Chapter 8: Masters and Servants

Sam looked over his shoulder and saw that the cliff’s edge coming ever closer.  He faced forward again, and Garan stood before him.  The Man’s face was like to that of a doll’s, pale and perfectly still, lips curved into a cruel smile that never wavered.  His hands were on Sam’s shoulders; he was the one pushing Sam toward the edge.

“Stop!” Sam shrieked.  “Help!  Legolas, help!”  But there was no one around except himself and Garan, and Sam vaguely remembered that something had happened to Legolas.  He tried to recall what, but he was disoriented and unable to hold the thought for long.  Garan was what was here now; Garan was what was real.  He reached up and tried to push the Man’s hands away, but he might as well have been trying to move a brick wall.

“The Elf is gone,” Garan said mockingly.  “You are mine now.”  Sam felt the ground vanish beneath his right heel.  Garan pushed, and he tilted backwards.  Panic seized him – he was going to fall –

Sam’s eyes flew open and he took in a great gasp of cold air.  For a moment he did not see what lay before his eyes; the feeling of falling still had his stomach in knots.  Garan.  Where is Garan? he thought wildly, and then, Where is Legolas?  That was when he suddenly became aware of how warm one of his hands was, and how cold the rest of him was compared to it.

Everything came rushing back when Sam tried to move his stiff legs and found that he could not.  He and Legolas were prisoners of nine Men who had not deigned to tell them what they were wanted for.  Still, it was a relief to be out of the dream; he might be tied up on the cold ground, but Legolas was still behind him, and he was not falling off of any cliffs.

Small stones were pressed into Sam’s face from resting all night upon the gritty earth.  He surreptitiously rubbed his cheek on his shoulder to dislodge them, taking care not to disturb Legolas at his back.  The Elf was still clasping Sam’s hand in his own larger palm.

Much of what Sam could see while turning his head just a little was blanketed in frost: rocks, low pine scrubs, and the shapes of sleeping Men in their blankets.  The Man who was supposed to be keeping an eye on him and Legolas – either Brund or Jakov, judging by his size – was seated on a boulder some twenty feet away.  His eyes were closed and his mouth was slack.  Sam didn’t think that Garan would be very happy with the Man were it discovered that he had been sleeping while on watch.  But the morning light was still very gray, so dawn was some ways off yet.  Perhaps he would wake up in time to cover his mistake – not that Sam really cared whether or not he did.

Sam assumed that Legolas was still sleeping since he had not responded to the gasp he had made upon waking from his nightmare.  He certainly deserved his rest; he had worked hard yesterday.  First he had walked all morning and afternoon, and then he had fought, and then he had climbed the cliff.  Sam still couldn’t understand how Legolas had managed it; from what he had seen there had been next to nothing to hold on to or stand upon on the face of rock.  It seemed that Legolas had used a great many small cracks for finger and toeholds that Sam wouldn’t have thought he could have squeezed a sheet of parchment into.  Well, perhaps that’s going a bit too far, he thought, but the cracks had surely been small.  That climb coupled with hoisting nine Men, three dogs and a hobbit up after was surely worth a song.  Sam resolved to think more on it if he got himself free of the Men.  Perhaps Frodo would be willing to help him write it; he had always been clever with words, far more clever than Sam was himself.

With the world asleep around him, Sam had nothing to do but think about his situation.  Garan occupied much of his thoughts, and not just because of the nightmare; the Man was as bad in waking life as he was in dreams.  He had not said as much outright, but Sam felt fairly certain that Garan knew that he was somehow connected to the Quest.  He had not been able to see Garan’s face while he had first spoken with Legolas – he had been in the back of the crevice, and Legolas had blocked his view – but he had heard the eagerness in the Man’s voice when Legolas had said the word hobbit.  Sam knew that Legolas would have avoided saying it if he could have, but it seemed as if the Man had already known that he was there.  There was only one reason for a Man from this part of Middle-earth to be interested in Shirefolk.  Not for the first time, Sam wished that the whereabouts of the Ring could have been kept secret for just a little bit longer; things would have been so much easier if the Dark Lord were still unaware of hobbits.

Sam’s legs were cramped from being tied together all night.  Straightening them at the knee helped a little but he could not move them apart as he wished, not until he was unbound.  His shoulder hurt, too, for it had been lying under the weight of his body for hours.  He could not ease the pressure on it without disturbing Legolas, so he did his best to ignore it.  But the longer he lay still the worse the ache seemed to grow, and not even the pangs of hunger in his stomach could push it to the back of his mind.  It was not until the ache had made him thoroughly miserable that he finally gave in and moved.

Sam sighed as some of the pressure on his shoulder was finally eased.  Legolas stirred behind him.  “Good morning, Sam,” he said quietly.

Sam rolled fully onto his back when the Elf released his hand and luxuriated in the feeling of relief that soaked through his shoulder.  Now, if only he could get his ankles apart!  “I’m sorry I woke you,” he replied.

“Don’t be.  It is very quiet.  The camp has not yet stirred, has it?”

