For a split second, Frodo stood staring, too stunned to move. Then, in a sudden burst that took even him by surprise, he screamed, "NO!" and sprung into action. He raced back to the river, eyes wide and terrified, wet hair whipping unnoticed in his face. "SAM!" he screamed as his eyes desperately scanned the surface of the swirling current. "SAM!!"
A slight movement caught his eye, and he spun quickly to see Sam floundering near the center of the river. The young hobbit couldn't quite get his head above the water, but his arms made enough commotion against the waves that Frodo was able to spot him.
"SAM!"
Without thinking, Frodo abandoned all sense of safety and leapt into the swirling current, swimming for all he was worth toward the young hobbit.
"Hang on, Sam, hang ON!" he sputtered.
Sam, who was still a considerable distance ahead of him, managed to raise his face above the water for a moment. He gave a choked sob, something that sounded like "Mommy!" before losing his battle completely and sinking out of sight beneath the waves.
"NOO!" the sob tore at Frodo's throat as tears streamed unnoticed among the raindrops on his face. "Oh, Sam, hang on! Hang on!!"
With that, he dove beneath the waves.
~ ~ ~
"Da!" Hamson cried as he and his brother slogged through the water-logged fields, desperately trying to keep up with their father. "Where are we going?"
Hamfast's reply drifted back over his shoulder, but he did not slow down.
"Mr. Frodo's out here somewhere, lads! We're going to meet Mr. Bilbo and go looking for him! Sam may be out here as well."
"Sam?" Halfred cried, picking up the pace a little. "What's *he* doing out here?"
"Looking for Frodo, would be my guess!" Hamfast called. "Step up, lads! This rain's not going to be stopping any time soon."
They rounded the corner and saw Bilbo standing by Bag End's back gate, cloak slung over his shoulder, his eyes anxious as he scanned the road.
"Mr. Bilbo!" Hamfast called, waving. Bilbo turned and spotted them, then hurried over to meet them.
"All right, let's go!" he said. "No time to waste!"
"Mr. Bilbo," Hamfast said as they began trekking towards the forest. "I think my Sam's already gone a'looking for Mr. Frodo. We may have to find him as well!"
Bilbo looked dismayed. "Samwise? Has he? I can't say it surprises me, but that makes for another one to worry about. Ah well! With any luck they'll be together. Come on!"
With that they disappeared into the forest.
~ ~ ~
The storm was abating.
The surface of the waters of the Brandywine began to calm, their maddened swirling growing smoother though the river continued to rush on, swollen from the rain. The wind whispered mournfully through the trees, but the gale of thunder and lightning had ceased.
The world stilled, and watched, and waited.
Suddenly, an explosion erupted at the banks of the muddy waters as two waterlogged hobbits burst forth.
Frodo coughed violently, one arm curled tight around Sam's chest as his other groped for the slippery mud of the shore. He found no purchase, and, weakened by his swimming, was unable to bodily pull himself and Sam onto the shore. He sobbed weakly, his hand clawing at the mud as they were swept further down the river. Sam…he had to help Sam. Frodo forced himself to focus, gazing further ahead. The river had washed out much of the bank, right up to the line of the trees, and ahead, several scraggly roots dangled into the river. Frodo grabbed at them as they passed, and managed to catch himself on one. He hauled Sam up between them, panting, "Okay, Sam, try and pull yourself up."
Silence answered him.
"Sam?"
Frodo looked into the young hobbit's face and gave a choked cry when he saw how blue it was. Sam…Sam wasn't breathing!
"NO!"
A new burst of energy swept through him, and in one movement, Frodo had shoved Sam up onto the muddy banks and was clambering up after him. He fell to his knees before the limp young hobbit, touching him with violently shaking hands.
"Sam, Sam," he sobbed. "Oh, please, Sam, don't leave me! Don't leave me, please, Sam, breathe! Breathe!!"
Sam didn't move.
"Elbereth, help me!" Frodo cried, and hoisted Sam up into his arms. "What do I do??"
