The first foggy thought that came to Legolas upon awakening was that the rain was coming in sideways, and he was chillingly soaked through to the bone.
        Attempting to move slightly so to ease his growing discomfort, the Silvan elf found he couldn’t. In fact, now he thought about it, he couldn’t move much at all.
        Alarm flew into Legolas’ mind as his grey eyes snapped open and he looked about wildly, taking in the darkening scene around him.
        It was then that he realised that this wasn’t the peacefully sheltered grove he had hoped for. Nor was it the rain that was assaulting him.
        Everywhere there was water. A whole raging river of it, flowing rapidly over rocks and stones, consuming everything it ran by. And what was worse was that he was stuck in the midst of it.
        Sitting up from the damp and muddy haven his head had miraculously come to rest on a small time before, Legolas stifled a gasp of pain. His ribs were throbbing immensely, and each breath anew, stung enough to make him dizzy.
        I must have fared worse than I thought in my little tussle with the rocks, frowned the elf, as he examined the tender area more closely. Nearly the entire right side of his torso was painted lividly with black and purple bruises, which were yellowing slightly around the bounds.
        Probing the area gently, so as to examine for broken bones, the young prince winced as he felt the disturbingly sharp stab of confirmation he had not relished to find.
        As accurately as he could tell from his quick scrutiny, few bones had been damaged. Nevertheless, this was enough.
        Though whether they were broken or cracked, he could not yet tell, as this would mean further investigation. And Legolas had decided that his current amount of information was distressing, and painful, enough.
        Quickly assessing his dire situation, the elven prince grew to dislike it more, as he discovered the reason he could not move.
        A large grey rock lay doomfully across his right thigh, and with curiosity it were that Legolas wondered why he had not noticed it there earlier. For it was certainly not hard to miss. But in such a situation the elf found he had reason for excuse.
        So, for quite a while it were that the prince attempted to push the rock from him, as he was not oblivious to the still rising level of the ford, or the pelting rain. But with each reinforced attempt came a fresh onslaught of protest from his already suffering ribs.
        With growing frustration and annoyance, the poor elf tried again many a time, though to no avail. For his already meagrely nourished stomach, became less sustained still, and it were for this reason among a few others, that his strength now ebbed dangerously.
        The perplexed and worried elf fell back wearily, coming to rest his head against the icy pillow of the bank, only to find his head sinking more and more underneath the water, and the bank not there.
        Twisting painfully, Legolas suppressed a fearful intake of breath, as he felt for what had not long ago been a muddy and flat riverbank.
        The elf was shocked.
        This river is rising much too quickly for my liking. Should I stay trapped under this shackle, I shall surely drown.
        And it were just after thinking this, that the fair elf began to shiver. Tiny tremors at first, though growing bigger as the chilly water level rose. But these tremors were not only cause from cold. For an elves ability to withstand extreme temperatures is impressive. But however, when shock sets in, one is just as vulnerable as the next.

        Gimli was worried.
        Legolas had not yet returned from his bid to collect firewood. And though the stout dwarf was not one to doubt the woodly abilities of his elven friend, much time had come to pass since he had left. And since the conditions were not exactly what one would call normal, Gimli could therefore not pull his mind from the deep foreboding feeling now overpowering his gut.
        Every now and then, when an out of context sound was heard from inside the camp, the distressed dwarf would cast a hasty, searching glance toward the edge of the reach of the meagre light.
        All the while, observing these antics with an equally troubled expression, Aragorn sat on the opposite side of the tiny fire, cleaning his elven blade.
        For the past few hours the ranger had watched the character of the stocky dwarf move from his usual mildly irritated personality, to a hostile, and even wildly infuriated air.
        True, Aragorn was worried himself. But he was confident that the young elven prince was still searching for the fire-feeding produce. Or was he?
        I am much confused myself, thought the rough and travel tousled human. This sort of belatedness is not like Legolas at all, and of all of us he is much renowned for his speed and agility in such things. For even the disorganised Pippin could have found at least three loads of dry wood by now. And this was what Aragorn was most worried about. For if Legolas could have been beaten by the foolish young Took, there must surely be something greatly wrong.
        Finally about to voice his concern, the son of Arathorn was beaten to the chase by Gimli's rushed words.
        "Legolas has been gone too long, Aragorn. Even I could have found something of use by now. I fear something may be wrong."
        Aragorn looked up, and met Gimli's glittering eyes. The look he directed could have versed a thousand words, and slowly, with seemingly great thoughtfulness he stood up.
        Almost immediately, the dwarf also jumped to his feet in understanding, and collected his close to useless axe from its sling. Lastly, Gimli gathered a small amount of pipe weed and his pipe. For lighting it up both slightly dulled his aching worries, and provided a tiny amount of wan light, enough so to prevent one from falling.
        Moving towards the uncovered edge of the sheltering crop of trees, the dwarf shot a questioning glance toward the ranger, then took a puff of his pipe, and set off.
        With an all the while ignored nod, Aragorn gathered up his gleaming silver blade and sheathed it. One never knew when such a thing was needed.
        Following after the short dwarf, the gruff ranger caught up to him in a few, short strides. And after walking a small way, the duo arrived at a large and broadening area.
        "Shall we search together or alone, friend? Searching in two places at once is faster, but twice the eyes are sharper for seeing." Gimli looked around, though in the escaping light much could not be seen. And under his breath he muttered, "Especially in this accursed weather, where one could drown before he even takes a breath." Though Aragorn did not hear him, and the dwarf had no idea how true his last words could well be.
        After a minute moment of contemplation, Aragorn answered with wisdom.
        "Separate should be faster I think. And in any case, if Legolas does happen to be in such trouble, our chances of finding him shall be greater."
        He paused. "I will meet you back here in an hour. If you do not arrive either, I will be forced to drag the both of you back to camp." This he added with a wry grin. Though Gimli failed to see the humour.
        And so with a deep sigh it were that the two departed company in the downpour of pelting rain embarking on a search for their elusive companion.

