Aragorn pulled his sword free of the Orc and wiped the blade clean with a handful of grass. On the other side of the clearing, Gimli yanked his axe from the brain of a warg whose limbs still twitched spasmodically. Legolas meanwhile had set about recovering his arrows from the bodies of his fallen foes. It was not true, as the Rohirrim thought, that Legolas' quiver magically replenished itself after every battle. Instead, whenever conditions permitted, the Elf would methodically search the battlefield, not only retrieving his own shafts but scavenging any of those of his enemies that might be made to serve.
After the three friends had seen to their weapons, they turned to cleansing the forest of Orc and warg carcasses before the decaying bodies could pollute its environs. The three dragged the carcasses into the center of the clearing and heaped fallen branches over them. Setting the branches afire, they stood vigil, watching carefully lest an errant ember set the forest alight.
Dawn was breaking before their task was done and the three friends could resume their trek through the forest. Sauron had fallen, but pockets of his creatures still remained, and King Elessar had deemed that he himself should from time to time be numbered amongst the scouts who hunted down these remnants of the Third Age. Of course, whenever he did so, Gimli and Legolas insisted that they accompany him. Together the three had ranged widely through the restored realm of Gondor and Arnor, sometimes even to the very border of the Shire, where Gimli and Aragorn would set up camp while Legolas would slip into the land of the Hobbits to summon Merry, Pippin, and Sam. Elf, Man, Dwarf, Hobbit—the comrades would laugh and reminisce and wonder about the fate of Frodo, Bilbo, and Gandalf, who had departed from the Grey Havens only a little while after the defeat of the Dark Lord and the destruction of the Ring.
On this journey, however, the Three Hunters were traveling no further afield than Ithilien. And this morning, they were going no farther than it would take them to find a stream in which to bathe. The late skirmish had been so bloody that even Gimli felt himself soiled by the filth of their foes. Fortunately, Legolas had memorized every water source within Ithilien, and he led them unerringly to the nearest one. The sun was not even halfway to its noonday height when he parted some branches and gestured to a bend in a stream where the bottom was of fine sand. Then the Elf disappeared, no doubt, Aragorn thought, going off in search of soapwort, that plant whose leaves and stems, when bruised, would yield a cleansing lather. Meanwhile, Gimli and Aragorn happily stripped and immersed themselves in the cold, clear water, bringing with them their smallclothes, tunics, and leggings, for they meant to launder as well as bathe. Weighting their clothes with rocks so they might soak, the Man and the Dwarf scooped up handfuls of sand and scrubbed at their limbs and torsos. Before they had finished, Legolas reappeared, his arms laden with soapwort. Aragorn and Gimli gratefully accepted handfuls of the plant from the Elf. Sand was all very well for scrubbing limbs and chests, but neither Man nor Dwarf wished to clean their faces with the abrasive grains. Nor did they wish to get the grit into their beards and hair.
Looking at his two friends as they bathed, Legolas had to suppress laughter. The soapwort had turned their beards into white puffs. The effect was particularly striking on Gimli because his beard was more luxuriant than Aragorn's. The King had kept his facial hair neatly trimmed since his coronation, but Gimli's, as always, cascaded down his chest. Gimli noticed Legolas' mirthful looks. "What are you smirking about, o ye of the perfectly-pointed ears?" he growled in mock indignation. Cheerfully ignoring the Dwarf, Legolas dove under the water to rinse the soapwort from his hair. When he surfaced, both Gimli and Aragorn were waiting for him with handfuls of mud that they had dug out from the bank. With the sure aim of warriors, they pelted the startled Elf, who was at once transformed from a glistening specimen of elven beauty to a mud-caked simulacrum of an Orc, which, like Elves, have pointed ears.
The mud-caked Elf dove back into the water, and when he resurfaced, it was at a considerable distance from his roguish friends. To be altogether safe, however, before he swam back towards them, he waited until they had clambered out upon the bank to spread their clothes upon bushes. When he neared the bank, a smiling Aragorn tossed him a handful of the remaining soapwort, and Legolas set about washing his hair for the second time—which, as Gimli gleefully pointed out, he would have probably done anyway. The Elf, who had been pretending to sulk, broke out into a grin then, for he knew his friend was right. Laughing, he climbed out of the stream, spread his own clothes upon the bushes, and stretched out beside his friends in a patch of sun that had found its way between the branches of the trees.