“No.  They’re all still asleep.”

“Who is guarding us?”

Sam peered at the sleeping Man.  “I think it’s the one called Jakov, but I can’t be sure.  Whoever it is, he’s sleeping, too.”

Legolas made a small noise of what sounded like disdain.  “Hmm.  We may talk freely if softly because of it, but it will go ill for him if Garan discovers him.”

Small popping noises sounded from behind Sam as Legolas stretched his own legs.  The Elf rolled onto his back as well and exhaled slowly through his nose.  That and the small smile of contentment on his face were all the signs of relief that he gave.  He and Sam lay side by side, staring up at the sky, which had clouded over again during the night.

Sam surreptitiously stole a glance at Legolas’ injured thigh.  The stain that the bleeding had left on his garments was still there.  Sam did not think that any of the Men had noticed it yesterday, for none of them had commented on it, but it seemed unlikely that such a thing would happen again that day.  When Garan realized that Legolas was hurt, he would surely exploit it for his own gain.  Or perhaps he would simply enjoy making his prisoners suffer.

“It is a little better today, I think,” said Legolas, still speaking softly.  Caught, Sam started guiltily before he reminded himself that he had done nothing to feel guilty about.  “If I do not have to strain myself overmuch, it should be closed by tomorrow morning.  After that you need not worry further over it.”

“By tomorrow morning?” Sam said dubiously.  Legolas had said that Elves healed swiftly, but even so…!

“Were it not for yesterday’s cliff and banks of stones, it would have been so this morning.”

“Oh,” Sam said faintly.

“How does your wrist feel?”

Sam tried to move his left hand, but he could do little more than wiggle his fingers.  “I don’t feel any pain, but I can’t move my hand much, either.”

“That is just as well,” said Legolas.  “It will heal much faster if it is kept still.”  He paused for a moment and then said, “Do any of the Men yet know of it?”

“I don’t know, but Brund might.”  The big Man had been the one who had tied the two of them up the night before.  He had made his bonds expertly, and Sam wondered whether he had felt the wood of the splint through his shirtsleeves.  And if he had noticed, would he tell Garan?

“Whatever Garan does not know he will likely soon discover,” said Legolas, mirroring Sam’s thoughts.  “You and I should expect to be extensively searched and questioned today.”

“They think we have It?” Sam whispered.

“I do not think that they know why we are wanted – just that we are,” Legolas mused softly.  “Garan may know more than the others, but not that.  It seems most probable to me that they think we either carry or know something valuable.”

Sam thought about that.  From what he knew of the Ring, he doubted that any roving bands of Men would have been told the true nature of what Sauron sought.  It was a fearsome, seductive thing, and brigands would surely have no compunction against heeding its call and keeping it for themselves.  “Yes, I think you’re right.  The Dark Lord wouldn’t trust It to this lot, would he?”

“That is just what I think.  The Elves believe that of all races, Men are most easily seduced by power.  Sauron likely believes this as well.”  Legolas craned his neck to look at their still-sleeping guard.  “We should speak no more of the… of It, and as little as possible of either the Dark Lord or Mordor from now on – even between ourselves.  They are dangerous names that two simple travelers should have no need to utter, and Garan may attempt to eavesdrop on us when we are left alone.”

“I don’t think he believed your story about going to Rivendell.”

“No, he did not.  He knew a prize when he saw it, but just because he knows that we are deceiving him does not mean that we should stop attempting to do so.  The longer we can keep our secrets, the longer our friends will have to get clear of him.”

At Legolas’ words, Sam found himself thinking of yesterday’s fight and how it had started.  He knew a prize when he saw it.  Sam wondered what might have happened if he had not stepped out in front of Legolas in the crevice.  His appearance had incited Garan to order the attack at last.  He would never know the answer now, but he wasn’t sorry that he had done it – not really.  He had known that they were both in danger; if Garan had been trying to be deceptive, he hadn’t done a very good job of it.  Legolas had made it more than plain that he was not about to stand aside, and Sam had been increasingly convinced that the Men were going to kill the Elf in order to reach him.  All he had known when he took those few steps was that he did not want Legolas to be slain on his account.  He didn’t think he could have borne the weight of that sacrifice.  Besides, Frodo was going to need Legolas on his journey; the Elf’s senses, speed, and strength would help keep him safe and whole.  Sam hardly thought of his own role in the Fellowship as unimportant – Frodo needed daily looking after, especially with that Ring around his neck – but Sam had ever been a practical hobbit.  Companionship and care were all very well, but warriors were what Frodo would need most in the end.  How else would he make it through the land of the Enemy?

Maybe we’ll both of us find a way out of this mess, Sam thought.  If we’re lucky, then Mr. Frodo won’t have to miss either of us, and he can have both the friend and the fighter.

“We should come up with a reason for us to be going to Imladris,” Legolas continued.  “I doubt Garan will believe us whatever we say, but it will be one more layer that he has to strip away.”

