A/N: If the last chapter deserved the rating, then this one certainly does.

Chapter 11: Over the Edge

Gimli sat on a fallen log, poking listlessly at a pile of stones with a long stick.  The stones needed no prodding, but he needed something to do.  Action of even of the most inane sort helped keep his mind somewhat occupied.  There was only one thing that anyone in the company could be thinking about, and though it was nothing anyone wanted to contemplate, it did not bear forgetting.

At present, the entire Fellowship – what remained of it – was seated in a rough circle, taking their evening meal.  No one had the heart to talk, so there was no conversation.  Dusk was falling early on account of the heavily clouded sky.  Gimli thought that sky reflected the mood of the company perfectly: overcast, cold, and grim.

It was no wonder that cheer was in short supply, for the third day had come and gone with no sign of either Sam or Legolas.  The time that Gandalf had allotted for the search had passed; in the morning they would find a way out of the gorge and continue on their way east.  In truth, Gimli had had little hope of success since coming across the pack and broken bow in the river.  He was no waterman, but he had heard tales of Dwarves caught up in spring floods on the River Running.  None that sank into those fierce waters were ever seen alive again.  Gimli granted that Dwarves were generally poor swimmers, but even if Legolas was not, he had been burdened with Sam when he was last seen.  Gimli did not see how he could have managed to swim without the use of his arms, and that was not even considering the river’s wrath.  He had wanted to hold out hope for longer than one day – he truly had tried – but he was too practical to bet on such long odds.

Gimli had discovered early on that Boromir shared his feelings.  The Man of Gondor had not spoken aloud of his misgivings for the others’ sake, but Gimli had known.  The grim cast of his face when his eyes fell on the broken bow was confirmation enough.

After Gimli and Boromir, Gandalf had become the next member of the Fellowship to accept the likelihood that Sam and Legolas would not be found.  He had stood gazing at the river while lunch was handed out on the second day, and when he had turned his face back to the others, his eyes had been shadowed.  Gimli had not been surprised; after all, Gandalf himself had said that he thought there was little chance of finding either Elf or hobbit after the close of the first day.

Frodo had been the next to fall.  Gimli had heard him weeping softly during his watch last night, and the hobbit’s heavy eyelids the morning after had had nothing to do with lack of sleep.  Seeing Frodo losing hope was hard for Gimli to bear.  It was Frodo who was closest to Sam, but he was far wiser in the ways of the world than either Merry or Pippin.  The Ring-bearer felt guilt at his feelings of defeat, and his pain was difficult to behold.

Of all the company, only Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn had remained fully determined throughout the third day.  Gimli had certainly not complained at the continuation of the search – at least they might find the bodies of their companions and give them a proper burial – but he had felt certain that they were only doing what was right by Sam and Legolas, and no more.  But what more could be done?  Sam and Legolas would either be found or they would not be.

Gimli had carried vestiges of hope within him for all three days – after all, there had been some chance that their companions had survived; it had just been very, very slim – but now he was allowing them to fade.  By the looks on the faces around him the others were doing the same, some with more difficulty than others.

Aragorn was looking at the face of the nearby cliff with a blank expression.  Gimli found himself wondering just how hopeful the Man had actually been of late.  Unlike Boromir, he kept his emotions off of his face.  He and Legolas had apparently enjoyed a long friendship, and Aragorn did not deny that he had grown very fond of Sam, but he was a practical Man with experience in hard living.  There was no way that he could not have known just how remote Sam and Legolas’ chances were.  If nothing else, he could have been keeping up appearances for the hobbits.  But he was the group’s tracker and a Man of honor, too; Gimli doubted if he could have given the search anything less than his all, regardless of the logic of the situation.

Merry and Pippin were staring at unremarkable patches of ground, their bread and cheese forgotten.  Merry’s face was like Aragorn’s, unblinking and smooth.  Pippin, who had been the last to feel his hopes crumble, looked disbelieving.  While Merry had been increasingly anxious as the day wore on, Pippin had been ready to charge ahead even after Aragorn reluctantly called a halt.  Only when everyone else had sunk to the ground did he seem to realize that it was done.  Now he had the same lost look on his face as Frodo and Merry, born of a sorrow that had deepened beyond tears.

Although it was dark and there was nothing to do, no one in the company made preparations for sleep.  Like the others, Gimli was wrapped in his own morose thoughts.  He wondered how far Sam and Legolas’ bodies had traveled in the river, though he thought it a little strange that the Fellowship had found neither one.  If a pack or bow could be caught on a branch, why not a corpse?  Of course, a corpse weighed rather more than either of those things.

Gimli shook his head.  Sam and Legolas were most likely dead, and that was that.  He regretted the loss of Sam, and not only for the hobbits’ sakes.  He had heartily approved of the gardener with his good temper and culinary skills, though he had thought that Sam was rather too innocent to be on such an expedition.  Of course, so were Merry and Pippin, at that.

Gimli even had to admit that he was sorry to lose Legolas as well as Sam.  He had not cared much for the Elf’s company, but there had been no denying his skill with that bow, and he had not actually been as bad a fellow as Gimli had been expecting.  They had sparred bitterly, but Gimli was in a reflective mood and also had to admit – if only to himself – that it had not been Legolas who escalated their quarrel.  Legolas had done no more than throw dark glances in his direction until Gimli had made the first insult.  At the time, Gimli had been thinking of his father and his captivity in Thranduil’s household, and he had been unable to resist pricking the son of the Elf that had wronged his family.

What’s done is done, thought Gimli.  Ilúvatar have pity on Sam – and on Legolas, too.

“We should all get some sleep,” Gandalf said suddenly, breaking the long silence.  Every eye turned to him, but no one replied.  “I am willing to take the first watch; I should like to smoke and think a little longer.”

“I don’t want to think any more,” Merry said softly.

“Neither do I,” said Frodo, “but I don’t know if I can help it.”

“At least try,” said Gandalf.  “You may drop off in spite of yourselves.”

“I will take the second watch,” Boromir said quietly, rising from his seat on a boulder.

Gimli smiled when he and Aragorn opened their mouths at the same time.  It seemed that everyone was willing to let the hobbits, the most crestfallen members of the company, sleep the night through.  Aragorn nodded at Gimli, indicating that he could speak first.  “It seems that we both want the last watch,” said Gimli.  “Another time, I would offer to arm-wrestle you for the duty.”

Aragorn stood up and stretched, turning to face the river as he did so.  “Another time, I would accept.  But if you are not overtired, I am willing to….”  He trailed off and squinted into the gloom.

Curious, Gimli turned.  It was difficult to see in the dark, but Aragorn seemed to be looking up and across the river.

Boromir had already turned around in an effort to catch a glimpse of what Aragorn had seen.  He peered into the darkness for a moment before saying incredulously, “Is that a fire?”

The hobbits jumped to their feet.  Gandalf stood, frowning around his pipe.  Intrigued, Gimli stepped closer to Aragorn and Boromir.  He came out from behind a tree that was blocking a portion of his field of view, and then he saw it – a small, flickering light atop the cliffs on the far side of the river.  It was a fire, although it was too far from the cliff’s edge for any flames to be visible.

“I see it, too!” cried Pippin.

“Sssh,” said Gandalf, but his heart was not in it.  He was frowning just as hard at the light as everyone else.

For a long minute the company stood still, staring at the strange apparition.  It was Merry who finally voiced what everyone was thinking.  “I suppose it can’t be Sam and Legolas,” he said.  There was a yearning note in his voice despite his words.  “They wouldn’t have had any reason to climb up there.  But if they did, wouldn’t they want us to find them?”  His face brightened.  “It could be a signal fire!”

“Perhaps it is the party of Men that passed us yesterday,” said Boromir.

“Would they have had any more reason than Sam or Legolas to climb the cliffs?” said Frodo.