As the three friends lounged about, waiting for their clothes to dry, Gimli noticed once again the scar that ran along a portion of Legolas' spine. That and a slight crookedness of the nose were the only imperfections on Legolas' body. There was also the birthmark on the Elf's arm that looked like the elven word for 'nine', but as Gimli shared that mark, he was not inclined to consider it a flaw. Nor did the Dwarf consider the sunburst near the Elf's navel to be a flaw, for it was too symmetrical and pleasing to the eye to detract from the Elf's perfection.
A cold breeze ruffled the bushes all about them, and Aragorn sneezed. Gimli glanced at the Ranger, whose body was seamed by numerous small scars, the reminders of years spent struggling against the forces of the Dark Lord. The most obvious of these marks was a scar upon his upper look that left a gap in the Ranger's mustache. It was not a hideous mark, however, but part and parcel of who the Ranger was. Gimli idly wondered about the engagement with the enemy that had left Aragorn with the memento. "Aragorn," he said, "how came you by that scar on your lip?"
"Legolas," Aragorn replied laconically.
Gimli was puzzled. "Legolas?" he repeated. "What has Legolas to do with my question?"
"Legolas gave me this scar," Aragorn explained.
Gimli stared open-mouthed. "Legolas gave you that scar," he repeated uncomprehendingly.
"Seems to be an echo hereabouts," Aragorn said dryly.
Gimli looked over at the Elf. "And I suppose," the Dwarf huffed "that you are going to tell me that Aragorn gave you that scar on your back."
"He did, after a fashion," Legolas replied with a nonchalance to match Aragorn's.
"After a fashion," Gimli repeated.
"There is that echo again," smirked Aragorn.
Gimli sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Are you going to explain yourself," he grumbled, "or are you going to persist in playing word games?"
"Legolas had better tell the story," Aragorn replied, "for I was very young at the time."
Gimli turned back to the Elf. "Well?" he said expectantly. Legolas stretched and then rolled over on to his side. He crooked his arm and supporting his head upon his palm.
"When Aragorn was first brought to Rivendell," the Elf began, "Elrond decided that he ought to share a room with me. Elrond thought that, as I knew what it was to be fostered, Estel would bond more quickly with me than with Elrohir and Elladan. You may be sure, however, that I was not happy about the arrangement."
"I thought you and Aragorn have been great friends," Gimli said, puzzled.
Aragorn laughed. "We are now, Gimli, but that was not always the case. After all, you were not always such good friends with Legolas."
The three friends shared a hearty laugh. When Legolas and Gimli had first been thrown together as members of the Fellowship, Elf and Dwarf had driven Gandalf wild with their bickering.
"Why did you not wish to share your chamber with Aragorn?" Gimli asked at last when they had quieted.
"First," replied Legolas, "we were far apart in age. He was hardly more than a toddler. I, on the other hand, was passing through the final stages of elven adolescence. I found it an offense to my dignity that I should be trailed by an urchin who had scarcely graduated from nappies to leggings. Then, too, I was much restricted by his presence. I couldn't engage in my usual pranks because Estel was always underfoot."
Gimli had a sudden image of Legolas raising his feet high to avoid stepping upon a miniature Aragorn. He snickered. Legolas gave him a baleful glance before continuing.
"It did not help," the Elf went on, "that Aragorn even then was a filthy human who emitted an odor that would have felled a fell beast had one happened to fly overhead."
Now it was Aragorn who looked balefully upon Legolas, who pretended not to notice as he went on with his tale. "The final blow—or the last straw, as Men say—fell on a day when Elladan and Elrohir set out to ride their horses to the Last Bridge to meet Gandalf, who was returning from one of his excursions to the Shire. I, however, was forced to remain behind to mind Estel. 'Why can't Erestor mind the scamp', I protested to Elrond. He raised his eyebrows at hearing me call Estel a scamp, for hitherto that had been an epithet most commonly applied to me. 'I am sure you know, Anomen', Elrond replied, 'that Erestor is busy finishing a manuscript for the Lady Galadriel. It must be ready in two days time, for that is when Glorfindel means to set out for Lothlórien'. I cast about for another candidate. 'Glorfindel hasn't got a manuscript to finish', I pointed out. 'The Lord Glorfindel has a troop to put through its paces,' Elrond retorted, 'for when he departs he wishes to leave the borders well-defended. There have been suspicious tracks in the forest hereabouts'.
I sighed, but as I did so I caught sight of Figwit passing through the garden, as he did so tripping over an urn and running into the edge of a lattice. 'What about Figwit', I said desperately. 'Figwit could look after the bra-the boy'. 'Figwit!' exclaimed Elrond. 'Would you wish destruction upon him?'
