Washing
The characters and settings in this story belong to Middle-earth Enterprises and not the author.
Barely a whisper of a crackle sounded under the elven-made heel of Legolas Greenleaf's boot as he slipped through the forests surrounding Rivendell. The late afternoon sun traced amber webs across the mossy paths and darkened barrows of the forest, and the elf could not keep from smiling. Barely two weeks had past since the destruction of the One Ring, and Master Frodo still slept. Fitful were his dreams, but his color had returned and that was always a good sign. While many of Saruman's forces still wandered the land, and much of Middle Earth was to be rebuilt, there would be time now with Sauron dead as dreams and the alliance of men, elves and dwarves strong once again. With all the turmoil they had been through in the past year, Legolas enjoyed his walks outside of the pristine walls of the elven home of Elrond. Amongst the ancient trees he could almost feel as if he still stood in his home forests, the song of the trees rising from their branches, the warm embrace of sweet good earth rising up to meet you, the chatter of the birds and …
He paused mid-step, his pointed ears pricking against the wind. No bird nor squirrel nor insect small spoke this afternoon, a disquieting feeling in the presence of so much peace. He dropped down, crouching as he slipped the clasp from his blade, inching it out of his sheath as he snuck forward. A rushing sound filled his ears as he followed a path of broken and bent twigs, spotting heavy footprints that had tramped down the forest grasses barely an hour ago. The rushing grew louder as he neared a small waterfall deeper in the woods, the damp earth showing clear sign of passage. Something nagged at him as he peered at the bootprint, jumping as he heard a familiar cry, deep and rumbling. His eyes widening suddenly, he stood and whipped around, calling out as he scanned the forest for his brother at arms. "Gimli! Gimli!"
"Ach, O'er here, lad!" Came the muffled reply in the direction of the stream.
Leaping like a fleeing hart, the elf hurdled a fallen tree, ducking and weaving under whip-like branches as he plunged through the forest, his dagger drawn. The late afternoon sunlight dazzled him for a moment as he burst into the clearing of the river, the sound of the waterfall filling his ears. He blinked away the sunlight, searching the waterline for his comrade. 'Uruk-hai, here so close to Rivendell? Or worgs? What beasts rise to take Sauron's place?' His mind raced as he brandished his blade, searching for his friend and ally.
A shock of flaming red caught his eye and he turned, his blade ready, but his eyes not. An unfamiliar heat rose up the elf's face as he turned swiftly and sheathed his dagger, coughing into his fist. "G-Gimli?" He asked over his shoulder.
A sizable splash and a rattle of dwarven swears left the dwarf sputtering and pulling aside his long, curly red hair, river water streaming down his torso. "Damn and blast! That water 'tis as icy as the heart of the wastes themselves!" He chattered as he waded close to the shore, fetching a gilded comb and setting into brushing his thick beard. "Aye lad, what need have ye of me?" He called, climbing up onto one of the boulders that lined the river's edge.
Risking a glance, Legolas found himself horrifyingly entranced for a moment, forced to clamp a hand over his eyes to wrench himself away from the disaster of thick red hair that echoed behind his eyes. "Y-you know Rivendell has a perfectly fine bath-house? With servants and mistresses more than happy to help with combing and plaiting your beard?" No matter how he rubbed, the image of Gimli haunted him from the underside of his eyelids. Curled red, thick as horsehair, and everywhere.
The dwarf sputtered out a laugh as he continued to stroke the fine toothed comb through his prized beard. "And what, have a whole mess of dainty little elven braids traced through my beard like some kind of macramé?" He snorted out another laugh, grinning toothily. "Those fine girls know a lot about relaxing a man, but a dwarfs hair care is a matter of pride." He set the comb down, selecting another with even finer teeth, lifting swatches of facial hair and combing them tenderly.
"But the bath-house itself…" Legolas tried again, inching back towards the forests edge. 'Perhaps a pair of sharpened sticks… no…'
This elicited a wet raspberry from the dwarf, who shook his head. "Fancy tubs, steamy hot water, oils and soaps in funny little shapes and tubs and jars…" He waves this away dismissively. "Good old fashioned dwarf-soap and a cold river, that's what you need to really feel clean." He reached down and hefted a leather pouch, tossing it at the elf's feet with a rather disquieting thud.
Legolas reached down and picked up the pouch with a grunt, his eyes going wide again. He slipped the mouth open and pulled out the brick of greyish soap. "This is…" He looked closer, tilting his head. "Dwarf-soap?" He asked, turning his head and tossing it quickly before tearing his eyes away.
"Aye, lye, fine tallow and gravel. All you need, my friend." Gimli replied with a grin. "Care to join me?" He asked, waving over the elf. "I'd wager your skin just as thick as any dwarfs, come on."
Quickly shaking his head, Legolas turned towards the safety of the woods. "No, I… I believe Elrond is, erm, looking for me." He stammered, and with a hasty farewell, darted into the woods.
Gimli sat there for a moment, perplexed by Legolas's sudden exit, looking around for some sign of the Elf Lord's desire. He snapped his fingers, an expression of realization coming over him. "Hah, right, the ears…" He chuckled, shaking his head as he began braiding his beard.