“And how would they have done it?” Gimli put in.  “There have been many good places for climbing on this side of the river, but I have not seen an easy way up on the far bank since the flood.  I know rock.”

“But there is no reason for anyone to be here save us,” Aragorn mused, still staring at the light.  “How many people can be haunting this river?”

“So you think it is the Men, then?” said Boromir.

Aragorn shook his head.  “I do not know, but I intend to find out.”  He turned his eyes upon Gimli.  “How steady did that ledge we passed look to you?”

“It looked steady enough to me.  Do you plan to put your weight on it, then?”

“I do.  Perhaps if I can get higher, I will be able to see more of this group.”

“It is too dark for you to be able to discern much, even with the fire,” said Gandalf.

“At least I may be able to discover what manner of folk they are,” Aragorn replied.  “Men, orcs, Elves… it could be anyone, but my wager rests on our old acquaintances, though I do not know what they might be doing atop the cliffs or how they got there.”

“Too many coincidences,” Merry murmured.

“Indeed,” said Aragorn.  “Too many strange goings-on, and too many strangers.”

“But the climb will be dangerous,” Frodo objected.  “Even if the way up is easy in daylight, you won’t be able to see anything now.”

“I will be cautious,” said Aragorn.  He met Gandalf’s level look calmly.  “I must insist.  I will not be able to sleep until I have at least tried to find out who these folk are.”

“You must do as you must, then,” said Gandalf, “but I will go with you.  An extra set of eyes will not go amiss.  Merry, you will come as well.”

Merry blinked in surprise.  Pippin’s mouth opened and a look of indignation flashed across his face.  “Why does Merry get to go?”

“He will not be climbing, and neither will I, but we will aid Aragorn from the ground.  Merry has sharp eyes.”

“So do I!”

“Yes,” said Gandalf with a slight smile, “but you do have a tendency to make noise, my dear Took.”

Pippin closed his mouth.

Gandalf picked up his staff from where it lay propped against a rock.  “I assume the ledge you speak of is the one we saw just before stopping?”

“Yes,” said Aragorn.  “If I remember the spot correctly, it looked like an easy climb.”

 “It was – what? – forty feet off the ground?” said Gandalf.  “That is no short distance.  The way down will be more difficult than the way up.  Fetch some rope, Merry, just in case.”

Merry did as he was asked, and when he had dug a length of rope out of Bill’s extra baggage, he, Gandalf, and Aragorn made their brief farewells.  “There is no need to stay awake on our account,” said Gandalf as he stepped out of the circle.  “Choose someone else for the watch, and the rest of you get some sleep.”

“I suppose I should keep watch, then, since I volunteered for the second,” said Boromir after the wizard had gone.

“That’s all right,” Frodo said quickly.  “I’m not feeling tired anymore.  I’ll take this one, and you can still have the second.”

“I’m not tired, either,” Pippin put in.

Gimli laughed dryly.  “We’ll none of us sleep now, not until Aragorn returns.”

The four of them sparred halfheartedly, and the matter was only settled when Boromir pointed out that a forty-foot climb up and back, in the dark, could potentially take some time.  It was decided that Boromir would keep watch while the others slept – or tried to, at least.  The Man settled himself back on his boulder while Gimli, Frodo and Pippin took to their bedrolls.

Gimli snuggled deep into his blankets until only his eyes and the top of his head showed above them.  The night was bitterly cold, even more so than usual because of the wind.  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.  Sleep usually came easily to him – being on the road had taught him to take rest whenever the chance came – but for once, he could not drift off.  His mind was full of questions and would not be still.  Who could it be on top of that cliff?  It made no sense for anyone else to be walking the path that the Fellowship was on, not unless they were searching for the Fellowship.  One band of roving Men was enough; another would be more than merely unsettling.

Gimli had no idea how much time had passed when the crunch of a foot on gravel caught his attention.  He sat bolt upright in his blankets, his hand reaching instinctively for the haft of his axe before he saw Gandalf and Merry standing just beyond Boromir.  The Man had reached for his weapon, too; it seemed that he was jumpy at the thought of enemies about as well.

Frodo and Pippin sat up every bit as quickly as Gimli had.  They had not been sleeping, either.  The moment Gandalf and Merry stepped back into the campsite, Frodo said, “Where is Aragorn?”

“He is going to sleep atop the ledge tonight,” said Gandalf.  “He wants to take another look at the strangers in the morning, when there is more light to see.  It seems a handy enough solution.  This way, he will not have to climb back down in the dark again.”  He bent down to a pile of baggage on the ground and began to rifle through it.  “Where is his bedroll?”

“Was he able to see nothing, then?” said Boromir.

“Oh, he saw something,” Merry said eagerly.  “He says they’re Men, and quite possibly the same ones as yesterday.”

Gimli and Boromir exchanged a troubled glance.  “Why does he say this?” Gimli asked.

“He saw a dog.  He says he can’t tell how many Men there are, but that there are at least five.”

“This does not guarantee that it is the same party, of course,” said Gandalf, straightening up with a roll of blankets in his arms.  “But Aragorn is right.  How many groups of Men – with dogs in tow – can be skulking about in this gorge?”

“So you think it’s the same people, then?” said Pippin.

“Aragorn has keen instincts,” Gandalf replied.  “I have relied upon them before, and I have no reason to doubt them this time.  Now, I am going to take this to Aragorn.  Stay here, Merry; I can find the way back by myself.”

“Wait,” said Frodo.  “If Aragorn stays up on this ledge, couldn’t he be seen tomorrow morning?”

“He’ll hide himself a little,” said Merry.  “There are some rocks up there, too, and we tied some old branches to his rope to get him started.  Besides, he’s a Ranger!  He blends in with everything anyway.”

Gimli lay down in his blankets again when Gandalf departed.  He could hear the hobbits whispering behind him as Frodo and Pippin questioned Merry, but he paid little attention to what they said.  He had not had long to look upon the Men the last time they had crossed paths, but he had seen them long enough to know that he did not like them.  Dark they had seemed to him, and dangerous besides.  He was sure that they were not benevolent folk.  How had they gotten up that cliff?

Gimli lay awake for a long time, thinking and wondering, before sleep finally came.

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

Gimli shivered and pulled his cloak more closely about him.  The wind had picked up during the night, and now, during the last watch, it was quite gusty.  The cliffs behind him seemed to funnel the wind in either direction more than they blocked it.

It required a good deal of Gimli’s self-control to keep his eyes on everything and not just the clifftop where the fire had been seen.  That spot drew his gaze like a magnet drew iron, but he could not afford to be careless.  Earlier Gandalf had remarked that the presence of one group of spies did not mean that there were not more to be found.  Gimli did not mean to let anyone stab him in the back because he forgot to look behind him.

Gimli spared a quick glance at the five sleepers on the ground.  They would not have much longer to rest; dawn was not far off now, although the heavy clouds delayed its arrival as much as they had hastened the onset of darkness the night before.  All travelers in the wilderness slept and rose with the sun.  The Men on the other side of the river would behave no differently; soon they would get up, eat, and be on their way.  Gimli hoped that Aragorn would be able to get a better look at them this time.

Of course, thought Gimli, we’ll be off as soon as we’re certain that the Men won’t cause us any trouble.  It was the fourth day since the flood, and there was no reason to think that the strangers would delay their going.  Yes, their presence was strange, but so long as their path did not cross the Fellowship’s again, what did it really matter?

Gimli let the rest of the company sleep a little later than usual, thinking that it would take extra time for Aragorn to rise, see what he wanted to see, and climb back down the cliff.  But eventually he made the rounds of the sleepers, bending to shake each one awake.

As soon as Gandalf was roused he threw off his blankets, put on his hat, took up his staff and hurried off to find Aragorn’s ledge.  Boromir and the hobbits showed less energy, possibly the result of having slept little.  In the hobbits’ case, however, Gimli thought that there was more than one reason for their lethargy.  Last night’s excitement had helped everyone to forget – at least for a little while – that today was the day they left Sam and Legolas behind.  Morning light made it impossible to forget that the moment was upon them.

