  Aragorn’s heart was wrung with pity as they began to weep anew.

“He wouldn’t ever have parted with that saucepan,” lamented Merry.

“Not even in a rushing river?” said Gandalf.  “No, Sam had plenty of plain hobbit-sense, as you call it.  He might have cast off his pack to keep himself and Legolas afloat.”

“He might have,” Aragorn said softly, fingering the pack.  “Look at the right strap.”  He held it up for them to see.

“It’s broken,” said Pippin.

“Does that mean…?” Merry said fearfully.

“He might not have wanted to lose it,” Aragorn admitted.  “But that does not mean that he sank.”

“Well,” said Gimli, “this pack tells us nothing, except that Sam lost it somehow.  We can take neither hope nor despair from it.”

“Wisely spoken,” said Gandalf.  “All we can do now is keep it.”

The company took a brief respite for lunch beside the river.  Dried meat and cheese were passed around, and the hobbits sat and ate in silence.  Boromir busied himself in strapping Sam’s sodden pack to Bill, who accepted it without complaint.

“The poor beast looks forlorn,” said Boromir as he tightened a strap.  “And well he might; he has lost the only two among us who really understood him.”

Aragorn looked at Bill.  The pony’s eyes did indeed seem sad, and he showed none of the usual spirit that he had had while walking alongside Sam.  If Legolas had been there, he would have stroked Bill’s ears and spoken words of comfort to him.  Elves had a wondrous way with all horses and the like.

Aragorn abandoned his rocky seat on the ground and rummaged around in Bill’s saddlebags until he found Sam’s stash of sugar.  “Here you are,” he said, drawing out a single lump.  “Sam would not wish you to be neglected.”  He held his palm out beneath the pony’s nose.  Bill sniffed the air, decided the treat was a fair one, and carefully took it.

“That’s a good lad.”  Bill’s tongue tickled Aragorn’s hand, and he reached up to scratch behind the pony’s ears.  After receiving this gentle treatment Bill’s spirits seemed to rise, and Aragorn found himself envying the pony.  If only it took no more than some sugar and a scratch at the ears to soothe his own troubled soul!

For once, the hobbits did not protest the brevity of their lunch.  They were still visibly shaken by the discovery of Sam’s pack without Sam still attached, but they still held out hope of finding something beyond the rapids.  For his part, Aragorn hoped they did not find any more of Sam’s or Legolas’ belongings in the river.  He had not said so in front of the hobbits, but the pack’s broken strap troubled him.  It was unlikely that Sam could have torn it himself, on purpose; he had been tiring quickly when the river had carried him off.  Nor was it likely that the strap had already been frayed, for Sam kept a close eye on his possessions and mended rips and tears as soon as he found them.  Legolas might have ripped the strap if he thought the pack was dragging him down, but Aragorn doubted it had happened that way.  Surely Legolas had been too focused on keeping himself and Sam from being killed by the rocks for anything else.  And if the strap had not been torn by design….  Aragorn feared that Sam had either been smashed against the rocks or caught on something in midstream, and both scenarios were too terrifying to linger on for long.

To Aragorn’s alarm, they found more evidence of Sam and Legolas no more than a quarter of an hour after starting forward again.  This time it was Frodo who spied it first.  His voice was subdued as he spoke.

“Look there, on those roots up ahead.  I think I see Legolas’ bow.”

Icy fingers of fear clutched Aragorn’s stomach at Frodo’s words.  What?  No!  Let him be mistaken!  But even as he thought those desperate words, his own eyes told him that the Ring-bearer had not erred.  There, caught on the spreading roots of a fallen tree, was Legolas’ treasured weapon – snapped in two.

For a moment, the company could do nothing but stare at the thing bobbing gently up and down with the flow of the water.  Aragorn felt as if all the breath had been knocked from his body.  The discovery was more dreadful than Sam’s pack had been, for Legolas had been even more attached to his bow than Sam had been to his pots.  Aragorn had never known him to be without it.

When no one else moved, Gandalf strode forward, bent over the riverbank, and took the two halves tenderly in his hands.  Water dripped from the bowstring that still connected the pieces.  Gandalf’s eyes locked with Aragorn’s, and though his thoughts were sluggish, the Ranger saw that the wizard was deeply concerned by this turn of events.

“What now?” Gimli asked quietly.

“We keep searching,” said Gandalf.  “This find tells us no more about Legolas’ fate than Sam’s pack told us about his.”  His voice was firm, but he did not quite meet anyone’s gaze.  “We must press on!”

The faces of the company were filled with dismay.  Boromir and Gimli looked thoughtful and sad; they were plainly measuring Sam’s and Legolas’ odds and finding them long indeed.  Gandalf’s jaw was set in a hard line, and he stalked along the path, thrusting his staff against the rocks with more force than was necessary.  The hobbits staggered forward with unfocused eyes.  They had placed much faith in Legolas, and to find such grave tidings of him was a sore blow.  While they had had hope that he lived, they had had hope for Sam as well.

Aragorn walked forward with lifeless, automatic motions.  His eyes sought the far bank, which he could barely see for the fog of shocked disbelief that clouded his mind.  Legolas’ bow, broken?  It was madness!  He would never have willingly relinquished it.  Aragorn knew it was not necessarily so, but he could not help but feel that if Legolas had been unable to hold on to his bow, then he must have been in dire straits indeed.  And if the river had claimed his life, then that meant Sam….

Despite his fervent wishes to the contrary, Aragorn now doubted Sam and Legolas were still alive.