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The River  by Indigo Bunting

Chapter 9: Courage to Endure

The sun was sinking low in the sky when Garan finally called a halt for the day.  Legolas found himself being guarded by three sets of naked swords and suspicious eyes at the moment he and Daerid set Whit’s litter upon the ground.  He paid them little attention, by now being used to such behavior.

Legolas stretched his shoulders and neck, glad to be out from under Whit.  He suspected that Garan wanted to keep him tired to lessen the possibility that he would try to escape.  Carrying the litter had not been difficult, but the load had been constant and the group had been walking uphill for most of the day.  He was wearier than he would have been had he walked the same path, unburdened.

Legolas turned around, looking for Sam, and momentarily locked eyes with Daerid.  The Man’s neck was ringed with bruises, but they had not been enough to keep him from being assigned a turn beneath Whit.  His eyes flashed with anger when they fell on Legolas.  Legolas had not liked having Daerid at his back – the Man was clearly itching to plant a knife between his shoulders – but he would try nothing until Garan gave him leave to.  Legolas doubted that Garan would hand him over to the other Men yet; at the very least, he was insurance against an attempted escape by Sam.

Legolas did not have long to stretch his muscles before his hands were tied again.  The bonds were not enough to induce the three Men who were watching him to let down their guard.  Not until his feet were bound would they relax, and possibly not much even then.  It was his own fault, Legolas knew; his outburst at midday had made all of the Men cautious.  Perhaps they thought that Garan’s threats against Sam would not be enough to hold him after all.  Legolas did not know whether or not he had made his situation worse by growing so angry.  With yesterday’s fight and their dead companion still fresh in their minds, the Men would have guarded him vigilantly anyway.  But now they might be just a little bit more assiduous in the task than they would have been otherwise, and that lessened the chance that either Sam or the both of them could escape.

Even so, Legolas could hardly bring himself to feel remorse for his actions.  When Garan had struck Sam, all he could think about was forcing him to stop.  And once he had started shouting, he had not bothered to stop himself from telling Garan exactly what he thought of him.  The Man cared little enough for pretenses, so why should he?

Legolas had not forgotten that every Man in the party was dangerous, but Garan’s noxious evil dwarfed the others in his estimation.  He was sure that Garan was more depraved than any three of his followers put together, though he could not say why this was so.  The Man had to have no heart to strike an unarmed hobbit.  Sam had been given no opportunity whatsoever to defend himself; in Legolas’ mind, what Garan had done was akin to beating a child.

The bitterest draught of all was that Garan was not finished with Sam yet.  More time, he had said; he wanted Sam to change his story.  This put Sam into a corner.  If he altered his tale it would make Garan even morecertain that he was hiding something, but if he did not alter it, Garan would never be satisfied.

Legolas had a feeling that Sam’s most recent extension would be up that night.  He had heard Garan’s threats to Sam of violence against them both; his wrath had not left him deaf.  Sam had seemed more perturbed by the idea of Legolas being assaulted than that of being beaten himself.  Legolas wished that Garan would leave Sam be in lieu of making good with the threat against him, but he did not think that would happen for some time yet.  Garan seemed a patient Man.  He would focus on wearing down Sam’s resolve until he either ran out of patience or Sam broke.  A flush of anger heated Legolas’ face.  The Man had no honor!

At the moment Garan was steering Sam around the perimeter of the camp, keeping him well away from Legolas.  Sam’s eyes locked with Legolas’ as he walked.  They were wide, but not with fear; it was the same look that he had shot at Legolas that morning and more than once again in the afternoon when he thought that none of the Men were looking.  Legolas was anxious to learn whatever it was that the hobbit wanted to tell him.  The only thing Sam’s face could tell him was that it was important.

“Here, Elf,” said a gruff voice.  Legolas looked sideways at Erich, and the Man tossed him a hunk of bread.  He caught it, even with his wrists tied together before him.  Erich curled his lip, disappointed by his success.  “Garan says even you can’t go on no food at all.”

Legolas’ stomach was quite empty, but he merely held the bread in his hands and gave Erich a level look.  The Man grunted at his lack of response and turned away; only then did Legolas sit down on the ground to eat, carefully folding his legs beneath him.

Legolas’ eyes roamed over the others as he ate.  The Men who were not guarding him were setting up camp.  Garan was giving orders left and right, but no one seemed to be listening to him.  Everyone did what he said, of course, but most times they had already begun whatever task it was that Garan commanded them to do.  No doubt they had set up and struck camp many times; they did not need to be told how to do it, but Garan seemed to enjoy giving orders and having them obeyed.