Breakfast was eaten cold as usual.  The Fellowship seldom built fires; they were signals in the darkness, and could be in daylight as well.  Still, this was one of those mornings when Gimli would have been very glad of a blaze to warm his hands by.  Boromir and the hobbits seemed to feel the same way; they rubbed their hands together and shot unhappy looks at the sky.

“It smells like snow, does it not?” said Boromir.

“Yes,” said Pippin.  “Look at those clouds!  I’ll bet it snows before noon.”

Frodo sighed.  Merry gave him a sad look and squeezed his shoulder.

Once the company had eaten and rolled up their blankets again, the company had nothing to do but sit and wait for Gandalf and Aragorn to return.  It was a quiet wait; Frodo’s mood had infected his two kinsmen, and they did not talk.  The three of them absorbed themselves in keeping their bodies wrapped up tightly against the wind.  Gimli and Boromir kept their eyes on their surroundings, often looking toward the far cliff.  It was difficult to keep from staring at it; Gimli could see an occasional figure moving around up there now, but only one or two at a time, and they were too distant for him to be able to make out their faces.  He wondered what Aragorn was learning from his higher perch; surely he could see at least a little more from there than he could from the ground.

At long last footsteps became audible, and Gandalf and Aragorn stepped back into the campsite.  Gimli and Boromir both looked up with interest, but the hobbits kept their heads down, barely acknowledging their return.  Gimli paused at his first sight of his companions’ faces.  Their eyes shone with what could only be excitement.

Without preamble Aragorn said, “I have seen Legolas.”

The hobbits’ heads snapped up.  Boromir’s mouth fell open.  For a moment all Gimli could do was blink in astonishment – he felt as if he had almost not understood Aragorn’s words at all – but then he and everyone else began to speak at once.

“Is he with the Men?”

“Is he alive?”

“Sam!  Did you see Sam with him?”

“Ssssh!” Aragorn whispered fiercely.  “The Men are not that far off.  These cliffs can easily magnify any sound that we make.”

“Is Legolas alive?” Pippin repeated urgently.

“He is, but –”

“Did you see Sam?”

“No,” said Aragorn.  The hobbits’ hopeful faces fell, and he quickly added, “But that does not mean that he is not there.  I was not nearly high enough to see the entire group, and Sam is not tall.  If he is with the Men, he did not come close enough to the cliff’s edge for me to make him out.”

The hobbits were looking at each other with expressions of joy mixed with trepidation, glad to hear that Legolas was alive but worried that Sam was still unaccounted for.  Boromir looked ready to burst into laughter, and Gandalf and Aragorn both wore expressions of serene gladness.  Gimli could not have stopped smiling if he had tried; the kindling of hope in his heart when all his expectations had died was a glorious feeling.  He did not even wonder at the fact that his exultation stemmed from the sudden appearance of an Elf.

“Yes,” said Gandalf, “this is a happy event, but all has not yet been told.  You did not let Aragorn finish; he was about to tell you that Legolas is a captive.”

Gimli’s smile slipped.  The hobbits looked every bit as startled as he felt.  “A captive?” said Pippin.

 “There can be no doubt,” said Aragorn.  “His hands were tied behind his back and he was being guarded by a Man with his sword drawn.  I am certain that these are the same folk we saw earlier.”

“Why would anyone want to do that to him?”

“Can you not think of a reason?” said Gandalf in his gravest tone.

Pippin nodded slowly.  “I’m sorry to say it, but I think I can.”

“How many Men did you see?” asked Boromir.

“I saw five Men and Legolas besides,” Aragorn replied.

Gimli frowned.  “Not ten.”

“There must be more.  Those that I did see were coming and going from view.  I could not see their fire circle, either; it was too far from the cliff’s edge.  It is reasonable to believe that any Men I did not see might have been near the fire, or what was left of it.”

“So Legolas is a prisoner, and we still don’t know what’s happened to Sam,” Merry said briskly.  “What are we going to do about it?”

“We are going to follow them,” said Frodo.  “Right?”

“Do you think we should?” said Gandalf.

“Don’t you?”

Everyone was looking back and forth between the wizard and the Ring-bearer.  Boromir had quirked one eyebrow in surprise.  “I had assumed,” he said, “that if our friend is a prisoner, we would try to free him.”

Gandalf held up one hand in a pacifistic gesture.  “Do not misunderstand me!  I do not want to leave Legolas in the hands of these Men, but remember why we are on this Quest.  Legolas would not want you to jeopardize the more important mission for his sake, and neither, I think, would Sam.”

A hush fell over the group while they considered this.

“You are the Ring-bearer, Frodo,” Gandalf said at length.  “Your judgment carries much weight in this matter.”

Frodo frowned at the ground as he spoke.  “We’ve spent three days looking for Sam and Legolas.  Now we’ve found one of them, and he’s a prisoner.”  He looked up and met Gandalf’s eyes.  “Last night I was sure they were both dead; today I know I was wrong.  I can’t bear the thought of not following, at least for a little while.  Sam may not be with Legolas, but if he isn’t, then we’ll never find him.  There’s nothing I can do about that.”  His face crumpled for an instant, but just as quickly it was stern again.  “Even if Sam isn’t there, we have to see if there’s something we can do for Legolas.  I don’t know what that might be, but perhaps we can think of something.  If we can’t… well, that’s a decision for later.”

Gandalf smiled sadly through his beard.  “It gives me no pleasure to remind you of your burden.”

“I know,” said Frodo.  “But sometimes you must.”

“What say the rest of you?” said Gandalf.

“I say we follow,” said Boromir, squaring his shoulders beneath his heavy cloak.  “I do not see how we could leave our companion behind without at least making an effort at aiding him.”

“Yes,” said Merry, and Pippin nodded.

“I wish to follow as well,” said Aragorn.

“And you, Gimli?” Gandalf prompted.

Gimli’s face darkened when the others turned their eyes to him.  He could see the speculation in their eyes.  They are wondering whether the Dwarf will show his prejudice, he thought indignantly.  But then, you did fight with the Elf quite a bit.

“I agree with all the Ring-bearer,” Gimli said aloud.  “Master Legolas and I may never see eye to eye, but he is a member of this Fellowship as much as I am, and I cannot in good conscience leave any ally to imprisonment.  Besides, I should very much like to know if Sam is with this group.  It would ease my mind to know what his fate was.”

“Then it is settled,” said Gandalf.  “We will follow the Men downriver.”

“But for how long?” said Boromir.

“That will likely be a decision for later, as Frodo has said.  It will certainly depend on any action taken by Legolas’ jailors.”

“If we are going to track these Men, we should start now,” said Aragorn.  “They are leaving.”

Gimli looked at the clifftop.  He could just see two figures moving, and they were heading downstream at a rapid pace.

“Get the pony!” said Gandalf, and Pippin hurried to untie Bill from the tree where he had been anchored.

“They are moving fast,” said Aragorn as he strapped his bedroll to Bill’s back.  “We may not be able to keep pace with them if we stay near the cliffs.”

“But walking near the bank will leave us exposed,” said Boromir.  “What if they should happen to look back?”

“We will lessen the chance of being seen if we do not follow too closely,” said Aragorn.  “I propose that I stay further ahead to keep watch on them.  If they stop to look around, I can hide myself and give warning to the rest of you.”

“How?” said Merry.

“A redbird’s call will be my signal.  Do you all know it?”

Everyone nodded.  “Let us hope that we do not hear any real redbirds, then,” Gimli jested.

“We will worry about that if it happens,” Aragorn replied.

“Let us be off!” Boromir said impatiently.  “They are on the move!”

“I will return if you are falling too far behind,” said Aragorn.