'Who? Figwit?'
'Oh, Figwit would survive, I am sure. Whether Estel would is another matter!'
"Since Figwit had once brought a gazebo crashing down upon Glorfindel, I had to concede that Elrond had a point. Sadly I gave up and went in to breakfast, where Estel promptly attached himself to me—and I mean literally, too, for his hands were sticky with jam. After breakfast, Estel still clinging to me, I betook myself to the library. There I moped about for a time hoping that Estel would grow tired of being indoors and would abandon me for the garden. Ai! The urchin found a tome about the Last Alliance that was extraordinarily well illustrated—Elrohir had a hand in it, I think—and he badgered me to tell the story behind each and every picture. He insisted on sitting in my lap, too, whilst I did so, and as he smelled exceptionally rank that day, my eyes soon filled with tears"
Listening to this story, Gimli found his own eyes filling with tears, and the Dwarf tried to stifle a laugh, which came out as a choking sound. Legolas looked at him and grinned. With the passage of years, the Elf had come to see the humor of the situation. Cheerfully he went on with the story.
"At length I heard Estel's stomach rumble, and I hit upon a plan for escaping his company. 'Estel', I said, 'it is several hours before lunch, but are you not hungry?' He told me that he was. 'I would filch you some food from the kitchen', I sighed, 'but I have grown too big to escape the notice of the Cook'. Estel at once looked interested. 'I am not too big', he declared. 'Let me try!' I made a show of thinking the matter over. 'We-ell', I said at last, with seeming reluctance, 'I suppose when it comes to filching food that you may be able to do as well as I once did'. Estel was indignant. 'Anything you can do I can do better', he cried. 'I suppose I may let you try', I said, still counterfeiting reluctance, 'but you must not forget that such an expedition takes great care. You must move very slowly if you wish to escape detection. It may be that in the space of an hour you will inch forward no more than a hand's breadth. Now I think on it', I went on, pretending to change my mind, 'I don't think you are—.' Before I could finish, Estel had shot out of my lap and bolted from the room. I moved scarcely a whit more slowly. I fled to my room, seized my kit, and fled into the forest."
Gimli's beard was now drenched with tears, and his shoulders shook with silent laugher. Aragorn, grinning, took up the tale.
"I remember well what happened next. I ran toward the kitchen and crouched behind a bush near its door. I was determined to prove to Legolas that I could steal with the best of them. As it happened, a merchant from Bree drove his wagon up just then, and the Cook came out to chaffer over his wares. He stood with his back to me. Seizing the opportunity, I darted into the kitchen, folded up the skirt of my tunic, and filled this improvised pouch with as many pastries as I could fit, never minding that several were squashed in the process. Then I slipped out the way I'd come and ran back to the library. Legolas was not there, of course, but I was neither surprised nor disappointed. I assumed that he had not expected me to return so quickly and thus had gone off to find something to occupy his time whilst he waited for me to accomplish my mission. Anxious to show off my winnings, I at once set about looking for him. As luck would have it, I started my search in the garden, where the Gardener, not knowing that Legolas did not want to be found, readily pointed out the path that he had taken into the forest. Young as I was, Glorfindel had already given me several rudimentary lessons in tracking. Moreover, I had been shadowing Legolas and had observed how he would follow a trail. So I set off with great confidence, certain that it would not be long before I caught up with my foster-brother."
"It was also to Aragorn's advantage," said Legolas, who now resumed the tale, "that I was not trying to disguise my trail. I was that eager to flee deep into the forest. Moreover," he continued, "I did not anticipate any danger from the rear. So on I hastened, never dreaming that I was being followed. But gradually my heedlessness grew the less, for the further I drew from Rivendell, the more I sensed the nearness of danger. Remembering what Elrond had said about suspicious tracks, I slowed my pace and proceeded with greater caution. At last I stood stock still. I smelled a sickening odor. Then, suddenly, I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me. The sound seemed to come from quite low, and I thought an Orc was crouched, waiting to pounce. At once I spun about, drawing my knife and springing toward my foe. As I broke through the bush I was bringing my arm down—and there was Estel, staring up wide-eyed and innocent of the fright that he had caused me. I checked my swing, but only just, and the tip of my blade nicked his lip."
Gimli let out his breath, not realizing that he had been holding it. "How dreadful it would have been had you slain him," he exclaimed in horror.