“Yes,” said Sam.  “I’ve been thinking about that.”  And so he had been, for he had been unable to fall asleep directly the night before.  Legolas had dropped off like a candle being extinguished, but Sam had not been so tired, and his bonds had been very uncomfortable, to say nothing of the cold ground.  “I think we should tell them that I am your esquire.”

“My esquire?”

“Yes.  You rendered my family a service, and I asked to serve you for three years out of gratitude, though of course you didn’t ask me to do any such thing.”

“And what service was that?”  Legolas sounded distinctly amused now.

“You saved one of my brothers from drowning.”

The smile faded from Legolas’ face.  “I see.”

“I suppose it is rather silly,” said Sam.  “I got the idea from one of the stories my da used to tell me, about Bryndun the Steadfast and the good king who aided his family.  It was always one of my favorites, but I suppose people don’t do that sort of thing anymore – enter into service, I mean.”

“I do not know much of the ways of mortals,” said Legolas, “but I such a thing is not as uncommon as you think.  It would be rare between Elves and mortals, for we have little enough to do with any of your kind in these late days, but it has happened, and it may yet happen again.  It is a fine idea.”

Sam blushed.  No matter what Legolas said, it still seemed a bit silly to him.  He shouldn’t really be dwelling on stories at all, not now.  “Well, that’s taken care of,” he said, and changed the subject.  “Now for the biggest question of all: how are we going to get away?”

“Have you come up with any ideas on that subject?”  Sam shook his head, and Legolas sighed.  “I should have stayed awake so that we could plan.”

“Nonsense,” Sam said briskly.  “You needed sleep.  Even if we’d been able to get free, we wouldn’t have gotten far, not without your resting first.  And our guard was awake when I last remember closing my eyes.”

“Night will be the best time by far to escape,” Legolas mused.  “If we could get my hands free and keep you clear of Garan, I might be able to defeat most of the Men, but without my knives I cannot be confident of victory.  If they shoot at me, many things could change.”

“We can’t risk your getting killed,” said Sam.  “If we’re going to get away it will have to be in darkness when they can’t see us.”

Legolas turned his head to look at Sam.  “Our best opportunity may not come at night.”

Sam stared right back at him.  “It’ll have to.  Mr. Frodo is going to need you.  We’ll just have to worry about getting our hands free.  We’ll cut our ropes on a rock, or maybe you can untie me with your fingers if they leave us back to back again.  It’s a shame we can’t get at your knives, but Dorlic tucked them away in his pack.  He’s got my Westernesse dagger, too.”

At that moment Sam heard a scraping sound near the circle of sleeping Men.  He turned his head and saw that their guard had awoken.  The Man, who Sam was now sure was Jakov, was on his feet and rubbing his hands to warm them.  He was looking at his companions instead of the prisoners, looking panicked and relieved by turns.

Legolas swallowed whatever argument he had been about to make.  “He will come to inspect us in a moment,” he said quietly.  “His lack of watchfulness will have made him nervous.  You and I will not be able to say more to each other, but there is one thing I must tell you before he comes.”  Legolas fixed Sam with his bright eyes.  “Be very wary around Garan.”

Sam snorted; he could not help himself.  Did Legolas really think that he did not know just how dangerous Garan was after all that he had done yesterday?  “Of course I’ll be careful around him!  He’s the worst villain of the bunch!”

“He may be more villainous than you suspect.  We do not know how black his soul is.”

Sam was ready to argue, but at the look on Legolas’ face, he changed what he had been about to say.  “Why?”

“He feels… wrong, more so than the other Men.  Why should he be twice as rank to all my senses as they?”

“Because he bathes half as often?”

Legolas’ mouth actually twitched into a smile, but it quickly vanished again.  “It is not his sweat that offends me; it is his malice.  He is both cunning and cruel, but even that does not seem enough to make him as vile as I sense.  There may be more to Garan than meets the eye, so be very careful around him, my friend; I beg you to guard your tongue as you would your own life – or mine, since you wish to safeguard it.  He may not know why Sauron wants us, but he will drag it out of us if he can.”

At that moment Jakov came striding toward them, just as Legolas had predicted.  Both of them closed their mouths and waited.  In short order the Man was glaring down at them, and Sam wondered if he knew that they had seen him sleeping at his post.  Behind him, some of the shapes beneath the frosty blankets were stirring.

“So you’re awake,” Jakov said tartly.  “It’s just as well for you; you wouldn’t like being wakened by my boot.”  Sam did his best to emulate Legolas’ dispassionate gaze when the Man’s eyes swung to him alone.  “You are wanted.”

Jakov bent over with one arm outstretched, and Sam suddenly found himself being lifted off the ground.  His bearer left Legolas where he lay and turned away without a second glance, but Sam was able to catch the Elf’s eyes as he was carried away.  Legolas did not quite look afraid, but he was certainly disquieted.  That did not do much for Sam’s spirits, but he did his best to rally himself as Jakov walked.  Chin up, Samwise!  There’s a reckoning to be faced now, and there’s no avoiding it.