“Go, then,” said Gandalf.  “And be alert.”  Aragorn nodded and darted off among the boulders, heading for the riverbank.

The rest of the Fellowship did not wait long to follow. The Men were hastening on, and they would have to move quickly in order to keep up.

The group had not been walking for more than half an hour when Aragorn suddenly reappeared.  “You are losing ground.  They are moving very fast.”  He shot an apologetic look at the hobbits.  “I fear that in order to match their speed, the three of you may have to jog.”

“I’ll jog all the way to the end of this river if it means we can have Legolas back,” Merry said staunchly, and Pippin nodded his agreement.

“Let us hope that you do not have to,” said Aragorn, hurrying off down the bank again.

Gimli had not been included in Aragorn’s address, but he was not much taller than the hobbits, and he found that he had to trot at intervals just as they did.  The hard pace made him sweaty despite the wind, but he voiced no complaint.  Dwarves were hardy folk and did not balk at burdens that would have members of softer races begging for a reprieve.

The Fellowship kept its distance from the water’s edge whenever possible.  The river was nowhere near as fierce as it had been after the flood, but it was still running high and swift; Gimli could tell as much by the condition of the banks on either side.  As he hurried along he wondered what, if anything, they were going to be able to do for Legolas.  He was on the wrong side of the river and a captive of ten Men besides.  Even if the Fellowship could somehow get across the water, what could they do about the Men?  Gimli had no doubts about his, Boromir’s, or Aragorn’s abilities in a fight, and if Gandalf joined in as a wizard instead of a swordsman, it might be a fight that they could win.  The hobbits were not trained as warriors, and that left four against ten.  Gimli was not one to back away from a fight that needed to be undertaken even when the odds were against him, but he knew as well as the others that Gandalf had spoken truly about the Quest.  There were more important things at stake than Legolas’ freedom.

The younger hobbits kept up the hard pace admirably, but Frodo moved with increasing difficulty as time passed.  Eventually Boromir noticed the Ring-bearer’s red face and labored breathing and offered to carry him for a short while, and Frodo gratefully accepted.  Being free to observe his surroundings, he kept his eyes trained on the clifftop.

Boromir had not been carrying Frodo for very long before the hobbit softly exclaimed, “Look!”

Gimli looked where Frodo pointed.  High above them he could see a line of figures marching.  Two of them bore something long between them; it seemed to be riding atop their shoulders.  On top of the long something was another figure.  A litter, Gimli thought, but a sudden realization made him forget to wonder who was on top of it.

“It’s Legolas!” said Pippin.

It was Legolas, and he was bearing the front end of the litter.  There was no one else it could be; none of the Men could have moved with such strange grace beneath a heavy load, and his fair hair stood out among the Men’s darker heads.  Gimli felt oddly relieved at the sight of him.

“He’s at the front of the line,” said Merry.  “Why doesn’t he run?”

“He must have a reason for staying as he is,” said Gandalf.  “At the very least he is being watched.”

“It can’t be Sam on top of that litter,” said Pippin, clearly disappointed.  “Whoever it is, it’s too big.”

Pippin’s words triggered another unexpected thought in Gimli’s mind.  Sam.  What if the Men had Sam, and that was why Legolas stood with open ground in front of him and did not run?  He found himself looking sideways at Gandalf, and who looked right back with a thoughtful expression on his face.  Perhaps they were sharing similar ideas, but neither said anything.  Gimli did not think it wise to speculate on Sam’s whereabouts in front of the other hobbits.

The morning wore on.  Aragorn did not return again and no birdcalls sounded.  Gimli thought they were doing well, even though the effort required him to puff and blow like a lathered horse; the Men stayed well in front of them but did not appear to be gaining any ground.

Eventually Pippin’s prediction that it would snow before noon came true.  The heavy clouds that had been sweeping ominously across the sky let forth a small flurry of flakes that rapidly multiplied into a steady fall.  Gimli did his best to ignore them, but it was difficult to do so when they flew into his eyes and collected in his beard.  The hobbits were all beginning to show signs of fatigue, especially Frodo, who was on his own feet again.  Vaguely Gimli wondered if the Men would ever slow their pace.  He didn’t think that the hobbits could keep up all day.

A redbird’s call suddenly sounded, and the Fellowship stopped in its tracks.

“Back,” Gandalf said softly.  “Back into the rocks.”

Everyone moved as quickly as they could without making noise, herding both themselves and Bill into a cluster of boulders and scraggly pine trees.  Gimli stood as still as he possibly could, keeping his eyes fixed on the clifftop.  At the moment the Men were not visible.

Gimli let his hand caress the handle of his axe.  A part of him hoped very much that he would have the chance to fight the Men who had dared to take one of their Fellowship hostage.  He had never had a great deal of patience for diplomacy, preferring instead to solve matters with a show of strength.  A firebrand, his father had called him.  Gimli smiled with pride at the recollection.  He would much rather be known for having an impulsive temper than a silver tongue.

The company did not have long to wait in stillness before Aragorn approached them from among the boulders.  The stiff wind was swirling both his hair and cloak behind him, but he did not seem to notice.  “I think they have stopped.  Something seems to have happened; I heard voices.”

“What did they say?” said Gandalf.

“I could not tell,” said Aragorn, at last noticing his cloak and pulling it back around him.  “This wind!  It is stealing most of the sound away; unless these Men shout, I will never hear anything.  But I thought that perhaps Merry or Pippin could come with me and see if there is anything that their ears can catch.”

“Oh, yes!” Pippin cried eagerly.

Merry was scarcely less anxious to take Aragorn up on his suggestion.  “We’ll hear something.  I know we will.”

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf as if for concurrence.  The wizard spread his hands, and Aragorn nodded.  “Excellent.  As it happens, I have found the perfect spot for observation.  There is a split in the face of the cliff up ahead.  The upper half looks like an easy climb, and the part below is choked with debris.  I climbed a few steps in it, and it seems solid enough.  The three of us should be able to use it to reach the top of the cliff without too much difficulty.”

“A split?” said Gimli, greatly interested.

“Come and see it for yourself,” said Aragorn.  “The rest of you can remain concealed nearby while the hobbits and I go up.”

“All the way to the top?” Merry said dubiously.

“Do you remember the fissure we climbed through to reach the river crossing?  It is much like –”

A sharp, distant cry suddenly sounded, and Aragorn broke off.  For a long moment the Fellowship stood still, listening.  They waited long enough that Gimli was beginning to wonder if it had only been the wind whistling through the trees, but then they clearly heard another cry.

“No!”

Frodo’s eyes went wide.  “That’s Sam!”

“What?” exclaimed Boromir.

“How can you –” Gimli began, but he fell silent as yet another shout drifted down the gorge.

“Let me go!”

“It is Sam!” Merry cried.  “Where is the way up?”

“This way,” Aragorn said quickly, turning on his heel.

There was no hesitation on anyone’s part.  Aragorn darted through the boulders, and everyone else ran behind him.  Even Bill trotted behind Pippin, who was holding his lead.

Was that really Sam, Gimli wondered?  He had not been able to tell, but Frodo seemed very certain.  Frodo surely ought to know Sam’s voice if anyone in the group did, but Gimli thought it was possible that the Ring-bearer had only been hearing what he wanted to hear.  But whoever it was that had cried out, Gimli did not think it had been Legolas.

Aragorn stepped around one last boulder, and Gimli saw it at last: the split face.  A rift ran parallel to the river where a sheet of stone several feet thick had cracked off from the main body of rock.  The slab leaned slightly toward the water, leaving a narrow gap between it and the rest of the cliff.  As Aragorn had said, the lower half of the gap was stuffed with leaves, rocks, and branches, forming a steep incline that led to craggy chunks of rock above.  In Gimli’s opinion the first half of the path looked to be more easily descended than ascended, but it seemed passable.

When he saw the rift, Frodo darted forward.  Aragorn reached out and seized his arm just in time.  “Wait!”

