Not long after sleep took hold of Legolas and Gimli, the pale dawn broke. The sun rose into the sky, trying with all her might to shine her rays upon the land, but the reek and darkness of Sauron, as always, proved to be the stronger. At the sunset hour, Legolas awoke and cautiously peeked out from the rubble, standing outside once he was sure that no spies were nearby. He stretched his legs, wincing slightly as he stretched the taut skin around his healing leg wound. He faced the river as he worked a knot out of one of his shoulder muscles. Across the way he could see Osgiliath, the remains of which stood at odd angles here and there in the distance. Not a single building had been left standing and short stone pillars which had once been walls and doorways stood like graves to mark the lives of the Gondorians who had perished there. Focusing hard on the distance behind that, Legolas could imagine that he could see the pale silhouette of Minas Tirith, and a tear sprung unbidden into his eye. Once more the image of Aragorn came to his mind and once more the ache at losing such a close friend tore at his heart. Quickly, he wiped the tear away and crawled back into the rubble to where Gimli still slept.
"Gimli," he whispered as he shook his friend. "The sun makes her descent. We must move soon."
"Alright," Gimli answered as he yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
They ate little more than they had at the previous meal and as soon as the darkness began to deepen, they abandoned the port and made their way along the river. They had only one close call that night. Just as the moon would have been reaching its zenith, Legolas caught the sounds of iron shod feet coming in their direction. Glancing around, he could find no shelter. Still, he did not wish to match blades with the nearing enemies, for he could tell that their number was too great for himself and Gimli to face in the dark. Instead, he groped around in the darkness until at last he came upon what he sought.
"Here," he whispered to Gimli. "Stick this in your mouth and breathe through it."
"What?" asked the dwarf as something small and slender was pushed into his hand.
"I have not time to explain. Orcs are close. Follow me."
With that, Legolas slipped as silently into the river as he could, moving steadily towards the deeper water until at last he was submerged and taking shallow breaths through one of the hollow reeds he had taken from the river bank. Gimli followed suit, finally understanding what the elf wanted him to do.
He expected to stay in that place for several long moments until the orcs had passed. And yet, after a moment or two, he could feel the elf move forward with measured steps meant to keep the surface of the water as calm as possible and he did his best to follow Legolas' lead. Minutes passed slowly by until an hour or more had been spent. Then Legolas stopped his march and tapped Gimli's shoulder to signify that they would be heading back towards the shore. Sighing to himself in gladness, Gimli began to step forward but Legolas put a hand to the dwarf's chest, stopping him. Without another sign, Gimli understood. Legolas would go first to ensure that no other orcs were nearby.
Ahead of Gimli, Legolas took hesitant steps towards the river bank, trying to strain his senses as far as he could. Tentatively, he poked his fair head above the surface, listening to the night sounds. The only sound to reach his ears was the gentle lapping of the Anduin. He reached under the surface with one hand, feeling for Gimli, and his fingers brushed the top of the dwarf's head before he began to make his way out of the water. Behind him came Gimli, huffing as he took in deep breaths of air.
"What in the name of Iluvatar?" he demanded, his voice a hissing whisper.
"I am sorry, Gimli," replied Legolas as he wrung water out of his hair and clothing. "There was a large group of orcs headed in our direction. I could not risk our being seen."
"Could we not have stayed rooted in one spot? Surely the orcs would have passed us by eventually. All that underwater walking has tired my legs somewhat."
"My apologies once more, my friend," Legolas whispered back. "I deemed it a necessity to keep moving. Our errand is far too great for us to waste any time."
"Aye," was all that Gimli answered.
"If you like, we shall rest here for a short while if you need to gather your strength."
"Nay. I can continue on a little further before I need to take a rest."
Now the two took to the land once more, moving as swiftly and secretively as they could manage, heading ever northwards through Ithilien. They met with no other foes at night, much to Gimli's delight, for he did not wish to make a return to walking the bottom of Anduin the Great. They made only one brief stop all the rest of the night, for here there was no place to hide from enemy eyes.
Their situation did not much improve as the dawn came nearer. Only dead grasses and withered trees stood in the marred land, and Legolas began to worry that they would be exposed once the day broke. This very nearly came to pass but for a stroke of strange fortune. Legolas had resigned himself to the fact that he and Gimli's only option was to lay low in one of the patches of tall brown grasses and hope that it would be thick enough to conceal them from any who happened by. One such patch grew before the foot of a cliff, the top of which stood no taller than the utmost edge of an oliphant's head. He made the mental decision to hide for the day in that place, for there at least they would be protected on one side. Then too, there was a section of rock above them that jutted out for two or three feet, making a sort of makeshift cave. If any of the enemy were above them and happened to look down, all that they would see would be stone and dirt. The elf and dwarf would remain hidden.
Because the dawn had already broken, Legolas forfeited his ration of food. Instead, he moved to the deepest section of the outcropping of rock and slept. Gimli would have followed suit if his stomach had not demanded that he take a little food first. As he ate his meager meal, he looked towards where Legolas slept, getting the first true look at his friend that he had had the opportunity to take. Except for the brief face to face talk he had had with the elf when Legolas had rescued the dwarves, they had traveled in darkness and slept through the only pale light available to them. Now, he took his opportunity.
He was greatly saddened by what it was that he saw. Legolas' skin was pale, more so than was healthy for an elf and it seemed stretched over his deathly thin frame. His once fair and merry face now only told the story of suffering and despair. His cheeks looked hollow and his eyes were rimmed by dark rings, shrunken into his head. Gimli gazed at Legolas' open eyes. They looked remote, for the elf was deep into the land of sleep and dreams. And yet, Gimli could not help noticing how clouded those blue orbs appeared. The familiar spark of life that had always been present, even in sleep, was gone. Now they seemed to be dull and sorrowful, though there was a barely noticeable gleam of determination set in them.
The golden hair of his head, though long, was cut at odd angles, ripped and cut by cruel orc hands. Gimli's eyes moved to inspect the rest of the elf's body. It was true that elves' bodies were lithe by nature, but here Gimli only read the story of starvation and torture. Legolas had removed his cloak and tunic before he had slept, putting them off to one side so that they could dry off completely from the river walk that had soaked them during the night. Now Gimli could see the lines of suffering that covered Legolas' fragile frame.
The once fair flesh was now scarred almost beyond the point of recognition as elven. Long lines – the reminders of whip lashes – covered his body in a complex spidery weave. Some of them looked quite fresh to Gimli's eyes, causing him to stop a moment. Surly even if Legolas was tortured right before his escape from the camp, his wounds would have faded and healed already. This puzzled the dwarf as he looked at the wounds. Puckered scars of older wounds covered all of the areas where the new wounds were not. Some were long – whip lashes – while others looked more as if chunks of flesh had been ripped away from his body. Gimli gazed at the scars for a long moment and suddenly, he knew why his friend had failed to heal. His torture would have been daily and Gimli shuddered to imagine for how long that had been. Legolas' wounds, combined with hard labor and little food, would have made his body far too weak for his natural elven healing to have any effect.
Gimli felt his heart break for the elf that he proudly called his best friend. Tears welled up in his eyes and he allowed them to fall until, finally exhausted, he fell into the blissful oblivion of sleep. When Legolas lightly shook his shoulder to awaken him, hours later, it seemed to Gimli to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.