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Chapter 5: A Bottle Is Uncorked
The Rohirrim had always vigorously guarded the Pass of Rohan, and it seemed that lately their vigilance had been intensified. The two travelers had hardly ventured five miles into the territory of the Horse-masters before Legolas reported that he could make out the sounds of hoof beats.
"Are you sure, Legolas?" said Mithrandir.
All he got in reply was a withering look.
"To be sure, Legolas," the wizard said hastily. "If you say you hear horses, then there must be some hereabouts." To himself he added, 'That piercing stare of his he inherited from Thranduil. His smile, now, for that he can thank his mother'.
In a little while, Mithrandir declared that he, too, could hear horses. At once, however, Legolas announced that he could see them. Mithrandir glared at his young friend. 'Show-off', he fumed to himself.
Soon, though, the wizard had other matters to preoccupy him than the playfulness of his companion. A large band of warriors galloped into view, spears lowered and making straight for the travelers. "Cover your ears, Legolas," Mithrandir said hastily. It might be better if the Rohirrim did not know straightaway that the wizard's companion was an Elf. The Riders clung to certain superstitions concerning Galadriel and the folk of Lothlórien, and Mithrandir feared that they would mistake his companion for one of the Galadhrim. Legolas did as Mithrandir bade. For his own part, however, the wizard uncovered his head so that the Men might see him clearly.
This gesture proved a good own, for at the head of the horsemen rode Théodred son of Théoden. Théodred had always been fond of Mithrandir, even of late when the Rohirrim were growing suspicious of outsiders. Recognizing the wizard, he gestured to his fellows that they should lower their spears. Reining back his horse to a trot, he shouted greetings. "Gandalf, my friend, why do you persist footing it when again and again I have offered you the use of a horse?"
"You have not yet offered me the right one, Théodred" Mithrandir called back, "but someday I shall take you up on your offer. You will be sorry then, for I am an excellent judge of horseflesh and will deprive you of one of your finest steeds."
Laughing at the notion that the wizard might know anything of horses, the Man pulled up his own mount and leaped from the saddle. He clasped Mithrandir on the shoulder. Then, turning to Legolas, he looked the Elf up and down, frankly appraising him. "Here's a pretty lad you travel with. Is he old enough to stray from his mother's knee?"
Legolas kept his countenance with some effort. Men ever underestimated his age. He was used to that. He was still bothered, however, when Men called him "pretty" because he knew almost invariably it was meant as a challenge rather than as a compliment. Mithrandir had confirmed this observation. "You must understand, Legolas," the wizard had once said, "that whenever two Men meet, they must engage in a pissing match."
"A pissing match?"
"So to speak. The one who can piss the farthest—or shoot the farthest or ride the fastest—may claim dominance over the other. It is how Men establish their pecking order."
So Théodred's words were not innocent ones but rather in the nature of a test or a dare. How, Legolas wondered, was he to respond in a fashion that would maintain his own honor without angering the Man and thus putting their mission—and mayhap their lives—in danger?
Suddenly the Elf whipped an arrow from his quiver, and before anyone had time to react he had shot it straight up into the sky. Seconds later, a goose fell at the Man's feet.
"It is an ill guest," Legolas deadpanned, "who does not present a gift to his host."
Théodred looked down at the goose and then at Legolas. Then he looked up at the sky, but he could not descry the invisible flock passing over. He turned to Mithrandir. "Gandalf," he said, "I think that there is more to this lad than meets the eye."
Mithrandir smiled. "Uncover your head, Legolas," he instructed.
Gladly the Elf pushed back his hood. "One of the Galadhrim," a Rider exclaimed, and the travelers heard the rasp of metal as swords were drawn.
"Not one of the Galadhrim," Mithrandir said calmly. "As there are many nations among Men, so, too, among the Elves."
"Even if he were one of the Galadhrim," declared Théodred, "I should honor and welcome him. Not only is he a companion of Mithrandir, but it seems respect is due him in his own right." He reached down and picked up the goose, holding it up for all to see. "I have a mind for roast goose," he laughed. "Let us make camp. Gamling, see that a shelter is erected for our friends."
Gamling, who had a friendly, open face, assigned the task to Hama, a Rider who, like Gamling, was well-disposed to the strangers, and that evening, after feasting upon roast goose, the travelers found themselves ensconced in a well-appointed shelter. Mithrandir suspected that Hama would sleep wrapped in his cloak that night, but Hama brushed off his protests.