“I am going up, Strider!” Frodo said firmly, shaking his arm out of the Man’s grip.

“I will not stop you,” said Aragorn.  “Only let me go first.”

A quick smile flashed across Frodo’s face.  “All right.  But hurry!”

“I am also coming,” Gandalf announced, moving to follow Frodo and Aragorn to the incline.

“Don’t forget us!” said Pippin.  “You said you needed our ears!”  He let the pony’s lead rope fall and darted after them, followed closely by Merry.

Boromir and Gimli looked at each other.  “Do you intend to stay here?” said the Man.

“Not for all the gold in the Lonely Mountain,” Gimli replied emphatically.  “I want to know what has become of Sam.”

“As do I,” said Boromir.  “I think it will be safe enough; after all, none of these Men will be able to see us climbing between two slabs of rock.  But we may not like what we see, you know.  If that was Sam, it sounds like he is in trouble.”

“All the more reason to go up,” said Gimli, tying Bill’s lead rope to a skinny pine tree.  “If these Men are injuring him, I will swim the river myself and teach them courtesy with my axe!”

Frodo and Aragorn were well into the crevice by the time Gimli and Boromir began climbing.  At first Gimli wondered at their traveling so far so fast, but he soon discovered that the footing was more solid than he had been expecting.  The incline was covered with a thick carpet of rotting leaves, but there was stone beneath them.  What was more, Gimli found that anticipation – and not a little bit of anxiety – gave his feet wings.

Gimli’s beard blew straight into his face when his head popped up above the top of the rift.  He irritably pushed it out of the way with one hand and threw his other arm down on the clifftop.  Conscious of Boromir behind him, he hurried to pull himself out of the way.  The rest of the Fellowship was already crouched behind some loose stones and low-growing brush.

Gimli’s eyes swept through the falling snow to the far side of the river – and froze in astonishment.

“Keep moving!” said Boromir from below him.

Gimli gave a start and pulled himself the rest of the way out of the crack.  He gained his feet and hurried to where the others knelt, keeping his head low so as not to be seen by the Men on the far side.  He needn’t have bothered; he could have bellowed a mining song and juggled fire on his way to the rest of the Fellowship for all the strangers would have taken notice of him.  They were standing transfixed on the clifftop opposite the company, staring at the trees.

At the moving trees.

Gimli was barely aware of Boromir coming to kneel by his side, his attention being entirely focused on the uncanny scene before his eyes.  The trees were twisting and waving back and forth in far too forceful a manner to have been caused by the wind.  Gimli could see branches and bark breaking off, sailing through the air in all directions.  The dogs were somewhere in that group of Men, barking in consternation.

“The Elf!” one of the Men shouted.

And that was when Gimli saw Legolas, bound upright to one of the trees.  A cold spike of fear stabbed at him – surely it was dangerous to be so close to such a phenomenon! – but then he realized that Legolas’ tree was not writhing as the others were.  Except for the branches waving in the wind, it was quite still.

“Cut him down!” the Man bellowed.  Two of the Men in the group were already working at the cords holding Legolas upright, and one of them pulled a dagger from his belt.  He slashed, the ropes gave, and Legolas fell to the ground.

A loud cracking sound tore the air followed almost immediately by another… and another… and another.  Gimli’s mouth fell open when one of the trees leaned forward dangerously.  Its trunk bowed outward until one side of it splintered into long, jagged strips.  Surely it was going to fall!  Gimli did not understand.  What was happening was not possible – trees did not come alive! – but he could not deny what his eyes saw.

The Men had realized what was happening, too.  Most of them were backing away from the edge of the forest with some urgency, and some of them broke into a run when the first tree groaned and leaned forward.  The Men who had cut Legolas from the tree were pulling him along the ground as they went.  It was no wonder they had to, Gimli realized; the Elf’s hands and feet were tied, making it impossible for him to walk on his own.

And at long last Gimli saw Sam, who was being dragged away by a tall, hard-faced Man.  Gimli’s heart leapt with joy, but that joy was short-lived.  The sight of the first tree hitting the ground followed quickly by another was enough to send his thoughts and feelings into a commotion.

“Help!” someone suddenly shrieked.  “Help me!”  It was a lone Man who remained near the eaves of the wood, hobbling away as fast as he could manage, which was not very fast.

“Move, Whit!” one of the Men shouted.

The Man called Whit stumbled and fell when another tree fell dangerously close to him.  Some of the Men shouted at him out of fear, but none of them tried to aid him.  Whit was scuttling backwards on his hands and feet, but Gimli saw that he was too late.  The hobbits gasped and reflexively looked away when one of the trees crushed him to the earth.  Gimli did not look away, and he saw one of the dogs meet its end in a similar fashion.  The other two darted between the toppling trees and fled into the forest.

The rest of the Men were clear of danger by now, but they kept backing up until they were much closer to the edge of the cliff than the fallen trees.  Slowly the trees’ motions abated, and the sounds of creaking and groaning grew less until the only sound left was that of the wind in their bare branches.

Gimli drew a long breath.

“Whit!” called the Man holding Sam called.  There was no reply, and he called again.

He won’t answer, Gimli thought.  Not now, not ever.  And if these Men have injured our companions, then good riddance to him!

A skinny, ratty-looking fellow spoke, but Gimli could not make out his words.  Sam’s captor’s answer, though, he could hear plainly.  “Hang Whit!”  The Man suddenly thrust Sam into another Man’s arms, strode over to where Legolas’ guards were holding him, and struck him hard.

“Oh!” Pippin cried softly.

“Down!” the Man ordered, and suddenly a group of his fellows were grasping at Legolas, pushing him to the ground.  The first Man called to another by the name of Dorlic, and the one he had summoned came to his side.  There was a long pause in which Gimli could hear only the wind.  And then, without warning, most of the group burst into raucous laughter.  Some of them slapped each other on the back.

“Did either of you hear any of that?” said Gandalf, turning to Merry and Pippin.

The hobbits exchanged uncertain glances.  “I’m not sure,” said Merry.  “Something about… he said he didn’t care about something.  I’m sorry; I couldn’t catch any more.”

Silence fell over the Fellowship.  Gimli felt a sense of foreboding as he watched Dorlic argue with the first Man.  Whatever they were fighting about, Gimli was certain of two things: the first Man was the leader of the group, and Dorlic was not happy about something.

The leader’s voice finally rose at the end of the argument, and every eye in the company turned to Merry and Pippin.  “‘And leave the rest to me’,” said Pippin.  “That’s what he said.”

To Gimli’s surprise, a group of the Men were leaving, walking in the direction of the forest – the leader, a very large Man, and two others.  The Men following the leader did not look eager to enter the trees, but they went.

“What’s going on?” said Frodo.

“I do not know,” said Gandalf, but he sounded uneasy.

“Look – there are only four Men staying behind,” said Boromir.  “Four have departed, and the fifth was felled by that tree.  That makes only nine altogether.  Where is the tenth?”

No one answered him.  No one knew the answer.

Three of the remaining Men were clustered around Legolas on the ground.  The fourth Man was the one that the leader had given Sam to; he was squatting several feet from the others with both arms wrapped around Sam.

Suddenly the Man called Dorlic shouted and lurched away from Legolas.  The other two Men quickly did the same, and Legolas propelled himself to his knees.  He was quick, but so were the Men; one of them, a thickset fellow, seized a branch from the ground and swung it around.  The Fellowship gasped as one when it caught Legolas in the head and sent him sprawling.  But Legolas was not conquered yet, and the Men jerked and weaved in their struggle to hold him down.

An unexpected shout from Sam cut through the noise of the wind.  “No!  Fiends!  Stop it, you monsters!  No!”

There was not a face in the company that did not pale.  Gimli found himself exchanging startled glances with Boromir.  The hobbits sat up on their heels, straining to see Legolas, but it was impossible to catch a glimpse of him.  The cliff on the far side of the river was higher than the one on which the Fellowship knelt.