Legolas did not miss the resentful looks that the Men fired in Garan’s direction every time he issued another unnecessary directive.  Dorlic was the most openly hostile of them all, sneering broadly at his leader when he was told to get a fire going, but Garan affected not to notice.  Perhaps he did not have to.  For all their dislike of Garan, none of the Men seemed anywhere near mutiny.  Legolas doubted if a single one of them would intentionally shirk his duties where the prisoners were concerned.  For their lives, they would not; they had seen what he could do when pressed.

Garan finally stopped giving orders and settled himself into a seated position near the newly-burning fire.  He pulled the usual bread and cheese from a sack and handed them to Sam.  The hobbit took the food stoically though he had to be famished; he had gotten nothing for the midday meal, either.  He took slow, careful bites, hiding his hunger.  Legolas could not help but approve.

Garan watched Sam eat with an unreadable expression on his face, and Legolas watched Garan.  The Man was going to question Sam again; it was only a matter of time.  The knowledge that he would not be able to prevent it made a sour weight of the food in Legolas’ stomach.

But to Legolas’ surprise, Garan ordered that he and Sam be tied together once more when Sam had finished his meal.  Legolas was held firmly in his seated position by four Men, Brund and Dorlic among them, while Erich untied his hands and retied them behind his back.  Sam was carried over and pushed against him, and their hands were bound together.  Once this was done, his legs were stretched out and his ankles firmly secured.  He could not see if the same had been done to Sam.

“That’s not enough,” Dorlic insisted.  “I’d not put it past the Elf to be able to hop away with this miserable creature still hanging from his wrists.”

“Aye,” said Brund in his deep voice.  “About the waist, then?”

“That will satisfy.  For now.”

Erich produced another length of rope, and Dorlic wound it around Sam and Legolas himself.  He knelt by Legolas as he did it, grimacing darkly and pulling each loop ever tighter.  Sam was quite firmly pressed against Legolas’ back when he was done.  To Legolas, the hobbit’s hands felt like nothing more than a mass of fingers and knotted cord.

None of the Men seemed to want to stay with Sam and Legolas, who had been positioned far enough from the fire to escape its warmth.  But nobody felt easy enough to leave them wholly unwatched even though they were excessively bound, and Hoddis and Vannil found themselves stringing their bows and nocking arrows before sitting down at the fire with their companions.  They did not look in the prisoners’ direction very often, but Legolas did not think they had to.  He and Sam were in the periphery of their field of view, and movement would attract their attention.

Legolas sat in silence, waiting to be sure that no one was going to come back.  It did not look as if they would be disturbed for some time; most of the Men were busying themselves in the plucking and cleaning of five ducks that had been shot from the sky that day – three for the Men and two for the dogs to share.  Most of the Men talked among themselves as they prepared the food, alternately making jests and laughing at others in their turn.  Legolas paid careful attention to what was being said, hoping to hear something of value, but to no avail.  Eventually Legolas decided that nothing of importance would be spoken while he was in range of hearing; Garan would make certain of that.  The Man did not seem to care whether he and Sam conversed or not, or he would not have ordered them to be bound together.  If there was nothing worth hearing from the Men, then it would be best to take advantage of the opportunity to speak with Sam.

Legolas turned his head sideways until he was facing away from the cluster of Men.  “Sam,” he said softly, “how do you fare?”

Sam turned his own head.  “I’m all right.  But don’t worry about me; it’s you that we ought to be worried about.  How do you fare?”

“If you are concerned by my labors today, give them no more thought.  It was steady toil, and not punishing.  I am tired but not severely so.”

“That’s good.  And how is your leg?”

“Better.  A day of true rest would soon set me to rights, but the wound is beginning to heal even though I cannot have it.  Walking a sloping path, even with a burden on my shoulders, does not strain me as walking along the river did.”

Sam sighed.  “Well, I’m glad of that.”

A gust of wind swirled over the clifftop, sending fallen leaves and pine needles skittering over the ground.  Legolas felt Sam shiver behind him and suddenly wondered about the hobbit’s health.  They had been denied a blanket last night, and while the cold had not bothered him much, it might have affected Sam.  “Does the chill trouble you?” he asked.

“Not much,” said Sam in a too-light tone.

Legolas shook his head; Sam had not been very convincing.  “You are fatigued, at the very least.”

“Yes, but then, we have been walking uphill all day.  Do you know how far above the river we are now?  I couldn’t get close enough to the edge of the cliff to see.”

“Neither could I, but I would not be surprised if we were nigh on two hundred feet up now.”

Sam said nothing in reply, and a roar of sudden laughter from the Men rose up to fill the silence.  Legolas twisted his wrists within the confines of his bonds, feeling at the rope as well as he could.  He could not move his fingers very far, not with Sam crowded so closely against him, but he persevered.