Sam had been hoping for at least a few minutes’ peace among the Men, but his hopes were dashed when Jakov deposited him on the ground in front of a freshly-roused Garan who was seated upon a boulder, strapping on a pair of gauntlets.  Jakov spared Sam no more than a second glance once he had unburdened himself, and at Garan’s order, he began rousing those of the Men who still slept with one end of his bow.  One by one, the Men he jabbed at swung out with one arm to brush him off, but they were awake.  Sam was sure that Jakov would not have been so gentle with him or Legolas; he had probably meant what he had said about his boot.

“A cold morning, is it not, stunted one?” said Garan.  “I trust you did not sleep well.”

Sam compressed his lips.  Garan had called him ‘stunted one’ once yesterday.  He disliked the term as much now as he had upon first hearing it.  Hobbits were not stunted, but it would be foolhardy to try and correct the Men.  He would have wagered his best waistcoat that they all knew it, anyway.  Garan was just trying to goad him.

To Sam’s continued irritation, Garan was looking at him as if he expected an answer to his ridiculous query about how he had slept.  “I’ve had better nights,” he admitted.

“When I put you into the hands of my master, you will not have a bed nearly so fine as you enjoy now.”

Legolas’ words of warning still rang loud in Sam’s ears, but he decided that it would do no harm to ask the obvious question.  An innocuous traveler such as he professed to be would have no reason not to; only someone who already knew where he was bound would show no curiosity.  “Who is your master?” he demanded.  “What do you want with us?”

“I ask the questions, not you,” said Garan.

Sam’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly.  He blushed scarlet, partly from embarrassment and partly from anger.  He had not wanted Garan to know that he was hungry.  Even though he had been famished last night, he wished that he could have done without the bread and water that he had been given.  It rankled to be dependent on the Men for basic necessities, to know that they had such power over him.  They could give him what he needed to survive or withhold it if they wished.

“Hoddis!” said Garan, and the wiry Man that Legolas had knocked unconscious raised his head from where he knelt arranging his blankets.  “The Halfling is hungry.  Find him some bread and meat.”

“Aye,” Hoddis said sullenly, and began rummaging around in his pack.  A moment later he straightened up, and with a flick of his wrist, he tossed half a small loaf of bread and three strips of dried meat on the ground beside Sam.  A waterskin followed, seemingly as an afterthought.

“You, Daerid,” Garan called, and another Man appeared behind his shoulder.  Sam’s eyes widened when he recognized the Man that Legolas had nearly strangled.  Dark bruises marred his throat.  “Guard the Elf,” Garan ordered him.

The eager glint in Daerid’s eyes made Sam feel cold.  “As you say,” he said in a hoarse voice, and in a twinkling he had belted on his sword.  Sam’s eyes followed him as he walked to Legolas’ side.  He was none too gentle as he heaved Legolas up off the ground by his bound wrists.  Anger boiled up in Sam when Daerid threw his friend into a seated position against a standing stone, but he reminded himself that such treatment was not too rough for an Elf.  It won’t hurt him much, he thought, and Legolas wouldn’t thank me for interfering.  Daerid pulled his sword from its sheath and touched the point to Legolas’ neck, much as Dorlic had done at the base of the cliff.

I wish Legolas had strangled him! Sam thought, and nearly staggered when he realized what had just gone through his mind.  Wishing harm to others, even when they were worse than unpleasant, was foreign to him.  He felt soiled, as though he had just stuck his hand in a pile of filth.

“He would do it without delay if I asked him to,” said Garan, and Sam turned back to face him.  “Daerid has a great desire for retribution, not only for his injured neck but for his injured pride.  Had he been more cautious, he might have avoided such humiliation.”

Sam doubted that, but he didn’t dare say so.

“I will remove your bonds, but make one false move and your friend will find himself dead.”

“All right,” said Sam, for Garan didn’t look like he would suffer him to be silent for much longer.  The Man reached out, and with deft fingers untied the knot that secured the rope about Sam’s hands.  Sam tried to watch as Garan worked, but the Man’s large hands blocked much of what he did.

“Eat,” said Garan.  His tone said that he would brook no refusal, and Sam picked up the bread, meat, and water.  He was hungry enough that it all tasted good even though he could not identify the meat.

Garan studied Sam while he ate, and Sam studied Garan, wondering what it was about the Man that Legolas so distrusted.  He seemed no better or worse than his companions, unless being the leader and wearing that mocking smile made him more evil.  Sam was learning to hate that smile, but he certainly couldn’t smell anything unusual about him other than the fact that he could badly use a tub of water and a large cake of soap.

“We did not have a chance to become very well acquainted yesterday,” said Garan.

Sam gazed blankly back at him.  That was not true; Garan had been the one holding him hostage while Legolas had labored.  The Man had had ample time to question him if he had wished, but he had been occupied in watching Legolas.  Sam had found watching the climb terrifying, but Garan had seemed excited by it.  Sam had actually seen a look of wonder and admiration steal over the Man’s features when Legolas made it past the most difficult part of the cliff.  He had wiped his face clean of any such expression before his fellow Men could see it, but it had crept back more than once.