 “What are they doing to him?” Merry cried softly.

One of the Men jerked away from Legolas again, shouting angrily.  An instant later he was pummeling his prisoner with one fist.  Gimli’s stomach did a slow somersault.

Sam continued to shout.  His voice was tinged with fear as much as rage.  “Stop it!  You cowards!  Stop it!”

Gimli heard Dorlic’s next words clearly.  “Shut him up, Hoddis!”  Hoddis clapped a hand over Sam’s mouth, but Sam was undaunted.  He struggled in the Man’s arms like a wild animal.

“They’re going to hurt them!” Pippin cried.

Gimli looked at the hobbit’s fearful expression.  Tears had sprung to his eyes, making him look even younger than usual.  Gimli was almost surprised to feel his own throat constricting.  Almost surprised – but not quite.  He had never thought to feel pity for an Elf, but Legolas did not seem like just any Elf anymore; unlike most, he was neither nameless nor faceless to Gimli, and the others’ concern for him softened his heart.  Sam certainly cared about what befell Legolas; his mouth was still covered, but his struggles continued.

Dorlic suddenly hefted a knife, and his fellows laughed.  Gimli’s hand clenched into a fist.

Hoddis uncovered Sam’s mouth in favor of holding him still, and Sam’s voice immediately became audible again.  His threats had turned to desperate petitions.  “Stop it!” he cried.  “Don’t!  Please!”

Gandalf turned to look at the others’ ashen faces.  “Don’t watch,” he said heavily, directing his words at the hobbits.

“We have to do something!” said Merry.  “We can’t let them…!”

“There is nothing that we can do,” said Gandalf.  “We cannot reach them.”

“You can stop them!” said Pippin, grasping at Gandalf’s voluminous sleeve with one hand.  “Wave your staff!  Make lightning!  Turn them into rats!”

Gandalf hesitated, and Gimli could see the conflict on his face as he looked between the far side of the river and Frodo.  “I cannot,” he said.  “It is not as simple as you think.  Doing such a thing with my power would be like a beacon for the Dark Lord.”

“But something terrible is going to happen!” cried Pippin.

“I cannot,” Gandalf repeated, and he sounded very, very old.  “The Quest before all else.”

Merry let out a shuddering breath.  Frodo took his hand in his own, but his wide eyes continued to stare at the scene on the other side of the river.  “I never thought….” he said, trailing off and wetting his lips nervously.

Gimli felt like Frodo looked.  He was by turns sickened and horribly riveted by the events unfolding before him.  He did not want to see anyone being tortured, but he could not tear his eyes away.

“Watch out, Sam!” Frodo gasped.  Hoddis had let go of Sam and raised his arm.  Sam spun to face him but was too late to stop the Man from striking him hard on the side of his head.  He staggered, fell to the ground, and lay unmoving.  Frodo’s face went white.

“We must do something!” Boromir growled.  “We cannot abandon them to this fate!”

“I can do something,” said Aragorn, and he reached around to pull his bow off his back.

“What are you doing?” said Gandalf, alarmed.

“I am going to shoot these Men!” Aragorn replied sharply.

Gandalf hesitated again, and Gimli suddenly found himself feeling sympathy for the wizard.  It could not be easy, he thought, to be in Gandalf’s position.  Gimli knew what his objection was going to be.

“Your greatest skill lies in the sword, not the bow,” said Gandalf.  “Can you hit all four of them at this distance, and quickly?  We cannot afford to let them run for the woods.”

“I do not need to hit all four of them.  If I can kill one or two, then Legolas will fell the others.  They will have no chance to run, and I can shoot them while they are down.  I am certain of it!”

“Too late!” said Boromir, interrupting them.

Gimli looked where Boromir pointed.  Sam had risen to his feet and was walking backwards, one careful step at a time.  The Man that had been guarding him was now with the others around Legolas, helping them subdue him.  Bent over their prey, all four of them seemed oblivious to Sam’s movements.  Sam kept his eyes on them as he backed away.

“What is he doing?” Merry whispered.

Aragorn grimaced in irritation.  He strung his bow and drew an arrow, but he did not nock it.  Gimli knew why the Ranger did not act, and why he was discontented.  Now that Sam was in motion, he did not dare call the Men’s attention away from what they were doing.  Any one of them could fall on Sam before Aragorn could fire a shot.

Sam was more than twenty feet away from the Men when he stepped on an uneven patch of ground, staggered, and nearly fell.  Gimli slumped in relief when he managed to keep his balance.  He could hear Boromir and the hobbits exhaling slowly.

The Men around Legolas swayed as the Elf rocked them with another effort to rise.  “Get his ankles!  Hold him down!” Dorlic shouted.

Sam waited, frozen, while the Men regained their balance.  Gimli squeezed one hand into a fist.  Every muscle in his body reflected his tension.  Move, hobbit! he thought violently.  Move!

And at last, after what seemed like an eternity, Sam moved.  He turned back to the object he had nearly tripped over and bent down.  Gimli had thought that he had stepped on some snow-covered rock, but when Sam picked something up off the ground, he saw that he had been wrong.  It was a pack, and Sam was standing in front of a small pile of them.

“Hurry up, Samwise!” Gandalf said under his breath.

Sam abruptly set the pack back down.  Gimli could have screamed for frustration.  It was pure luck that none of the Men had looked in the hobbit’s direction yet, and that luck could turn at any moment.

Sam began rummaging through the packs, one after another.  Gimli could not imagine what he was doing.  Why was he not running?  Did he think he could somehow prevent what the Men were going to do?  If he could, Gimli did not see how.

Everything suddenly became clear when Sam straightened and thrust a dagger behind his belt.  Gimli recognized it as like to the blades that Merry and Pippin carried.  Sam’s wrists had separated from each other; he had cut the cords on his hands.  Gimli held his breath, waiting for the hobbit to do something.  But Sam still did not move; he stood unmoving, watching the Men.  The entire company stared at him in bewilderment.  What was he doing?  He was going to be seen!

It seemed an age before Sam suddenly turned back to the pile of packs and fairly collapsed on them.  Gone were his slow, careful movements; now he seemed to be moving as fast as he possibly could.  When he leapt to his feet again, there was a long, white knife in each of his hands.  Legolas’ knives. 

“We’ve got him!” one of the Men shouted.  “Hold his feet, Hoddis!”

Grunts of laughter sounded, followed by a statement that was unintelligible to Gimli’s ears.  Silver flashed as Dorlic waved his dagger again.  Gimli could not tell if he had done anything with it – the other Men blocked much of his view – but a roar of approbation suddenly rose from the four of them.  Aragorn hissed, and in one smooth movement he had fitted an arrow to his bowstring and drawn it to his cheek.

A split second later, Sam launched himself at one of the Men with an almost feral yell.  It happened so quickly that it took Gimli a moment to register the fact that the hobbit had buried one of Legolas’ blades in the nearest Man’s back.

The heads of the other three Men snapped up to look at their companion, who was staring openmouthed at nothing, blinded by pain.  He let out a wail of agony and slumped sideways, and Dorlic and Hoddis jerked back in shock.  The third reached out to catch the wounded Man as he fell.

“Jakov!” one of them cried.

There was a sudden flash of movement, and the Man who had caught Jakov was flying backward through the air.  Another flash, and a spray of snow and gravel flew into Hoddis’ eyes.  He threw up his hands to protect his face and staggered away from the group, howling.  The last untouched Man was Dorlic; he bellowed with rage, unsheathed his sword, and raised it high over his head.

With three of the Men down, Gimli could plainly see Legolas on the ground.  The Elf rolled as Dorlic brought the sword sweeping down and was out of its path before it struck home.  He twisted, kicking out with his bound feet, and the Man went down, limbs flailing.

“Sam!” Legolas shouted.  “Free me!”