Vaguely, Legolas wondered if Sam was avoiding talking about the blow that Garan had dealt him over the midday meal; he had veered away from talk of his own welfare quickly enough.  Legolas did not want to let the subject go unaddressed.  When Garan queried Sam again, he would do more than strike him once.  Legolas had no intention of allowing the Men to hold either himself or Sam captive forever, but he had not yet found a window through which to escape, and there was no telling how quickly one would present itself.

Legolas glanced back toward the fire where the ducks were being placed on makeshift spits to roast above the low flames.  One of the Men must have felt his eyes on his back and turned to look at him.  A frown stiffened Dorlic’s already hard face in the gathering dusk.  One of the dogs, lying by his side, gave Legolas a dispassionate look.

Besides Garan, there was no one else in the group that Legolas disliked more than Dorlic.  He did not feel as strangely foul as Garan did, but there was no mistaking the fact that he intensely disliked Legolas.  He had stayed close to him all day, casting menacing glances and stroking his bow longingly.  Legolas was wary of Dorlic, but he did not care why the Man disliked him – only that he did.  Such hatred was a weakness that could be exploited if the right moment came.

Legolas had spent most of the day studying the Men around him in an effort to determine what the others’ weaknesses were.  Daerid hated him, too, though his feelings seemed to stem from his defeat at Legolas’ hand.  He was sullenly angry where Dorlic showed loathing for no apparent reason at all.  Garan’s most obvious weakness was his arrogance.  He had been careful enough to leave no chinks in his armor yet, but the longer he had his two prisoners in his possession, the more overconfident he would become.  The others were not as easy for Legolas to read, for they had had less to do with him thus far than Garan, Daerid, or Dorlic.  Whit was not much of a threat, not with his broken leg.  Hoddis’ weakness might be physical, slender as he was, but he was surely agile if Garan had thought of having him climb the cliff.  Vannil seemed to resent being under Garan’s authority, as did many of the others.

And how exactly do I go about using these weaknesses to my advantage? Legolas wondered, for there was still the problem of Sam to be solved.  It would have been much easier for him to escape if Sam were not a prisoner, just as it would have been easier for Sam to slip away if Legolas were not a hostage himself.  So far Garan had skillfully used them against each other, playing off their well-founded fears that one of them would be severely punished if the other offended.  Sam seemed to be no more willing to allow harm to come to Legolas than Legolas was to see Sam injured.  If one of them could get away, Garan would lose that leverage, but one of them had to be willing to leave the other for that to happen.

It was Legolas’ strong opinion that Sam should be the one to take flight, if it could be done.  He was smaller in size and guarded less scrupulously, and being a hobbit, he could move in near silence over almost any ground.  If he was careful, even the dogs would not notice his going.  Most important of all, though, was the fact that it was Sam that Garan really wanted.  Everything the Man had said and done since their first meeting had convinced Legolas that he was not the true target.  Garan had hoped to find at least one hobbit bearing an item of value, though it was plain that he did not know what that item was supposed to be.  Legolas had not even been questioned; he had been dismissed as a physical threat alone, at least for the time being.  Garan thought that whatever information to be had would be more easily wrested from Sam.  It was hardly an unreasonable assumption to make, and though Legolas thought that Sam would prove to be much hardier than Garan had anticipated, he firmly believed that he could withstand physical pain better than any hobbit could.

And there was yet another reason why Legolas wanted Sam to flee: he did not think he could bear to see the hobbit tormented.  If it began again – as he feared it soon would – he would have to choose between sitting still and allowing it to go on or trying to stop it.  With eight able enemies about and his hands and feet bound, he would not win any fight that he began.  Doing damage to the Men would not be enough; he would likely be slain if he failed to triumph.  Legolas did not know how well Sam would be able to continue resisting if they were sundered in such a way.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Sam said abruptly, breaking into Legolas’ thoughts.  “Right now, before someone comes back.”

Legolas’ attention was suddenly all on the hobbit.  He wanted to speak more of Garan and what he had done and would yet do to Sam, but it could wait.  “You have been throwing meaningful glances in my direction all day,” he said.  “Have you learned something?”

Sam drew a deep breath.  “The Men work for Saruman,” he whispered.  “They’re taking us to Isengard.”

Legolas’ heart faltered; his blood felt suddenly cold.  “They….  Are you certain?”

“Oh, yes.  I heard Garan and Dorlic arguing this morning, but I don’t think they know it.  They didn’t say ‘Saruman sent us’, but he did.  I’m sure.”