“I wish to know more of you,” Garan continued.  “Tell me: what are an Elf and a Halfling doing alone together in the White River gorge?”

Sam drew a deep breath.  It was time to see how well his story would hold up.  “My master already told you.  We’re going to Rivendell.”

Garan’s eyebrows rose.  “Your master?”

Sam nodded.

“How does a Halfling come to be in the service of an Elf?”

“Well, he did a great thing for my family, you see,” said Sam, and for a wonder, his voice did not tremble.  Garan’s gaze was unsettling.  “He saved my youngest brother from drowning, and I was so grateful that I begged to stay with him for three years’ time.”

“Three years is a long service,” Garan said flatly.  “Why not just one?”

“Because I love my brother.  I liked Mr. Legolas from the start, and I’d always wanted to see Elves.”  The story rolled easily off his tongue, perhaps because there was a grain of truth in everything he said.  He did have a master, but it was not Legolas; Legolas had saved someone from drowning, but those someones had been Sam and Frodo, not any of Sam’s kin.  And Sam did think the world of the Elf.  “I’ve only been with him for a few months, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

“He is a good master, then?”

“The best,” said Sam.  He took a bite of bread and was surprised to find that it was the last of the food he had been given.  He must have been even hungrier than he had thought to eat it all so fast.

“Indeed,” said Garan.  “Well, stunted one, it is certainly an interesting story you tell me, but it is no more than lies, I deem.”

“You can think whatever you like,” Sam said brashly.  “I can’t help that.”

“You are no servant.  Servants do not show so saucy a tongue.”

“A servant will do anything for his master if he loves him.”

“But will the master do the same for the servant?”

Something in Garan’s face gave Sam pause.  “What?” he said, and before he could react, Garan’s hand had shot out to seize his wrist.  Sam struggled, but Garan’s fist easily enclosed his arm.

“You are injured.”

“Not much,” Sam said defensively, still trying to wriggle free.  “Let me go!”

Garan paid no more mind to Sam’s struggles than he would a fly buzzing around him.  With his other hand he reached over to push Sam’s shirtsleeve up his arm.

Sam winced at the sight of his flesh.  As Legolas had predicted, he had turned quite black and blue, and while his bruises were not as stark as they had been yesterday, they stood out plainly on his skin.  Only the lightest of them had begun to yellow.  The backs of his legs were worse, he knew; some of those bruises were almost green in color.

“It is a kind master indeed who beats his servants,” said Garan.

Sam’s face darkened.  “He didn’t – no one – I have not been beaten!”  Garan let go of his wrist, and he indignantly pulled his sleeve back into place.

“Whether you were beaten or not is of little concern to me,” said the Man.  “I will learn the truth of who and what you are when you are properly questioned.  I wonder whether your master loves you as much as you profess to love him.  If he does, you may both prove to be a challenge – and good sport.”

Cold fingers grasped at Sam’s breast.  “What are you talking about?  Question us about what?  We’re going to Rivendell; that’s all!”

“Daerid!” Garan suddenly snapped.  “Bring the Elf!”

The Man guarding Legolas bent down to untie Legolas’ feet.  Legolas stood on his own and began to walk back toward the campsite with Daerid close behind him.  The Man’s sword was pointed at his captive’s back.

“Garan,” someone growled.  Sam looked around to see Dorlic scowling at him.  The look on his face was as sour as his yellow coloring.  “A word with you.”

Garan stood and called for Vannil to attend him.  A rat-faced Man came to him, still holding his breakfast of bread and cheese.  “Guard the Halfling,” said Garan.  “Don’t let the Elf come within ten paces of him.”

Vannil’s beady eyes found Sam’s.  “Aye,” he said, drawing his sword and moving to stand beside him.  He continued to eat as he watched, but he held his sword with a steady hand.

Dorlic drew Garan several paces away and began speaking to him in a low, urgent voice.  At first all Sam could hear was the noise of camp being broken all around him, but when he realized that no one was paying attention to him but Vannil, he turned his head sideways so that one of his ears was aligned with Garan and Dorlic.  He pretended to study the cliff on the other side of the river though he was concentrating too hard on catching the Men’s words for his eyes to really take in what they saw.  They conversed softly, but their words were clear in Sam’s ear.

“The Elf is dangerous,” Dorlic was saying.  “Keep him alive and he’ll make trouble, you mark my words!  What good is he to us anyway, other than to keep us all on our toes?  It’s the little one with the hairy feet that we came for.”

“We were instructed to search for Halflings,” said Garan, “and anyone who might be traveling with them.”

“I only heard the fighting Man and the old graybeard mentioned.  Them, and Halflings.  No others.  This Elf is no Man, and he is certainly no graybeard!”

“Halflings and anyone with them,” Garan repeated sternly.  “The Elf will come with us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dorlic step closer until he was nearly nose-to-nose with his leader.  Sam wondered how either could stand the smell of the other’s breath.  “He nearly killed Daerid with his bare hands!  What if your threats to the Halfling fail to hold him, and he decides to fight again?  How many more of us will he kill before we subdue him, if we can do it at all?”

