On The Edge

Legolas stood on the high, windswept cliffs above the city of Dol Amroth and faced the source of his longing. This was his first sight of the sea at such a close range and he was overwhelmed by the enormity and the majesty of the expanse of water that stretched out further than even elvish eyes could see. His heart beat a little faster with excitement when he imagined he could see the barest hint of the hazy white light of Valinor far off in the distance.

He smiled inwardly at the irony as he watched the storm brewing on the horizon, filling the sky with dark grey thunder clouds which were hanging low above the water, lending it the same steely grey blue hue as the Elf's seemingly unfocussed eyes. The roar of the powerful ocean waves as they pounded mercilessly on the rocks below was like music to his ears, a siren song calling him home, and the sea spray filled his lungs with tangy salt flavoured air. In his heart there grew an intense longing to simply allow himself to fall into the roiling waters below, to be carried in Ossë's arms to the Undying Lands.

The War of the Ring had long since been fought and won, but his inner battle, born in that fateful moment when the harsh sound of the gull's cry had caused him to look up into the sky over Pelargir, still raged within him. The image of the white sea birds soaring above the river, with the faintest hint of sunlight sparkling off the waves of the distant ocean remained forever etched in his mind. Galadriel's warning should have been heeded, he knew that, but despite the uncertainty of the outcome for himself, he had followed Aragorn on the Path of the Dead. In his mind and heart there could have been no other choice; it was a mark of the depth of his feelings for his friend, and his commitment to the Quest that he was willing to risk becoming afflicted by a desire that could only be sated by travelling to the West. For the love of his mortal friends, and knowing that they would grieve should he sail out of their lives, Legolas had so far managed to find the inner strength to avoid succumbing to the beauty and pain of the sea-longing; to remain the master of the his own destiny.

At times it was a struggle made even more difficult by his friends' unwillingness to accept the inevitable, for they did not understand how he could do so. Mortals would never be able to understand the elvish calmness and inner peace that arose from the timelessness of their immortality. 'They often forget that I am an Elf; immortal and unlike them in many ways,' he thought, "all that is, except Imrahil.'

Whether he had a trace of Elvish blood or not, the Prince of Dol Amroth seemed to have a certain insight into the sea longing that neither Aragorn nor Gimli possessed. They had both found it disconcerting and distressing when he told them that he planned to travel to Imrahil's city, at the Prince's invitation, to visit the port from where the elves of Lothlórien once sailed their white ships. That he accepted the offer to learn something of shipbuilding was, to their way of thinking, acknowledgement that he had every intention of travelling to the Undying Lands. Gimli had refused to let him make the trip down the Anduin alone, for he feared that once Legolas reached the sea, he would be unable to turn back.

"Legolas, come away, you are too close to the edge!" Shouted Gimli, trying desperately to be heard above the voices of the wind and the sea as the Elf moved to the very brink of the cliff in the hope of catching a better glimpse of the brilliant light that beckoned to him. So totally absorbed was he in the world of his own thoughts, Legolas was actually momentarily startled as he was brought back into awareness by the concern in his friend's voice. He had indeed been on the edge, not only of the cliff, but also of answering the call of the sea. However, he did not fall; he could not, for a strong hand had a firm grip on his belt. He turned slowly to smile at his beloved friend, Gimli who was looking very alarmed at his apparent loss of control.

"Do not fear, friend Gimli, although I know I am destined to leave these shores, it is not yet my time," he said taking a step back to relieve his friend's anxiety.

"Certainly not without a ship!" agreed the Dwarf. "If you have had your fill of the sea air for now, I think we should continue on to the warmth of Imrahil's hospitality."

"Are you trying to save me from myself, Gimli, or are you afraid the mead will be cold when we arrive?" he teased lightly, lest Gimli should see that he found it hard to turn his back on the sea for the moment.

"Well, now that you mention it..." Gimli joked in return. Legolas laughed merrily and thanked the Valar for allowing him to find such an unlikely friend in the Dwarf. Gimli had an uncanny knack for reading the Elf's melancholy moods and appeasing them, usually with a jest. It took a determined effort, but drawing comfort by resting his hand lightly on his friend's shoulder, Legolas began to walk down the hill towards the city, stopping only once to look back and bid a silent, but not final, farewell to the sea.