Legolas inhaled and exhaled deliberately in an attempt to slow his suddenly quickening pulse.  Saruman!  It was not what he had been expecting; he had been sure that it was Sauron who had sent out this party, albeit indirectly.  There was no being in Middle-earth more perilous than Sauron, and yet Legolas would almost rather have gone to him than to Saruman.  They were much closer to Isengard than they were to Mordor, which gave him considerably less time to escape than he had thought.  “What did they say?” he demanded breathlessly.  “Tell me everything!”

“I can’t remember what they said exactly, mind,” said Sam, “but I’ll tell you everything I can.  They were fighting about you, mostly.  Dorlic wants to kill you, and Garan doesn’t.  I don’t know why, but Dorlic seems to hate you.  He said that they were ordered to search for hobbits, though he called us Halflings, a fighting Man, and an ‘old graybeard’.  I guessed that he meant–”

“Do not speak their names,” Legolas said softly.  “There is no need.”

“All right,” said Sam.  He pressed his fingers against Legolas’ hands, which were still feeling at the cords, before continuing.  “Dorlic wants to kill you because you’re not one of those three, but Garan said that anyone with the… the people they were looking for had to be taken, too.”  He hesitated.  “Dorlic is afraid of you because you’re an Elf, but Garan’s interested in you for the very same reason.”

Legolas frowned.  “Did he say why?”

Sam’s hands trembled.  “Garan said… he said something about Saruman being interested in orcs, and that you’d be useful to him.  That’s the first time he mentioned Saruman at all.  I didn’t understand what he was talking about, and I still don’t, though I’ve been thinking about it all day.  Do you know what he meant?”

Legolas did not reply; his tongue had cloven to the roof of his mouth.  He had heard Sam’s words, but they had seemed to come from far away.  If his blood had been cold before, it was ice now.

“Legolas?”

Panic scrabbled at the edges of Legolas’ mind.  He fought it reflexively though he was more horrified by this news than by anything that had happened to him since being caught up in the river.  He had thought himself ready to face anything, but he was not ready for this.  He could not have felt more dazed or sick if Brund had struck him in the head with a rock.

“Mr. Legolas, what’s wrong?  You’ve gone all cold and stiff!”

Legolas closed his eyes tightly.  Elbereth Gilthoniel!  Let it not be so!  Let me not be doomed to such a fate!  “You are… you are certain of what you heard?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Sam said fearfully.  “And there was something more, something about Saruman being able to do something better than… well, I’m not sure who, actually, but I thought they might have meant the Dark Lord.”  There was a note of apology in his voice.

Legolas clamped his teeth together, but a low moan escaped him anyway.  The small hope he had held to that Sam could not mean what it sounded like was gone.  He would rather die a thousand deaths than be delivered into Saruman’s keeping.

“Your hands are shaking, sir!  Oh, please tell me what is the matter!”

Legolas willed himself to breathe, though he felt ready to sick up at the slightest provocation.  Sam sounded increasingly frantic behind him; he deserved an answer.  “The first orcs,” he said through his teeth, “began their lives as Elves – or so it is said.”

Sam froze.  “What?”

“Morgoth distorted them until they were no longer recognizable, until they no longer knew themselves.  It was he that made the orcs.”  Sam’s shocked silence was louder than any protestations of disbelief that he could have made.  “Sauron is the only being that we Elves hate more than the abominations his one-time lord made.”  He forced himself to keep on talking, to spill it all out.  “It is only too clear.  If Saruman wants something with an Elf, something in connection with orcs, then he can only want one for practice.

Sam found his voice at last.  “He couldn’t!”

“Saruman is a wizard, and he is in league with Sauron.  I will not say that he could not do this.”  He fought to take hold of himself.  “What else did they say?”

Sam’s fingers suddenly pushed themselves even harder against Legolas’ own hands, and Legolas wondered if the hobbit was trying to console him.  “That was most of it.  They insulted each other a lot.”

“Everything you remember, Sam.”  Legolas pressed back against Sam’s fingers.  “You have overheard much more information than I have managed to glean.  Garan would never have discussed such a subject with me nearby.  He knows too much about the Elves.”

“Well, he doesn’t know anything about hobbits.”

Legolas smiled tremulously into the gathering gloom, thankful that Sam could not see his face.  “No, he does not.  Mayhap that will be his downfall.”

“Maybe,” said Sam, but he did not sound as if he took the thought seriously.  “Everything.  Well.  Garan said that we were a prize, that they’d be rewarded for us.  And I got the idea that he thinks more of Saruman than Dorlic does.”

“Why?”

“Dorlic said that Saruman had a swollen head, and Garan didn’t like it.”

“Dorlic is right, if Mithrandir’s report at the Council was any proof,” Legolas said derisively.  “Saruman of Many Colors, indeed!”

“There was more at the end, and I didn’t really understand it,” Sam continued.  “I’m trying to remember the words.  Something about… aah!  It’s difficult.”  He hesitated.  “Dorlic was trying to get under Garan’s skin.  He said something about Saruman teaching him.”