“Don’t let your hatred blind you,” Garan said coldly.  “The Elf will risk no harm to the Halfling; even you should have seen that by now.  And think what a prize he will be!  You know of Saruman’s interest in orcs.  Would he not relish the opportunity to start afresh?  We will be richly rewarded for this pair!”

Nausea and horror assailed Sam.  He could not keep either from showing on his face, but he was looking away from Vannil, and none of the other Men were watching him.  Saruman had sent these Men!

“I’ll wager he thinks he can do a better job than him what made them the first time ‘round,” Dorlic grumbled.  “He’s got a lofty enough opinion of himself for it.”

“If you do not learn to mind your tongue, you will lose it one day,” said Garan.  “He is a wizard, and far greater than you or I will ever be.  And he is always watching; we never know when his eyes may fall upon us.”

“He’s not greater than you aspire to be, though, is he?” Dorlic said slyly.  “You think the little tricks he has taught you will raise you high, do you not?”

“Be quiet!” Garan snapped.  “The Elf draws near.  He has keen ears.”  Dorlic sneered but acquiesced.

Sam quickly turned his head and stared at the ground so the Men would not see that he had been listening.  Doubtless they had thought he was too far away to hear.  Whatever Garan knew about the abilities of the Elves, he knew nothing of those of hobbits.  But Garan’s lack of knowledge was not what was on Sam’s mind; his stomach roiled as he thought about what he had heard.  Saruman.  Being in the hands of the traitorous wizard would be no better than being in Sauron’s; in fact, it might be worse.  Who knew what methods a wizard might employ for the extracting of information?  Could he force his prisoners to talk, to speak the truth whatever they willed?  Could he get inside their heads?  And Garan thought Saruman would want something with Legolas, too.  Sam tried to imagine what Elves could possibly have to do with orcs, but all he could think was that the answer was surely unspeakable.

Abruptly Sam became aware that Legolas and his guard had arrived.  Vannil motioned for Daerid to keep his charge back.  Some of the other Men who were finished rolling their blankets arranged themselves behind the two guards, waiting to see what would happen.  Most of them eyed Legolas with varying degrees of respect and wariness.

Sam looked at Legolas with all the sense of urgency he could muster.  Legolas misunderstood the reason for his expression and looked Sam up and down, searching for an injury that Garan might have done him.

Sam screwed up his face in frustration.  Legolas could not read his mind, but he strained to tell him what he could with his eyes.  He had to find some way to warn the Elf about what he had heard.  Garan is Saruman’s servant, he thought, willing his thoughts to somehow make themselves known.  He wants to do something horrible to you!  We have to escape!  Hear me, sir!

A look of concern dawned on Legolas’ face.  His eyes slid sideways from Sam to Garan and narrowed suspiciously.

Yes! thought Sam.  You were right to suspect Garan – suspect him still!

Garan returned to stand before Sam and Legolas.  Dorlic scowled at them over his shoulder.  When his eyes fell on Legolas, he said, “You are cut.  I did not see this yesterday.”  His eyes swung to Sam.  “Did you fight back when he beat you, stunted one?  Did he break your wrist in retribution?”

Legolas looked startled.  “He did no such thing,” Sam insisted, but this time, his voice did tremble.

“It is of no matter.  Search them!”

Two of the Men came forward with outstretched arms.  Sam gasped as he found himself being roughly pawed all over.  Hands patted him down, undid buttons, went through pockets.  They’re looking for It, he thought.  But we don’t have what they want.  Through the press of moving figures he caught a glimpse of Legolas who was receiving similar treatment; his cloak had been removed, and someone was searching the inner lining of his tunic for hidden items.

“There’s nothing on this one,” said one of the Men who had been squeezing Sam’s arms and legs.  “No weapons, no trinkets – not even a silver penny.”

“Nothing on this one either,” said one of the Men around Legolas.

Garan frowned.  “What of their pack?”

“Ordinary things,” said Brund, who sat on the ground between the groups with Legolas’ open satchel in his hands.  “Flint and steel, twine, blankets, travelers’ food, and some draughts.”  He popped open one of the small vials of medicine and sniffed it.

“Search every vial,” said Garan.  “There could be something hidden inside.”

Brund shook his head.  “Nothing but medicines here.”

Garan gazed at Sam and Legolas by turns with his black eyes.  Sam thought he looked disappointed.  “They must have something,” he murmured.  “He was very clear.”  His eyes swung back to Sam and affixed themselves there.  “You carry something valuable, stunted one.”

“I don’t have anything valuable,” Sam protested.  “You’ve seen so for yourself!  I don’t know who you’re looking for, but it’s not us!  Please, let us go!”