Desperately he thought back to his days at Brandy Hall. Though most of the lads were good swimmers, there had been the occasional accident, and many close calls. Frodo wracked his brain, searching for something, anything, that could help him now, and suddenly recalled the time his cousin Tim had been nearly drowned. The lad had been caught underwater for almost five minutes when his foot had been snared in a tangle of branches. They'd dragged him onto the bank, lay him on his back, and pounded his chest until he coughed…
Frodo lowered Sam back to the ground and placed his hands over Sam's heart, praying he was doing the right thing.
"Please," he whispered again before pressing down, hard, once, twice, three times…
Sam thrashed quite suddenly, and began to cough and choke. Frodo hastily turned him onto his stomach so that Sam could rid his lungs of the water he'd swallowed. He lay a comforting hand on the lad's back as Sam coughed, choked, retched and coughed again, braced on his forearms. After an agonizing moment that seemed more like an eternity, he collapsed, his breathing shallow but steady; the horrid blue fading from his cheeks.
"Oh, thank Elbereth," Frodo breathed, and pulled Sam into his lap, hugging him close.
Sam coughed weakly a few more times, then stilled and went limp again. Frodo gasped, pulling away long enough to look into Sam's face. The lad was still breathing—at this Frodo heaved a sigh of relief—but then why wasn't he awake?
"Sam," he said gently. "Sam, wake up. We have to get out of here, Sam."
Nothing.
Fresh tears welled in Frodo's eyes as he cradled the child close to him. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, "please wake up. Please don't leave me, Sam."
Sam didn't move.
Frodo fought the urge to break down again. "Sam needs me," he whispered to himself. Cradling the child close to his chest to share some of his warmth, Frodo struggled to his feet and looked around blearily. He had no idea where he was, how was he supposed to—?
Suddenly, though, he recalled the ride to Bag End. They'd crossed the Brandywine, hadn't they? Frodo thought hard. Yes…the road went right over it. The bridge! Frodo knew he and Sam hadn't been swept that far—he'd have noticed, he was certain! So all he had to do was follow the river, and it should take him back to the Brandywine Bridge! From there he could find someone to help them.
He hurried as quickly as his weakened body would allow, staying a clear distance from the river but keeping it within his sight. Sam wasn't a heavy hobbit, but in Frodo's already weakened condition he began to weigh him down. After a time, spots of dark started swimming before Frodo's eyes, and he suddenly realized he was about to pass out from exhaustion.
No!
He shook his head violently. Sam wouldn't survive if Frodo couldn't get help to him quickly. The lad was breathing, but he was startlingly pale, and despite being cuddled close against Frodo's chest, he was beginning to tremble violently.
"Gotta get you out of these wet clothes, Sam," Frodo murmured as he walked, desperately trying to keep his feet. "Won't do for you to be this cold. That water was freezing, wasn't it Sam?" Keep talking, he told himself. Just keep talking, Frodo…
He stumbled, and dropped to his knees, the darkness finally winning over. He clutched Sam, his head bowed, as tears mingled with the rain on Frodo's cheeks and dropped onto Sam's. "Sam, oh Sam I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…"
He was faintly aware that the ground beneath him was no longer the tangle of brush and dead leaves the forest had been, but packed dirt. His mind wasn't able to register exactly what that meant, nor was it able to register the sound of hooves and the shout above the gentle patter of the rain. Darkness was closing in, and all Frodo could do was cling to Sam and cry weakly. He was falling, Sam was slipping from his grasp…this was the end.
The sounds of shouting filled the air.
Can't they be quiet? Frodo wondered, delusional.
Sam was taken from his arms, and at that Frodo nearly regained a shred of consciousness, but the darkness was too strong, too persistent…
Frodo passed out, unaware of the gentle hands that lifted him and Sam into a cart, wrapping them both in blankets, and of the voices calling out to one another, shouting for a healer.
They'd made it to the Brandywine Bridge.
* * *