Legolas’ head came up; his eyes flew open as wide as they would go.  “Saruman teaching Dorlic?

“No.  Saruman teaching Garan.  Tricks, Dorlic said.”  Sam hesitated again.  “Wait a minute.  Does that mean…?”

“Yes,” Legolas breathed.  “It must.”  His heart seemed to have stilled itself; perhaps his blood had finally frozen solid.  How many dark revelations did Sam have for him?

“Saruman taught Garan magic?

“It would explain much,” Legolas murmured.  “It could certainly explain why Garan feels so tainted.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have heard tales of Men who desired powers not gifted them by Ilúvatar.  Such Men inevitably practiced black magic, for Men were not meant to be sorcerers, and they lost pieces of their souls in becoming so.”

“Pieces of their souls!” Sam exclaimed softly.

“I do not know how Men go about dealing away bits of themselves, nor so I wish to; dark rites are surely involved in order to so defy the will of the One who made them.  Yes, I believe that I am right about Garan.  If he has lost a part of his soul, it would lead to this feeling of wrongness about him.”  Sam said nothing, perhaps too dazed to speak, and Legolas continued musing aloud.  The looming hysteria he had felt at Sam’s tidings of his fate had all but vanished in the wake of this new discovery.  “I wonder if it is possible for a wizard to do such a thing to a Man.  Did Garan become a sorcerer of his own free will before crossing paths with Saruman, or did Saruman make him what he is?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Sam said unsteadily.  “What matters is getting you away from here as soon as possible.”

Legolas was not sure that he had heard Sam correctly; his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment.  “Getting me away?”

“Yes, if we can find some way to do it.  You can’t go to Isengard and let Saruman…!”  He left his sentence unfinished, apparently too appalled by the idea to give voice to it.

Legolas’ own astonishment rendered him quite speechless.  He had never dreamed that Sam would suggest such a thing – staying to face the wrath of the Men while he went free.  “It is strange that you should suggest that I escape,” he said when he found his voice again.  “I have been thinking that it is you who must flee.”

“What?  Without you?”

“With or without me; it is crucial that you evade Garan’s grasp.”

“Certainly not!”  Sam sounded utterly scandalized.

“You are the one that Garan truly wants, hobbit that you are, but you are not the one that he fears.  You are not seen as the dangerous one, and so you are not as closely watched as I.  You have a better chance of escaping than I do.”

“I made a promise not to leave you,” Sam said tartly.  “I keep my promises.”

“I would have you break this vow, great honor though it does me.  I do not deny that I cannot stand to see you mistreated, but that is not why I ask this of you; I ask for the sake of all Middle-earth.”

“I would never betray Mr….  I wouldn’t betray him.”

“Not willingly, perhaps.  I fear that you will not be able to resist the torments that Garan – and Saruman after him – will visit upon you, now matter how determined you may be.”

“No,” Sam said firmly.

Legolas laughed mirthlessly.  “I thought you would react in such a way.”

“It’s not funny,” Sam hissed.  “I won’t run off and leave you behind.  It’s not right.”

“It is not a matter of right and wrong.  It is a matter of protecting what you hold most dear, and of guarding something that is worth more than either of our lives.”

“I wouldn’t say a thing, no matter what they did to me!”

“Men can be very cruel – far more cruel than the Elves could ever be,” said Legolas.  “Garan’s malice extends well beyond anything you have yet seen.  You do not know of what you speak.”

“And you do?” Sam said bitterly.

“Yes, I do.”

Sam stiffened.  “What does that mean?”

“It does not mean what you seem to be thinking,” said Legolas.  “I have suffered no great injury at the hands of Men, but I know more of them than you do.  Many are good and noble, but those that we are amongst now seem to possess every foul trait that there is.  Garan is not done with you.  He will question you again and again, and it will grow worse every time.”

Sam stubbornly shook his head against Legolas’ back.  “I wouldn’t.

Legolas mournfully raised his eyes to the heavens though there were no stars to see.  He wished that Sam had not pushed him to this, but the hobbit was stubbornly refusing to see sense.  He had to make him look it in the eye, and necessity did not make it any easier to say what needed to be said.  He hardened his resolve and started with a point that was sure to catch Sam off his guard.

“What of Frodo?  Does your friendship with me supersede your ties to him?”

“I….” Sam began, and trailed off.