“Let you go?” said Garan.  “Certainly not.  You are a liar, but I mean to have the truth from you.”  He glanced up at the rapidly lightening sky; the sun would be rising at any moment.  “And yet I think I will not have it here.  As it is, I had not really expected you to give up a secret so dear without a fight.”  He leaned over until his face was low and close to Sam’s.  “I will give you some time to think on your story.  Use it well and you may save yourself much pain.”

Sam stared into Garan’s cold eyes.  “I haven’t any more to tell you,” he whispered.

Garan straightened.  “We will see.”  Without warning he raised his voice and ordered, “Make ready to depart!”  Most of the Men around Sam and Legolas returned to their packing.

“What about Whit?” Dorlic said suddenly.

Garan looked sideways at what was left of the camp.  “Ah, yes.  Whit.”

The Man with the broken leg was sitting on a low stone.  His injury had been more expertly bound during the night, with slats that had been cut to fit around his leg.  White linens held the splints tight.  “You can’t leave me here,” he repeated, though he did not look as if he could do anything about it if Garan decided to do so.  “Wolves will take me.  You cannot!”

“You really have little say in the matter – but never fear.  You are lucky today, just as Hoddis was yesterday.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Legolas’ mouth tighten.

“Make a litter for Whit,” Garan commanded the group.  “The Elf will bear one end, and the rest of you will take turns with the other.”

Sam struggled to keep his composure.  That was not fair!  Wasn’t it enough that Legolas had pulled them all up the cliff?  That he would not have to carry Whit by himself made Garan’s decree a little bit easier to stomach, but not much.

A short time later Sam found himself walking along the top of the cliff with Garan, his hands bound once more, this time in front of him.  He would almost have rather been with anyone else, even surly Dorlic, but Garan seemed unwilling to let anyone else guard him.  The two of them walked near the back of the line while Legolas walked in the front, one support pole of the makeshift litter on each of his shoulders.  His hands and feet were unbound to allow him to perform the task, which made the Men nervous.  Garan had quelled their rebellious mutters by allowing all those who were walking free to carry their bows strung with arrows nocked, and all of them had elected to do so.

Whit lay atop the litter on his back with Legolas’ pack at his side.  None of the other Men had wanted to carry an extra load, and Garan had not seemed to think that Sam could do it.  Whit’s easy journey earned him no few hard glances from his fellows, especially Jakov, who bore the end of the litter that Legolas was not carrying.  He would not bear the weight all day; the Men would take turns with his end.  Sam did not think that Legolas would be allowed a respite, though.

The land sloped uphill as they walked.  The grade was hardly steep, but as the hours passed and the incline continued, Sam began to feel the strain.  Neither the Men nor Legolas showed any sign of weariness.  Sam did his best to maintain the brisk pace.  He was much hardier now than he had been when he had left the Shire, but he didn’t think that he could keep such activity up all day.  He hoped they would pause for lunch so that he and Legolas could both rest.  He would need it if they continued to walk uphill for much longer, and he feared that Legolas might be the one who was punished if he fell behind.

For a wonder, Garan neither questioned Sam nor conversed with him as they walked.  Sam did not know just how long Garan meant for him to ‘think about his story’, but it didn’t make any difference.  He could not, would not betray Frodo, not if he could help it – but he had the feeling that if Garan really wanted to try, he surely could tangle him in his own lies.  He had not had enough time to work out all the details of his story in his mind.

In the absence of conversation, Sam was free to think.  Most of his thoughts were unpleasant.  He spent some time trying to fill in the gaps of his supposed history with Legolas but gave up almost immediately; Garan would not believe him whatever he said.  He probably wouldn’t even believe the truth if he heard it.  Instead Sam fretted over what Saruman would do to him, what he would do to Legolas.  He thought about the rest of the Fellowship – Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli and Boromir, Merry and Pippin – but Frodo most of all.  He hoped Merry and Pippin were being properly attentive to his master; he certainly intended to give them an earful if he learned that they had not.

There was only one thought that gave Sam any cheer on that long march, and that was the fact that Garan did not know about the Ring.  Sam was absolutely sure of this now; the Man hadn’t known exactly why he and Legolas were supposed to be valuable though he had expected to find something on them.  If he’d had even the smallest idea of what Saruman thought they bore, he would surely have searched them himself.

Sam did have another thought that roused his spirits for a time, though the pleasure did not last.  The Men were walking upstream, and that meant that they might cross paths with the rest of the Fellowship, albeit on opposite sides of the river.  He wondered if they were walking close enough to the edge of the cliffs to be seen from the far bank, deep in the gorge.  And while it would certainly comfort him if he knew that Frodo at least was aware of what had happened to him, he wondered if such knowledge would be a comfort to Frodo.  He expected not.  What was more, his being found could put Frodo in danger.  What if the Fellowship saw him and decided to attempt a rescue?  As badly as he wanted to be free of the Men, Sam knew that would never do.  Above all, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin had to keep well away; the sight of more hobbits might throw Garan into a frenzy.  If that happened, Sam didn’t think any river would be able to keep Garan from Frodo, no matter how wild it was.