Sam had been staring at the scene, every bit as hypnotized as the watching company across the river, and he gave a start when Legolas called his name.  He tottered toward the Elf as if his limbs but not his mind had understood the command.  Behind them, the two Men that Legolas had kicked were rising to their feet, snarling.  Jakov was moaning from where he lay on the ground.

Legolas rose to his knees and stretched his bound hands before him.  Sam seized the knotted cord and hastily began to slice at it with the one knife he still held.

“Quickly!” said Legolas.

Dorlic groped for his fallen sword.  The nameless Man was rushing forward, drawing a knife from his own belt as he came.  Sam looked up, saw them approaching, and let out a panicked cry.

Quick as thought, Legolas pulled his hands out from beneath Sam’s knife and spun on his knees to face the oncoming Men.  At just the right moment he kicked out again, catching the one who gripped the dagger in the knees.  Dorlic shouted and swung his sword, but his aim was wild and Legolas ducked the blow.  Dorlic staggered as the force of his swing carried him sideways, and Legolas was instantly upright, balancing on his two bound feet.  He threw himself elbow-first into the Man’s side, and Dorlic grunted and went down.  Legolas dropped to his knees and thrust out his hands again.  “Finish it, Sam!” he cried.

Gimli’s heart climbed into his throat as Sam frantically began sawing anew.  Already the two Men were rising, lurching slightly but clearly determined to fight.  And Hoddis, who had received the faceful of grit, was wiping his eyes and pushing himself up off the ground.

Abruptly Legolas brought his arms apart in one triumphant movement.  He reached off to his left where Jakov lay and wrenched the knife from the Man’s back before Gimli could so much as blink.  Pippin yelped, Jakov screamed and Legolas brought the knife arcing down to the bonds on his own ankles.

And even as the three Men fell upon him, Legolas was free.  He leapt upright, striking out with his knife as he gained his feet.  One of the Men shrieked and fell, clutching his middle; the other two backed up a few paces, stepping warily.  Sam stood as if utterly dumbstruck; he did not even seem to notice when Legolas reached out and plucked the second knife from his fist.

Hoddis struck first, lashing out with one flailing blade.  Legolas stepped aside and parried the flickering thrust almost casually, rotating his body and lifting one arm high as the Man staggered past him.  With a gurgling scream, Hoddis dropped his blade and clutched at his neck.  Gimli could see blood gushing between his fingers.

“Oh!”  Merry gasped in horror and hid his eyes behind his hands.

Only Dorlic was left, and the fall of his fellows had made him wary.  For the moment he was keeping his distance.  Never taking his eyes from his opponent, Legolas reached back with one hand and gently pushed Sam away, taking care not to cut him with his knife.  Sam stumbled backwards a few feet and stopped.

Dorlic seemed to be waiting for Legolas to make the first move, but the Elf only stood at the ready once he had moved Sam out of harm’s way.  When he realized that Legolas was not going to come to him, Dorlic’s face twisted in anger.  He finally let out a roar and lunged.

Legolas pivoted on one foot, deflecting Dorlic’s sword while letting the Man’s momentum carry him forward.  His right hand flew up, preparing to strike while Dorlic was still reeling, but the Man regained his footing with a speed that belied his clumsy move and raised his sword in time to block.  Dorlic did better on his second attempt, keeping his wrath in check well enough to avoid repeating Hoddis’ fatal mistake.

It did not take long for Gimli to judge that Legolas was the better of the two fighters.  He was throwing his all into the fight, but there remained an element of fluidity in every thrust and parry.  Dorlic’s motions were not so refined, resulting in wasted energy.  His snarls and grimaces conveyed pure hatred.  Legolas plainly returned the sentiment, but his loathing was frozen where Dorlic’s burned.

Dorlic abruptly became frustrated with his inability to reach Legolas and threw himself forward, blade-first.  It was a tactic that Gimli had seen before; attackers sometimes launched an all-out assault in the hopes of crushing their opponents under the sheer speed and force of their blows.  Legolas swiftly moved backwards, deflecting the slashes.  Thwarted, Dorlic lashed out with his sword only to find that the Elf had stepped out of the way again, and just like that the Man found himself on the defensive.  Legolas strode forward purposefully, his face utterly pitiless.  Now Dorlic was the one backing up, and it was all he could do to keep his foe from him.

Dorlic’s boot heel suddenly caught on something, but Gimli could not tell what.  He wobbled for a moment, panic plain on his face, and fell backwards.  Legolas pounced, and the Man let out one horrible shriek.  Gimli did not actually see the killing blow, but when Legolas turned away, Dorlic did not rise again.

Legolas regarded his fallen enemy for a brief moment before another moan from Jakov turned him around.  The Man was grasping at the rocky ground with one hand and trying to crawl away from the scene of the battle.  His face was turned upriver, and he did not see Legolas coming toward him with quick strides.  It was well for him, Gimli thought, that he did not see Legolas’ approach.  The sight of that severe being drawing near would have set the Man to wailing in terror.

The hobbits had seen enough by then to know what was coming, and all three of them closed their eyes when Legolas crouched beside Jakov and turned him over.  It happened so quickly that Gimli only knew Jakov was dead by the sudden lack of moaning.  Legolas rose again and gazed down at the Man.  Whether it was contempt or sickened regret on his face, Gimli could not tell.  The gorge suddenly seemed very quiet.

Legolas turned his eyes away from Jakov and onto Sam.  Sam gazed back at him, white-faced.  In an instant Legolas had crossed the distance between them and dropped into a crouch.  He set his bloodstained knives on the ground beside him and took the hobbit by the arms.

Sam’s wide eyes slid past Legolas’ left shoulder.  Gimli thought he was looking at Jakov.

Legolas’ hands moved to either side of Sam’s face, forcing the hobbit to look at him.  His lips formed words that Gimli could not hear.  Sam only stared, seemingly paralyzed.

Suddenly Legolas looked toward the trees.  An instant later he threw himself sideways on top of the hobbit, and an arrow whistled through the space where they had been.  A Man stepped out from the eaves of the forest, already drawing a second arrow from the quiver on his back.

Legolas leapt to his feet, pulling Sam with him as he rose.  He hesitated only a moment to scoop his knives up off the ground before grabbing Sam’s hand, and the two of them began to run upriver along the clifftop.

They had not gone more than thirty feet when Legolas changed direction, his feet skidding on the gritty stone.  Gimli immediately saw why: another of the Men, also armed with bow and arrow, had emerged from the trees and was taking aim.

Sam and Legolas began to run, only to stop again when two more Men appeared with arrows drawn to nock.  They advanced but a little, keeping their arrows trained on their quarry.  Cornered, Legolas pushed Sam behind him and began to back up toward the edge of the cliff.

“Don’t be foolish!” the leader shouted.

Sam and Legolas continued to retreat.  Gimli’s insides felt leaden.  Where now will they go? he wondered hopelessly.  There was nowhere else to turn; whether they tried to flee upstream or down, they would only be shot in the back.

“There is nowhere to run,” called the leader.  He relaxed his bowstring slightly but did not lower the weapon.  “You can still gain something by giving yourself up.  If you do so – now – I will grant the Halfling a swift and painless death.”

“What is your word to me?” Legolas spat.  “Truth does not grace your tongue!  We will not give ourselves over to you!”

“You will both perish!”

“Can you speak naught but lies?  We are of no use to you dead!”

By this time Sam and Legolas had stopped, being very near to the edge of the cliff.  Sam was looking nervously over his shoulder; there was only a short span of solid ground left behind his feet.

“All you can do is decide in what manner the Halfling will meet his fate,” said the Man.  “If you do not surrender now, he will curse your name with his last breath!”

Gimli and Boromir exchanged a startled look.  Why did the Man want Sam alive so badly?  Gimli could only think of one reason for one such to be interested in hobbits.  Cold anger bubbled up inside him and he squeezed his axe handle to give it an outlet.  His companions had been in the hands of agents of the Enemy!