"Nay, Master Gandalf, I will be quite comfortable. Indeed, nothing could detract from my happiness this night."
"When I last visited Edoras," said Mithrandir shrewdly, "you had but lately been espoused. I warrant that has something to do with your present state of joyfulness."
"Oh, Master Gandalf," enthused the Man. "Do you recall that you bestowed a blessing upon me and mine that night? Well, my Lord, that blessing has born fruit—as has my wife! Se'en night ago she was delivered of a son—a fine, healthy son. Haleth we have called him."
"Haleth son of Hama," smiled Mithrandir. "The name has a fine sound to it. I predict that Haleth son of Hama shall prove to be brave and will bring honor to the name he bears, his own and his father's."
Hama beamed and bade them a good rest.
"Of course," Mithrandir said sadly after the Man had departed, "I did not say that the father should live to know of it."
Mithrandir looked so sorrowful that Legolas again thought wistfully of the days when he could freely show affection to the wizard. 'If I were an elfling, right now I should throw my arms about him and squeeze as hard as I could. He would gasp that he couldn't breathe, which was of course nonsense but a necessary part of the game. Then he would threaten me with some meaningless string of words, a spell that would make me bald, he would say. I would pretend to be frightened and run off, but behind me, I would hear him chuckling'.
Legolas was smiling as he reminisced, and suddenly he realized that Mithrandir was staring at him suspiciously.
"What makes you grin so?" demanded the wizard.
"I was remembering."
"Remembering what?"
"Remembering the time when I was an elfling."
"Well, don't!"
"Why ever not?"
"Because you are making me nervous. Don't forget that I, too, can remember the time when you were an elfling."
Legolas grinned all the more.
"Oh, I remember alright," continued the wizard. "Why, I remember how you would throw your arms about me and squeeze as hard as you could until I would gasp that I couldn't breathe." Mithrandir smiled a little. "That was of course nonsense," the wizard went on, "but it was a necessary part of the game. Then I would threaten you with a spell. It was a meaningless string of words, really, but I would tell you that it would make you bald. That never failed to do the trick. Oh, yes! You always took fright and ran off. Always left me chuckling, that did." Here the wizard did chuckle.
'Excellent!' thought Legolas. 'It is not necessary that I play the scamp, only that he remember that I once did!'
Both Elf and wizard fell to reminiscing in earnest.
"Do you recall," asked Legolas, "the time Elladan and Elrohir and I tricked Erestor and Glorfindel into kissing one another, and you instructed them to get back at us by gluing beaks to our faces? You put a sleeping spell on us so that they could do it, didn't you?"
Gandalf laughed so loudly that the Riders on guard exchanged puzzled looks. "I have never forgotten, Legolas. The looks on your faces when I told you I could not use my magic to remove those beaks—ah, I wish I could have bottled them, to bring out whenever I need cheering!" Suddenly, the wizard paused, a surprised look upon his face. "Why, I have bottled them, haven't I? Now, why did I never think of that?"
"Think of what, Mithrandir?"
"Memory. It's a sort of bottle, isn't it? A receptacle wherein we lay up our past. Do you know, Legolas, whenever I feel sad, I believe I shall uncork the bottle in which I have stored ever so many memories—your days as a scamp chief among them!"
"Perhaps I shall contrive to provide you with a few more, my friend."
"Scamp!"
"I believe I just did."
Pretending to grumble, Mithrandir lay down and pulled his blanket to his chin. "Mind you don't tamper with my pipe weed," he huffed.
"I shall be ever so much more original than that, Mithrandir," Legolas promised as he wrapped himself in his own blanket.
"Scamp," came the reply, softer this time.
That night Legolas and Mithrandir slept unusually well. The extra bedding eased their path to sleep, but the images and sensations that flowed from a newly uncorked bottle of memories are what mainly swept them deep into dreams that rejuvenated them both. Yet although Elf and wizard drew freely upon their memories that night, when they awoke in the morning they had as many memories tucked away as before. For a noteworthy feature of one's mind is that it resembles a cornucopia: no matter how many memories one draws forth, a myriad remain. This would no doubt prove fortunate for our travelers. They had journeyed far, but a long road still lay before them, and one strewn with many perils. Yet even should their strength fail, their trove of memories would remain undiminished and be a source of light for them in dark places, when all other lights went out.