Sam was so wrapped in his thoughts that he managed to forget his legs for a time, and early afternoon approached without his notice.  At last Garan called a halt for rest and food, and the Men all sat on the ground or leaned against boulders as they took out their meal.  Legolas and Erich, who had taken Jakov’s place, carefully set Whit’s litter on the ground.  Legolas did not try to approach Sam, but he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and shot Sam a smile to show that he was well.

“Well,” Garan said to Sam while pulling a wedge of cheese out of a sack, “you have had a little time to think about your story.  Have you decided to tell me the truth yet?”

Sam’s pulse quickened.  The Man’s voice had taken on a dangerously soft tone.  It was with a terrible feeling of foreboding that Sam met Garan’s eyes, but he dared not change his story now.  He would not be believed if he played the same tune, but he would be doomed if he changed it.  There was nothing else to do but what he had been doing all along – stay steadfastly upon the path that he had chosen.

“As I keep telling you, we’re traveling to Riv–”

There was a bright flash of color followed by a silence so loud that it was deafening.  Sam’s head whirled and the colors flashed again.  Something knocked the breath out of him, and then his head struck a large, solid object.  His fingers groped uselessly for something to hold on to.

Sound returned, but for a long moment Sam could hear nothing but the blood pounding in his own ears.  Huge spots danced in front of his eyes.  He blinked until they shrank a little, and that was when he realized that he was staring at a pair of legs – sideways – and someone was shouting.  The owner of the voice sounded very far away.

He was on the ground.  Slowly he turned his head and saw Garan towering over him, taking a bite out of his hunk of cheese.  The ringing in his ears faded, and the shouting voice resolved itself into something familiar.

“Beast!  You would attack someone half your size, unaware and unarmed?  Cowardly son of a goat, you fight as a troll – as an orc!  You have no honor!”

Garan ignored Legolas and squatted down next to Sam.  “That was but one taste of my arm.  Think you that you can withstand a dozen?  Fifty?  How long can you resist me, Halfling?”  His head turned sideways ever so slightly, and Sam’s eyes rolled to follow.  He blinked when he realized that seven arrows were pointing straight at a furious Legolas, keeping him at bay.

“How long can your friend take a beating before he cries for mercy?” said Garan.  “It might be interesting to find out.  He is strong, after all.  It could go on for hours.”  He took another bite of cheese.

Sam’s chest heaved.  For some reason, it was hard to breathe.  Sweat trickled down his back despite the cold.

“I will give you a little more time to think on what I have said.  We are many days from our destination, and I am patient, but not infinitely so.  Should you continue to refuse me, you will learn firsthand that I possess other means of persuasion as well.”

“Where are you taking us?” Sam murmured into the dirt.

“Someplace you will not like.”  With that Garan stood up and turned away, leaving Sam on the ground.

Isengard, Sam thought miserably.  That’s where you’re taking us.  I have to tell Legolas!  He looked again to where the Elf stood, quivering with rage.  He seemed on the brink of attack, and only the creak of the bowstrings being drawn tighter kept him where he was.  It gave Sam a small measure of satisfaction to see that all of the archers watched Legolas with great trepidation.

The Men’s respite was not long, and Sam was soon walking upriver once more with Garan at his side.  There was no food in his belly; he had not been willing to ask for it, and Garan had not offered him any.  Again Legolas was in the front of the group, carrying the litter.  Skinny Hoddis had taken Dorlic’s place behind him though he did not look strong enough to bear Whit for long.  The other Men kept arrows fitted to their bows, and no wonder, for Legolas’ back was stiff with anger.  Sam wondered whether the Elf would be able to contain himself if Garan lashed out again.  He seemed primed to explode like one of Gandalf’s fireworks.

Garan said no word to Sam as he walked, though he looked at him often.  Sam found the silence disquieting.  He wondered how long it would be before Garan questioned him again, before he found himself being drubbed because he would not change his story.  Or would it be Legolas who was struck instead?  Sam prayed that it would not come to that, though it seemed almost certain that it would.  The very thought of it twisted his insides into knots.  He thought he could face Garan’s abuse of his own body, but he did not know how he would bear seeing Legolas being harmed because of him, and the knowledge that there was nothing he could say or do to prevent it filled him with despair.

Sam let his gaze wander to the far bank of the river, and Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship came into his thoughts once more.  Again he wondered if they would cross paths.  But was Frodo even still coming his way?  Had he decided to give up and go on with the Quest?  Perhaps he had.  After all, the destruction of the Ring was far more important than finding two missing companions, companions who might not even be alive as far as Frodo knew.  It was already the third day since the flood, and the Fellowship surely had to be losing hope by now.  If they were still looking, they would not do so for much longer.  Sam was sure that Gandalf, at least, would not let the search go on indefinitely.

Well, thought Sam, I may never be able to warn Mr. Frodo about the Men, but if he turns away from the river, it won’t matter anyway.  If his master gave up on him, he would be safe.  That was surely more important than being found, but it did not make Sam feel any better.

Garan looked down at Sam, and his dark eyes glittered.  Sam shivered and turned away.  What was he to do?