“Sooner or later, you must choose between us,” said Legolas.  “I know not whether you have bound yourself to him with oaths, but you set out to be a companion to him, not me.  Pain is not something you are acquainted with, especially pain that is willfully visited upon you by another.  You cannot fathom it.  I have looked into the eyes of these Men, and I see their hearts mirrored there.  They are cold, hard, and wholly without mercy.  And there is Garan to consider as well.  Whatever Saruman has taught him, there can be only evil in it.  He will go to any lengths to loosen your tongue, and though you might resist at first, in the end you will tell him what he wants to know simply to escape your torment.  Saruman will end your misery in a most permanent way when his thirst for knowledge has been slaked.  Stay and you will meet death, Samwise.”

Sam’s shuddering breath cut like a knife.  Forgive me, Legolas thought sadly.  I will come with you if I can, but it is you who must escape.  I must make you see that.

A long silence stretched out between them.  The Men were still laughing and talking, only looking in the direction of the prisoners at odd occasions.  The ducks seemed to be coming along nicely; Legolas could smell them even though he could not feel the fire’s warmth.  His fingers, which had stilled on the cords during the past few minutes, resumed their search.  He had not even found the beginning of one of the knots, which were large and complicated.

“Garan untied me quickly enough this morning,” Sam said quietly.  “I think there’s some trick to the knot.  If we can find out what it is….”

“Would that I could manage it,” said Legolas.  “Night has fallen, and we are not being closely watched.”

“I won’t promise to go without you.”

Legolas’ shoulders drooped at this sudden declaration.  After all he had said, did Sam still not understand?  “I do not know when an opportunity for escape may arise.  If we can both go, so much the better; if not –”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Sam with an air of finality.  “Here.  Let’s see if we can’t get this knot undone together.”

Legolas’ mouth tightened, but he knew it would do no good to press the subject further.  If he did, Sam would likely demand to know whether he would run if he had the chance to flee alone.  Legolas knew that he would not, and Sam would never accept any explanation for that inequality.

They worked in silence, smelling woodsmoke, listening to the Men boast over women that they had known and men that they had killed.  They twisted their hands and wrists and strained with their fingertips until their hands were covered in sweat, and their bonds loosened not a hair.  If there was a trick to the knot, Legolas did not think that the rope allowed him enough mobility to be able to find it.

Supper was eaten and under digestion when Garan suddenly stood up.  Sam and Legolas immediately stilled their fingers and tensed, waiting.  At Garan’s gesture, five Men stepped out of the firelight and headed straight for them.

“It begins,” Legolas whispered.  “You must be ready, Sam.”

“I’ll be all right,” said Sam.  “They can’t make me do anything.”

Legolas grimaced.  Sam had misunderstood him; he had meant that the hobbit should be ready to run should the opportunity arise.  It might even arise right then, in the dark, with only half the Men around them.

The blade of Jakov’s dagger made a shrill whisk as it was drawn, and the knot that secured the rope about Sam’s and Legolas’ waists was sliced open.  The rope uncoiled, and Legolas immediately found himself seized by both Brund and Dorlic.  His chest was pushed forward, exposing his hands behind his back.  Someone fumbled at one of the knots until it came undone, separating Elf from hobbit.  Legolas’ own hands remained tied when Sam was pulled away from his back, for they had been secured before he had been bound to Sam.  Legolas twisted, testing his work on the knots, and was rewarded by being flung facedown on the ground.  His head was turned to one side; he could see the cliff’s edge, but Garan and the fire were behind him.

Dorlic crouched next to Legolas and used one of his knees to pin down Legolas’ upper back.  One of his fists held his bound hands.  A long, soft scraping sound announced the removal of a sword from its sheath somewhere above them.

Dorlic bent over until his mouth was close to the upturned side of Legolas’ face.  “If you so much as twitch, Elf, Vannil will strike off your head.  Do you understand me?”

Legolas nearly gagged at the Man’s foul breath, but he gritted his teeth and nodded.  The rocky ground scraped the side of his face that was pressed against it.  What choice did he have?  He was in an even more undesirable position to fight now than he had been in a moment before.  Sam was going to be beaten or worse, and there was nothing that he could do.  Never in his life had he felt so helpless – or so angry.

“Tell me how the two of you came to be in this gorge, stunted one,” said Garan’s voice from several paces away.

Legolas bristled at Garan’s continued slights to Sam.  He insisted on calling Sam either ‘stunted one’ or ‘Halfling’ and nothing else.  Legolas had learned early on that hobbits did not appreciate the term ‘Halfling’, which implied that they were somehow less than Elves and Men, but that it was a common misnomer and therefore not truly insulting.  ‘Stunted one’ was another matter entirely; there could be no mistaking it for the deliberate slur that it was.

“I’ve nothing more to say than what I’ve already told you,” Sam said shortly.

Legolas felt a surge of pride at the steadiness of Sam’s voice.  The last time the hobbit had asserted this it had earned him a vicious blow to the head; he had to suspect that doing so again would only earn him harsher treatment, and yet he met the danger with his head up and his eyes open.