Legolas did not respond immediately, and the leader smiled, thinking he was succeeding to persuade.  He could not see Sam behind Legolas’ back, tugging on the Elf’s arm.  Gimli could see the hobbit’s lips moving.

Legolas reached for Sam’s hand with his own and pressed it.  To the horror of everyone in the Fellowship, the two of them slowly began walking forward again.

“No!” Frodo whispered.  “They can’t!”

Aragorn seemed to agree.  His bowstring creaked as he drew his arrow to his cheek again.

The leader could not suppress an eager smile when Sam and Legolas stopped moving.  Gimli blinked in confusion when outrage suddenly flashed across the Man’s face, wiping the smile away.  Had Legolas said something to him?  He drew his bow again as if to fire, but Legolas whirled, scooped up Sam in his arms, ran to the edge of the cliff – and leapt off.

Sam and Legolas seemed to take forever to fall.  Gimli could feel his heart pounding hard against his ribcage, but the pulses seemed to be too far apart.  The Elf is mad! he thought wildly.  They will never survive the drop!

Sam and Legolas hit the river far below with a great splash, and Gimli felt a sudden jolt of hope when he saw that they had fallen into a wide basin of water.  A pool, he thought.  There was a pool.  Pools are deep.

“N-mmmph!”  Merry’s shout of fear was quickly muffled by Gandalf’s hand.

“Where are they?” Pippin asked frantically, trying to see over the brush.  “I can’t see them!”

“Be quiet, foolish hobbits!”

The Men across the river were making plenty of noise.  The leader was unmistakably shouting, “Find them!  Shoot them!”  Gimli looked back to the pool but he could not see Sam or Legolas anywhere.  Only the agitated surface of the water marked where they had been.

Aragorn, who was cautiously peering over the edge, suddenly held up a hand.  “Wait a moment.”  The three hobbits turned fearful eyes upon him and waited, scarcely seeming to breathe.  Gimli did not think that he was breathing either; the wait for Aragorn to speak again seemed interminable.

At last the Ranger’s hand fluttered excitedly.  “Yes – I see them!”

Sighs of relief sounded from all in the company, but their relief was short-lived.  The Men had apparently seen Sam and Legolas, too.  The leader fairly shrieked with rage.

“There they are!  Shoot them!  Shoot them!”

Gimli looked across to the other cliff.  The four Men were clustered at the edge, firing arrows downstream.

“Kill them!” the leader screamed.

Gimli tasted bile.

“What’s happening?” Frodo whispered desperately.  “Are they alive?”

“They have gone under again,” said Boromir.

“Have they been hit?” said Merry, who was holding on to Pippin so tightly that his knuckles were white.  Pippin seemed to be clinging to Merry just as hard.

“I cannot tell!” said Aragorn.  “Wait – I see – it is Sam.  He has resurfaced!”

Frodo let out a choked sob.  Merry and Pippin’s faces broke into twin smiles.

But Gimli could not feel easy just yet.  “What about Legolas?” he interjected.

The hobbits’ smiles slipped.

“He is a far better swimmer than Sam,” said Aragorn.  “We cannot despair of him yet.”

Gimli furrowed his brow.  Aragorn had hesitated for a moment before replying.  “But you did see them both?  Before they sank?”

“Yes,” said Aragorn, never looking away from the river.  Gimli could not see what he saw; he was not tall enough to see much more of the river than the pool, and Aragorn and Gandalf were blocking the rest of the view.

A sudden cry drifted up out of the gorge.  Between the echo, the wind, and the shouting Men, Gimli could not tell what it was, but apparently Merry and Pippin could.  “It’s Sam!” said Merry.

The cry sounded again.

“What is he saying?” Boromir asked impatiently.

“He is calling Legolas’ name,” said Pippin.

“We have tarried too long,” said Aragorn.  “We must go down to them!”

“Yes!” said Frodo.  “He’ll never get out of the river on his own!”  He put forth a hand to the tough limb of one of the bushes to aid himself in rising.

The limb snapped.  Frodo staggered sideways into the bush before Gandalf could catch him.  The forward motion of the sere plants disturbed some loose rocks, which scraped across the ground and dropped out of sight.  For three long heartbeats Gimli heard nothing, but then a loud clatter sounded as they struck a boulder below.

The Fellowship froze.  Frodo stood motionless in Gandalf’s grip, looking shocked.  The Men had stopped shouting.  For a long moment all was quiet, save for the wind and Sam’s voice far below.

“Strangers!” the leader suddenly cried.  A hiss sounded in the air above Gimli’s head, followed quickly by another.

“Go, Boromir!” cried Gandalf.  “Into the gap!”

Boromir sprang into motion without bothering to reply.  He slithered backwards across the ground, taking care to stay low, and entered the rift feet-first.  Arrows whined through the air, some of them striking the clifftop in front of the bushes with sharp clacks.  Gimli followed Boromir to the path, crouching.  The Man was descending with all possible speed, jumping down the incline more than stepping down it.

Gimli fairly threw himself into the crevice.  He climbed down from the clifftop as fast as he could, nearly falling more than once.  When his feet reached the slope of debris the wet leaves betrayed his balance and he toppled backwards onto his seat.  A moment later he was sliding away, following Boromir.  He had gone more than twenty feet down before he was able to stop his uncontrolled motion.  A loud “Whoa!” sounded behind him as Merry reached the incline and promptly lost his footing.  Gimli braced himself in preparation for an impact from behind, but Merry managed to catch himself just in time to prevent a collision.

Boromir had already untied Bill’s lead rope when Gimli reached the canyon floor.  Gimli hurried to the bole of a tree, pressed himself against it, and peered around it with one eye in the direction of the cliff across the river.  The Men were leaving, running downstream along the top of the cliff.

Gimli did not have to wait long before Aragorn came up behind him.  As the first of the Fellowship to ascend the cliff, he had been the last to descend it.  Everyone had to have flown down the passage for him to be on the ground already.  “What do you see?” he asked anxiously.

“The Men are chasing them downriver,” Gimli replied.  “I don’t think they have given up on trying to shoot them!”

“Hurry!” said Gandalf, who was already stepping through the boulders, holding his robes away from his feet.  “I saw their leader’s face; he may not know who we are, but he guesses that we are known to Sam and Legolas.  He means to race us to them!”

“But he’s got such a headstart!” said Pippin.

“Maybe,” said Gandalf, “but he and his Men are still atop their cliff.  Let us hope that the walls continue as they have, and that they do not find an easy way down.  They cannot hold our Fellowship hostage if they cannot reach it!”

“I hope Legolas comes back up!” said Merry.  “Sam can’t swim!”  Gimli needed no reminding of that fact; the hobbits had agonized over it long enough on the first day after the flood.

The Fellowship navigated the boulders and fallen trees as quickly as they could until they reached the clearer edge of the river.  From there everyone broke out into a run, each moving as swiftly as he could without regard to the others.  Gandalf no longer seemed worried about being seen; after all, the Fellowship had already been spotted.  No one seemed to care that they might be presenting an easy target for the Men above.  For Gimli’s part, he suspected that Gandalf was right.  He had seen the leader’s face, too.  That Man did not like losing what he had thought to be firmly in his grasp.  The Fellowship was likely safe from him for the moment, but only until he had regained, destroyed, or given up on his prize.

 Gimli did not know how Sam and Legolas had escaped the river the last time, but he was fairly sure that it had been all Legolas’ doing.  Now they were back in the river again, and Legolas was apparently nowhere to be seen.  Now is the time for a show of that strength you constantly boast of, Elf! thought Gimli.  He found himself raising his thoughts in prayer as he went.  He has acquitted himself well so far.  If he can only pull himself away from the brink one last time – and Sam with him – then I will tell him so myself.

And he ran.