"Aye, Gimli, and the ghastliness of what I had almost done left me nigh witless for several moments. Fortunately, even then Estel was a stoic creature, so at least I did not have to contend with tears and sobs. I quickly recovered my wits and with a strip torn from my tunic, I stanched the flow of blow from his wound. As I tended to the cut, I realized with dismay that the sickening odor that I smelled did not emanate from Estel. No, it was indeed the odor of Orc that befouled the air. The enemy was near, and I looked anxiously at Estel. 'Estel', I whispered, 'do not speak. Nod if you can walk'. Estel pressed his lips tightly together and nodded. I helped him to his feet and gestured in the direction from whence we came. 'We must retrace our steps to Rivendell', I whispered, 'and quickly'. Again Estel nodded, and he took several careful steps toward safety. As for myself, I pivoted so that I might keep my face to the rear and thus spot any approaching foe, for I assumed that we must be between the enemy and Rivendell. As I backed away, I heard behind me the sound of branches breaking, and I spun about to urge Estel to be quieter."
Legolas paused and reached for a waterskin. As he satisfied his thirst, he noted with satisfaction that Gimli was fidgeting with curiosity. "It was not Estel made the noise, however," the Elf resumed solemnly. 'An Orc had crept out from behind a tree. With horror, I saw him raise his scimitar."
Aragorn now took up the tale. "Suddenly I heard the whistling noise made by something cutting through the air. Then I felt a tremendous blow. With the air knocked out of me, I found myself sprawled face down in the dirt, with something lying across my back. Just as quickly, the weight was removed. I heard a guttural scream and then a gurgling noise. I sat up and looked about. There lay a dying Orc, with Legolas' knife in its belly. Beside him knelt Legolas, bent over and gasping. His back was to me, and I saw that a red line ran down it, along the ridge of his spine."
Suddenly Gimli understood. "Legolas threw himself at you to knock you clear," he exclaimed, "and he took a blow from the Orc's scimitar."
"Aye, Gimli," said Aragorn, "but even though Legolas was injured, he had immediately rolled over and struck upward with his knife, gutting the Orc who bent over us intent on administering the death blow."
Impressed, Gimli shook his head. "Aragorn, I have oft said that ye lead a charmed life, but if ye do, it hath been Legolas who has served as the talisman."
Aragorn looked fondly at his elven foster-brother and nodded. "You speak the truth, Gimli. Legolas would have died for me that day."
"And not on that day only," Gimli observed thoughtfully. In his mind's eye he again saw Legolas desperately cutting his way through the army of Mordor in order to stand by Aragorn's side when the Man was beset by a great Troll. He saw, too, the Elf bravely plunging beneath the earth to follow Aragorn on the Paths of the Dead. 'I, a Dwarf, one accustomed to the dark places of the earth, scarcely had the courage to enter that place', he reminisced, 'but so great was the loyalty and love that Legolas bore for his foster-brother that he did not hesitate. What was it that he said? To wherever it may lead. Aye, that was it. Legolas would have followed Aragorn—did follow Aragorn—even when the path led to Death'.
"You followed him, too," Legolas broke in to his thoughts.
"Aye, lad, but I hesitated," Gimli replied sadly.
"You had reason to hesitate, for you are mortal and have a mortal's fear of death. Yet you overcame that fear. Yours was the greater bravery!"
"Legolas is right, Gimli," Aragorn interjected.
"Of course I'm right," exclaimed Legolas, with the insouciance that still drove the Dwarf wild on occasion. "And here is something else I am right about: Gimli, you must never think that your bond with Aragorn is less than mine, for you bear the Mark of the Nine, and no bond could be stronger than the one signified by that sign."
Gimli smiled gratefully at the Elf. He did not share Aragorn and Legolas' common upbringing in the household of Elrond, but at times like these it did not seem to matter. All for one and one for all. Yes, that is what Aragorn said on occasion, and he was right.
The Dwarf arose and felt his garments. "Dry enough to put on," he called out. Legolas and Aragorn arose as well, and soon the three friends were clad and ready to resume their patrol.
"Legolas," Gimli said as they strode from the clearing, "now I know how you acquired that scar on your back, but there is something else I would like to know."
"Yes, Gimli?"
"Your crooked nose, how came you by that?"
"Gandalf," Legolas replied laconically.
"Gandalf," repeated Gimli, puzzled.
"Echo," observed Aragorn dryly.
'Oh, bother it all', thought Gimli. 'I had better leave it for another day, for the story behind his nose is no doubt as elaborate as the one behind Aragorn and Legolas' scars'.
And as Gimli has left it for another day, so shall I.