Garan sighed.  “Even if you were going to Rivendell – and you know that I do not believe you – why would you have walked through the gorge to get there?  It is hardly a sensible road to take.”

Sam did not answer right away, and Legolas guessed that he was thinking.  “Well, we hadn’t planned to walk through the gorge, you see,” Sam said at last.  “We tried to cross upriver, but the river was higher than we’d reckoned.  We were knocked off our feet and carried downstream.”

“And you were coming from the mountains?” said Garan, not sounding as if he believed it.

“The Misty Mountains, yes.”

“Tell me what your business was there.”

Sam hesitated again, but after a moment he said firmly, “Our business is none of your business.”

Garan inhaled sharply through his nose.  A pair of boots scraped against the hard ground.  Popping sounds emanated from the fire, and as always, the river roared far below in the gorge.

Legolas tensed at sound of the first blow.  He did not know whether or not to be grateful for his positioning; he might not have been able to contain himself if he had been able to see Garan striking Sam again, bound and pressed against the earth or no.  A loud cheer sounded from the Men around the fire, and Legolas squeezed his eyes shut.

“I almost wish you would move,” Dorlic grated in Legolas’ ear, though he did not sound as if he were really addressing his prisoner.  “Then I could be rid of you and your horrid eyes.”  The weight on Legolas’ back suddenly increased, and Dorlic was breathing into his face again.  “I hate them, do you hear?  I hate the way you’re always looking like you know something I don’t!  You can’t see through me, Elf!”  His fingernails dug into Legolas’ wrists.  “You see nothing!”

“Dorlic,” Vannil said in a warning tone.

Dorlic ignored his fellow.  “Very soon, Garan will let me have you.  And when he does, I will rid you of your eyes.”

Sam grunted.  Legolas tensed further, and Dorlic pressed down on him all the harder.

“You won’t be so pretty with your face marred.  You won’t need eyes where you’re going; you’ll have an eternity to scream your lungs out in darkness once –”

“Dorlic!” Vannil snapped.

Dorlic hissed, breathing hard as though he had been running.  In the quiet that fell while he regrouped, Legolas heard another roar of approval rise up from the Men around the campfire.  He seethed silently and willed the earth to swallow up Garan and all his Men.

Dorlic kept pressure on Legolas’ back and hands while Garan continued his harsh treatment of Sam.  Legolas lay still as stone, if only just.  Sam seemed to be doing a fair job of keeping silent, but Legolas could not have been more furious if Sam had been begging for mercy.  If his hands had been free he could have made Garan curse the day his mother first laid eyes on his father, but he could do nothing now.  The prospect of dying did not frighten him.  If his death was the price of Sam’s freedom, he would embrace it, but he would not throw his life away when Sam still needed him.

Sam was far stronger in spirit than Legolas had ever imagined when they first met, but it would be a terrible thing for him to suddenly find himself alone amongst a group of nine cruel Men, all of them warriors and twice his size.  His resolve would fold like a house of cards.  Legolas was not certain that his spirit would not do likewise if Sam were killed, but he did not wish to dwell on that now.  He could not die, not yet – but he did not know how much longer he could let this mistreatment continue.  It would only escalate with time.

The Men stopped their cheering.  Legolas slumped in relief, but the feeling was only momentary.  He could hear Garan asking Sam yet again if he had come to his senses; Sam did not reply, and Garan lowered his voice.

“I warned you, Halfling.  I have more at my disposal than my strength of body.  You cannot comprehend what I mean, can you?  Perhaps you need to be shown.”

“No,” said Sam.  He sounded as if he wanted nothing less than whatever it was that Garan was about to do.  Legolas jerked, unable to stop himself, and Vannil pushed the tip of his sword against his back.  The steel broke through cloth and some flesh; if he pressed down with his weight, it would go right through him.

Sam gasped.  “There,” said Garan.  “I think you begin to see.”

Legolas blinked in surprise.  That was all?  Only a heartbeat had passed since Sam had drawn that ragged breath.  What had the cursed Man done?

“A little more time, then,” said Garan.  “You will tell me all in the end.  Better to speak now than later, after much sorrow has befallen you.  Think on it.”  He raised his voice and said languidly, “Put him with his master again.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dorlic said loudly from where he crouched.  “This one’s mad as a hornet; there’s no telling what he’ll try.”

Garan paused for a moment.  “Very well.  Keep them on opposite sides of the camp.  Let them be denied the comfort of each other.”

“But that will mean two guards,” Vannil complained.

One of the Men near the fire snorted.  “Always wanting to shirk your responsibilities, aren’t you, Vannil?”

