Sail Away

A ladder of grey elvish rope hung glittering in the pale moonlight, swinging almost imperceptibly as, with silent elegance, the lone Elf descended to the forest floor and disappeared into the night. There was only ever one destination that called to him, only one need that guided light footsteps that left no trail so unerringly, and he had travelled this path so often that that he believed he could do so with his eyes closed. Men walked in their sleep in such a fashion, or so he had heard, and it was an amusing thought amongst the melancholy that overwhelmed him in the dark of night that an Elf might imitate a mortal in this manner.

But mortals were doomed to finally close their eyes forever, as King Elessar had done, and the pain of Legolas’s grief had run so deep that Thranduil had felt it as if it were his very own. Bitterness and anger welled in his thoughts for the friendship that had caused his son to hurt so, and to be lured by the call of the sea.

Several weeks ago, in the brief span of time between one heartbeat and the next, he had felt his son no longer and knew that he had sailed West.

At first the trees had been very curious to learn the reason for the sadness they felt from one they knew loved every living thing dearly. The grace he and the other bright ones had bestowed had kept the darkness at bay for countless years, until they finally succeeded in scouring the forest of the evil. Gone were the dark crawling creatures whose webs strangled the very life from leaves that were once again green and eagerly welcomed the warmth of Anor as they rustled playfully in the sweetly scented breeze. The cold fingers of the shadow had been burnt into nothingness by the light of life that shone brightly from the gentle beings whose silvery laughter echoed throughout the now flourishing Eryn Lasgalen. For many seasons all had been peaceful and joyous with many days and nights of singing and dancing as the lively beings frolicked in their newfound freedom, but ever so slowly an air of melancholy had blanketed the laughter and gaiety. Everything began to change as many left for the Havens, never to return.

The one whose light had been the brightest of all felt nothing of this contentment now, for he was rapidly fading. Although they did not fully comprehend the events that affected the singer’s life, the trees nonetheless knew something of love, especially for this one. In their own fashion they offered whispered words of endearment and comfort that eased the pain somewhat but were powerless to mend a broken heart.

The Elf was rapidly growing weaker as he drowned in his tears of distress, and he found little solace in either the living forest or in the empty chamber that was his destination. Only in his waking dreams did he ever find true happiness now, but when sleep eluded him, it was to his palace of stone, long since abandoned in favour of a talan as his realm dwindled, that he returned. Here in this emptiness the faint scent of one long departed first from his home, and now from these shores, still lingered, and the touch of a book or a pillow filled Thranduil’s mind with vivid memories of days gone by.

As he made his way slowly to the foot of the bed, the veil of time lifted and he remembered clearly the dishevelled golden hair  on the pillow, the warm smile as bright eyes focussed from sleep and the fierce hugs the of the small child now fully awake. The love and affection between them had grown stronger and deeper as his son reached maturity and they faced the sorrow filled departure of the beloved lady in their lives. He stepped over to the half emptied book case and fondly ran his fingers over the smooth wood of the bow that had been his son’s first weapon, and allowed himself a proud smile for the skilled warrior he had raised.

Picking up one of the story books he had often read to his young son, Thranduil sat on the bed and slowly turned the pages of the tale he knew so well and frowned in confusion as the writing disappeared before his eyes, turning into a swirling mist that coalesced into a likeness of Legolas.

“Elbereth!” he swore in disbelief, dropping the book in his astonishment.

“Aye, it is I, Thranduil,” a soft feminine voice whispered in his mind.

“My Lady, why are you here?” he asked the disembodied voice of the Vala.

“I might ask you the same,” she replied, filling the room with silvery laughter.

“This is my home,” he replied with a shrug of despair for the words which no longer meant anything to his heart.

“Nay, it is your home no longer, son of Oropher. Come to us, the ship for Valinor awaits you.”