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A sudden skirmish with the orcs caught the three hunters off guard. On the road to Fangorn, when they had already believed that all the orcs had been slain by the Riders of Rohan, they discovered, to no small surprise, that they had been mistaken.
Legolas froze, listening to a silence that seemed complete to the ears of the dwarf and the man, but to the Elf was deceptive. Aragorn tightened his grip on his sword hilt, and Gimli clenched his axe.
"Orcs," Elf spun around in the blink of an eye and deflected an arrow with his blade that had been aimed at Gimli's neck.
The Dwarf raised his head, peering into the rocks. A third of a mile away, among the stones, a whole swarm of orcs swirled like a vexing cloud of midges. The friends moved with the speed of the very arrow that had nearly found Gimli. The fiends, meanwhile, ran at them, filling the air with shouts in the Black Speech.
The first orc fell to a swift stroke of Aragorn's sword. Then another, and another—their heads rolled across the ground, or their bodies sank to the earth with shafts protruding from them. The Ranger knew no weariness, moving steadily and striking down foes with his blade as though he had become one with the steel.
Gimli and Legolas, as before, kept count. Elf's clear voice cut through the furious roar, and the Dwarf echoed him. They kept count until the very moment the Elf's keen eyes caught sight of yet another throng of orcs in the distance, moving around the battlefield and threatening to close a ring around Aragorn. Then, without hesitation, he surged forward, hewing a path through the filth, and it seemed he never touched the ground—so weightless and lightning-swift were his movements. Aragorn felt only the wind at his back and, without distraction, continued to hew and slash.
He heard the ring of blades and the sound of heads rolling across the earth, already soaked with black orc-blood. The ringing grew quieter and more distant, until, it seemed, Legolas had vanished entirely behind the boulders.
Gimli shouted something to Aragorn, and he, casting aside his thoughts, parried the orcs' blows and with a quick motion struck off two heads. They rolled across the stony ground while the headless bodies still stood.
And when Gimli's axe felled the last orc, Aragorn looked around in search of the Elf.
"Legolas!" The Ranger's voice cut through the deathly silence.
The Elf emerged from behind a boulder, breathing heavily. To slay several dozen orcs single-handedly is no simple matter, even for one of the Firstborn. He pressed one hand to his side, and crimson blood seeped through his fingers. He said nothing, but Aragorn hurried to him, offering his shoulder, giving him support. They withdrew a little farther, so that the stench of corpses would not hinder the bandaging. Gimli took dried athelas from his pack and stepped away to a stone to build a fire, boil water, and prepare a decoction. Elf and the Human were left alone.
Legolas sat on a flat stone and, trying not to disturb his friends, was sharpening his blades. Aragorn approached him. Legolas raised an eyebrow, as if to say, "Why the concern?", set aside his blades, and folded his arms over his chest, pressing against the wound.
"You're wounded in the side. Move your hand."
"A scratch."
"Let me see."
"It isn't worth the attention."
"Legolas."
The Elf complied, albeit with clear reluctance. The wound proved shallow but jagged: an orc blade had glanced across. Legolas hissed softly while Aragorn tore and lifted the fabric to examine the wound. A quiet tension hung between them. The Ranger's hands touched the pale skin with great care, and Legolas, forgetting the pain, watched the bowed head of the Man, his stern face now filled with something close to despair.
Gimli approached with the finished decoction and froze, watching this silent scene of a domestic quarrel. With a heavy sigh, he left the decoction on the ground beside them and withdrew to the fire—to sharpen his axe.
"You lost your wits," Aragorn said at last. His voice sounded hollow and strained, as though he feared that if he spoke any louder, he would break into a shout. "You were alone, and there were more than a dozen of them."
"They could have closed the ring, Estel," Legolas answered evenly, though his breathing was still uneven. He winced as the Ranger pressed a clean strip of cloth soaked in the decoction against the wound. "You were in the center. Gimli was covering you. Someone had to stop them." He paused. "I had to. You would have done the same."
Aragorn exhaled noisily, returning to the wound. He carefully wiped the blood from the pale skin, trying not to touch the edges. Legolas's hand, resting on his knee, tensed, his knuckles whitening. For the first time in a long while, the Elf allowed himself to study the Man without the distraction of the road or their enemies.
"You fuss over me too much," he whispered with weary tenderness and a faint smile.
Aragorn smiled at the corner of his mouth, but his gaze remained serious.
"Someone must, if you won't look after yourself."
He tied off the clean bandage, tugged the Elf's tunic back into place, and sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Legolas offered no resistance, laying his head on the Ranger's shoulder and closing his eyes. Aragorn's lips brushed the fair crown of his head, and he whispered something in Sindarin that made Legolas chuckle softly.
"Ahem..." came a voice nearby. "I understand, of course, but could you perhaps postpone your tender moments until we make camp?"
Gimli stood a few paces away, arms crossed over his chest and fixing them with an ironic stare. Legolas did not stir, merely smiling faintly without opening his eyes.
"Envy is a poor quality, Master Dwarf," he said.
Aragorn laughed quietly and carefully drew away. Legolas lowered his hand, but his gaze remained fixed on the Man.
"We must go," said the Ranger, rising and offering the Elf his hand.
Legolas accepted it, leaning on him, and for a moment held his palm in his own. Gimli rolled his eyes and was the first to move toward the path, glancing back at his companions with a smile. Aragorn and Legolas drew level with him, and once again the three of them walked together—as they always did. Only now, each felt a little lighter at heart.