        The light grew ever darker as Legolas sat awkwardly, cradling his frozen body and nurturing his injured ribs.
        The rain here seemed never ending, and the prince was sure he'd never see the last of it.
        Freezing, and nearly numb though he was, Legolas could feel the icy water rise more with each passing moment, and each time it rose, his heart would jump just that little bit more. For the depth reached just under his chin now, and the rest of his body sat immersed in the hypothermic liquid.
        The elf was growing more and more weary, and simple a task though it seemed, keeping his head about the choppy water was becoming a tiring chore.
        Then he spotted the light. Not very bright yet, but almost certainly there. A vague silhouette formed slowly as the thing appeared to move closer.
        It's height was short, and it's build stocky. Legolas caught glimpses of what seemed to be a bright and coarse red beard. The light then, was most unquestionably a pipe. This could mean only one possibility to the weary elf.
        Gimli!
        He said it first in his head, almost unbelieving.
        But just as the prince had opened his mouth to form the words he so needed to say on the tip of his tongue, a huge swell of water caught him head on, pushing him painfully beneath the almost glacial surface of the water. Choking him, gagging him.
        Legolas felt the compulsive need to retch, both from the violent pressure on his lungs, and the stark, cutting pain in his sides. And after suppressing this though, his vision began to fog. And just as he was about to surrender to the oppressive darkness surrounding his vision, the clarity of thought somehow returned to him, with which all panic fled.
        And one thing only ran through his mind.
        I cannot give up. I am an elf…What would Gimli think?
        It was with this that Legolas slowly but progressively pushed himself out from underneath the waters blurry surface.
        Though if the young elf thought he would surely be allowed the solace of rest, he was to be wrong. For in the last few moments of his struggle, or in the wash out that he had suffered only a short while beforehand, the water's level had risen yet again.
        Just under his nose now, the water threatened him constantly. Though, if he were to be saved on this darkening, and harrowing nigh, his voice would surely be required.
        Sending a quick prayer to those above, and mustering up the nearly last of his strength, the elf stretched himself excruciatingly upwards, so as to have more time above the waters plane, and to voice his need for help.

        His hour was nearly up, and though his pipe was still alight and trying to subdue his alarmed frame of mind, it was now doing little to ease his stress.
        Coming out of the forest and moving warily along the roaring water's edge, Gimli searched high and low for any signs of his evasive friend.
        A slight bobbing object not far off caught the red bearded dwarf's eye. And as he wandered off to investigate what appeared to be a curved and saturated log, he missed the splashing arms, and wide eyed half-immersed face of the pale and suffocating elf.
        Confirming it were indeed a log. Gimli decided it were probably time to move off, as Aragorn would get worried.
        The dwarf felt himself fall deeper into a sorrow. Something was surely wrong, and there was nothing that could be done until decent light returned, and this storm let up.
        Distressed, Gimli headed back toward the camp.

        Legolas was cursed.
        He just simply couldn't find any other explanation for it.
        Here he was, just about to drown, or die of hypothermia from this loathsome water and his friend, probably out looking for him had done the exact opposite.
        He had overlooked him.
        And if Gimli had felt that he was in sorrow, it was nothing against that which the young prince was feeling. Panic had not set in until just now, but at this moment, all feelings mixed together vividly in his tired mind. And Legolas felt the need to cry or scream from all of them being so pent up, though it would help him little in his current situation.
        Am I, an immortal prince of Mirkwood, and proud son of Thranduil to die all for firewood? I shall surely laugh at this in my next life!
        And as his thoughts drifted off into an ironically muddled and confused haze, the choppy water rose and fell even more, finally giving Legolas the moment he'd been waiting for…

        The two met again with much sadness and worry as the evidence of their lack of results showed in their face, and in their anguished voices.
        "I fear that what I found is right here with me," spoke Aragorn sorrowfully. "Insufficient and empty"' he added, with unreadable downcast eyes.
        "My search was of such fruitless be-"
        "Quiet!" Hissed Aragorn suddenly, raising a finger to his lips in the wallowing light.
        "Wha…" Gimli trailed off as Aragorn directed an oddly wild look of concentration and hope toward him.
        Faint yelling could be heard in the distance, not loud, but breathy and toneless.
        Without so much as a hesitation, the two sprinted off, fumbling and stumbling in the dark gloom.

        The young prince was yelling. Yelling as loud as he could in the lowest parts between swells, though his voice was growing weak and empty from cold and abuse.
        Many a time he had been cut off by the rippling swells, which pushed themselves down his throat. Throttling him. But no longer did he need to bellow. For in the brush not far off he heard footsteps. Quiet at first, but increasing in volume fast.
        Quickly Gimli. You have already missed me once, and I don't if I can last any longer.
        After what seemed like many infinite minute, he at last he spotted them, sprinting out from among the shelter of the trees.
        And with a final shout from blue lips, and a waving of his hands he signalled as best as he could, then slipped exhaustedly beneath the waters surface. Eyes closing slowly, and arms trailing after him gracefully. Gradually falling toward the shingle and stones below.

        Ranger and dwarf sped straight into the torrential river. Wading hastily into the sector where they had last seen Legolas.
        Visibility was dim and almost none, for they did not possess elven sight, though find him they did after much tussling.
        Finding the problem against the elf's surfacing from the water, the duo heaved mightily against the manacled rock. Ever so gradually did it move, until at last the elf was freed, And ever so carefully, the two gathered the limp prince in their arms and pulled him to shore.