“You will all stay awake and on guard if that is what it takes to hold the prisoners,” said Garan.  “But as long as they are securely bound, one guard apiece will be enough.”

“The Elf could do with some subduing,” said Dorlic.  “If he were to get loose –”

“He will not get loose,” Garan snapped.  “Wrap him with a few extra lengths of cord if it will make you feel better; he can work out some of his frustration on one of Brund’s knots.  He’ll not get far on it.  Or stay up all night and guard him yourself, if you prefer.”

Dorlic swore, but not loud enough for Garan to hear.

In short order Brund had shuffled over to where Legolas lay.  Dorlic kept his knee on Legolas’ back while the bigger Man wrapped and knotted still more rope around his wrists.  Legolas tried to flex his fingers when Brund at last removed his hands, and found that he could move them but little.  At least my hands will be warm this night, he thought bitterly.

“Better tie it off to that root over there,” said Dorlic.

Legolas heard the scrape of Brund’s feet against the ground as he shuffled off to anchor the rope.  Disappointment cut him; he had been unable to prevent himself from hoping that he would be left free on the ground even though he had known it would be unlikely.  If he was bound hand and foot as well as tied to something else, it would make it much more difficult to escape.

“There,” said Brund.  “He’ll not go running off now, not with those knots in place.”

“They’re not enough to satisfy you, though, are they, Dorlic?” Vannil muttered sourly.

“I won’t be satisfied until the Elf is dead,” Dorlic declared.  He put his mouth close to Legolas’ ear again and hissed, “Remember what I said.  Soon.”  He stood up, ridding Legolas of his touch at last, and left for the fire.  Vannil and Brund followed, and soon the sounds of quiet conversation were drifting away on the cold breeze.

With Dorlic’s knees gone, Legolas was free to move at last.  He rolled until he was facing the fire and looked about for Sam, but he could not see the hobbit anywhere.  Either the Men or the flames were blocking him from view.

Legolas resigned himself to feeling at his bonds again – as well as he could, at least.  Garan had not been boasting; Brund’s knots were indeed a puzzle.  He doubted if he would be able to do more than loosen them a little before morning came, but he did not dwell on that.  Garan had effectively stolen most of his hopes; he needed something to work at, something that he might be able to have some effect on, however unlikely his chances of success were.

What had Garan done to Sam, Legolas wondered?  Had he caused him pain?  Had he conjured up a vision?  Had he touched the hobbit’s mind?  It had only been momentary, but it could have been anything.  Now only Sam knew for certain whether Garan was a sorcerer, but Legolas would have wagered much that the Man employed the black arts.  It did not really matter which of the three he had done, if any; all were deadly enough that Sam had to be freed immediately, whatever the cost.

Legolas no longer thought that he could or should wait for a good chance of escape to present itself.  Garan was tightening the noose.  Sam had been able to withstand blows, but Legolas did not know whether he would be able to employ the mental defenses necessary to resist a sorcerer.  Perhaps he could – he had outstripped all of Legolas’ expectations so far – but there was no reason to chance it.  If no window would appear, Legolas was determined to make a hole in the wall, and if he could not make it tonight, he would make it tomorrow.  They would have to untie his hands for him to be able to carry the litter; that would likely be his best chance.  It would be then or at midday when the Men were busy with food in their hands instead of their weapons.  He did not feel that he could afford to wait for the evening’s halt; he would be tired by then, and Garan would already have assaulted Sam again.  Legolas thought it a shame that he had not been able to convince Sam of the need for him to run; he would have to trust that Sam would make the right decision once he acted.

Dejectedly, Legolas wondered what had become of the rest of the Fellowship.  It had been more than three days since the river had separated him and Sam from their companions, and though he had not been able to see the river since yesterday, Legolas was not sure that they were still being looked for.  In other circumstances he might have felt more hopeful, but these had left him devoid of optimism.  If Aragorn and Mithrandir were still searching, then they might now be close enough to see the Men’s fire on the clifftop and wonder, but Legolas did not dare depend on such a slim possibility.  Rescue would not likely come from the Fellowship due to the need to protect Frodo and the Quest.  And even if rescue was coming, it could not possibly come in time.  No; there was no one to rely on but himself, for he had lost even Sam now.  He was not surprised to find that he greatly missed the hobbit’s warmth and companionship.

Legolas twisted his wrists.  If he had managed to create any slack in the ropes, he could not tell, but he could sooner have stopped breathing than trying.  He would sleep a little later on to keep up his strength for the task that lay ahead of him.  If Garan was everything that he feared then the morrow’s dawn was likely the last he would ever see, but the rising of the sun would also bring opportunity – and with luck, Sam’s freedom.  Until then, it would be a long, cold night.





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