Disclaimer: They have never been mine and never will be mine. Alas, those words hurt me every time I have to say them.

Chapter One

Aragorn scanned the crowded Great Hall for what must have been the hundredth time. "Have you seen him?" he asked Arwen, who had just joined him.

"No, Estel, I have not seen him. But I am sure he will be here soon." The queen put her hand on her husband’s arm and squeezed it gently, in a gesture of reassurance.

The king shook his head. "You know he doesn’t really like to attend these human gatherings." Aragorn tried to put a touch of humor into his words, but they were true nonetheless. Then he felt the need to explain the reason why he would want Legolas to attend something he would rather not. "I thought he needed to meet some of the traders that would be dealing with Ithilien, so I asked him to come."

"And he would not fail to do so, after he told you he would," Arwen replied with certainty. Anyone who knew Legolas, especially as well as she did, knew that the elf was always true to his word.

Aragorn was well aware that he and Faramir could handle whatever needed to be handled, but he also wanted the traders to meet the leader of the elven colony in Ithilien.

Despite the fact that Legolas wasn’t overly fond of formal affairs of any kind, he had been raised a prince and knew how to conduct himself at these times with infinite grace and political savvy. All those boring council meetings in the Woodland Realm from the time Legolas had reached his majority until he had left on that fateful journey to Rivendell in 3018 TA had paid off. Whoever observed him as he moved smoothly between delegates, ambassadors, traders and their entourages, could easily see he was the very essence of decorum.

While Legolas was a frequent visitor to Minas Tirith, few visitors to Gondor’s capital city had ever even seen an elf, including the queen, much less met one. Arwen had chosen to become mortal so she was now accepted as one of the them. However, many became suspicious when a true Firstborn was mentioned. To say that Legolas was a curiosity was an understatement, but his charm, easy way of putting people at ease and his knowledge of a broad range of cultures eventually won over the majority of those he encountered.

Aragorn was proud of his long-time friend. The elven archer, warrior and prince had been at his side through most of the hard times of Aragorn’s life. He had saved that life many times over the years. And of course, there had been the good times. Each had shared their inner-most thoughts and feelings. They were true brothers in every way that could bind them but blood.

Aragorn began to feel slightly guilty. The man was the King of Condor, which included Ithilien. Officially, that made him the king of the elves living there, though he never asserted his will in their affairs. He also never thought about the fact that Legolas now owed the allegiance due him as his sovereign, every bit as much as Faramir, the Prince of Ithilien, did.

Above all, Legolas was his friend. He never considered him a subject. He had never actually asked Legolas how he felt about that. The elf had grown up having to deal with Thranduil being both his father and his king, so the dual role Aragorn held since being crowned had seemed natural to the elf. Whether he was asking as king or as friend, the man knew Legolas would honor the request. Aragorn had to ask himself: Was he unconsciously taking advantage of that fact?

Aragorn shook himself. Why was he thinking such thoughts, and why now? It was hardly the time to be evaluating the connection between him and Legolas, as if it was about to end. He looked at Arwen, his beloved wife and queen.

She was looking back at him curiously. It was the look she always gave him whenever his mind had drifted away from the present and entered the past or was drawn to other matters.

"Sorry," he said, sheepishly. How many times had he found himself apologizing to her for such lapses?

"If you are worried about Legolas," Arwen told him, "go and find him." Her voice held no hint of reproach for what may well prove to be his needless worries.

"I’m not worried exactly, just...a little concerned. It’s just not like Legolas to be late."

Whatever he wanted to call it, there was definitely something amiss. Though he didn’t feel that Legolas was in any kind of danger, there had to be something else going on, and he needed to find out what it was.

"Go, Estel," Arwen urged her husband, as she gave him a gentle push. "Eldarion and I can handle things here."

Aragorn smiled. "Better than I can most likely." He shrugged. "I’m still a ranger at heart, I guess." He kissed Arwen on the cheek and left the Great Hall in search of his elven friend, totally ignoring the people that tried to get his attention, as he passed them.

*~*~*~*

The most logical place for Aragorn to check first was Legolas’s room. After knocking several times, the man opened the door and entered, not sure what he would find. He sighed when he didn’t find the elf he was looking for.

The two friends had spent a good half hour together before parting. Aragorn had gone to make sure all was in readiness for the banquet, while Legolas was left to bathe and dress for the event.

What Aragorn now saw were Legolas’s traveling clothes lying nice and tidy across the back of a high-backed chair. The king had to laugh. Even though Legolas knew full well that his clothes would be taken away and cleaned by the laundry staff, he had still folded them and placed them neatly on the chair.

Open on a table next to the wardrobe was a small wooden box that normally held the silver circlet that denoted the elf‘s royal birthright. Legolas may no longer live in the Woodland Realm, but he was still the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and would continue to be as long as his father rules there.

"We probably just missed each other," Aragorn mused aloud. There were enough corridors and stairways between the residential wing and the Great Hall to make that quite possible.

The king turned and made his way back to the Great Hall. Approaching the two guards stationed on either side of the large, wooden doors, he asked, "Has Prince Legolas arrived yet?"

"No, sire," one guard replied.

"We have not seen him," the other offered.

Both guards looked disappointed that they couldn’t give the positive answer their king was obviously wishing to hear.

Those responses brought a frown to the king’s face. There were other doors that led into the Great Hall, one known only to the royal family and close friends like Legolas. However, this banquet was formal, and Legolas would have come in this way, so he could be announced properly, another thing the elf didn’t care for.

*~*~*~*

The second place Aragorn searched was the Royal Gardens. It was usually the first place where Legolas sought sanctuary when the stone of the White City began to press in on the elf’s sensitive, nature-loving soul.

It was true he had only been in Minas Tirith a short time, but it was a place important enough to the elf for Aragorn to check out.

The nature of the White City, built as it was beneath Mount Mindolluin, made it impossible to have gardens as extensive as Aragorn and Arwen would have liked, but it made up for its lack of size by being one of the most beautiful gardens in all of Gondor. It always made the king smile whenever he found the time to go there. Legolas was not the only one this little paradise of growing things soothed.

All along the back grew a row of trees of varying heights, whose interlocking, leaf-laden branches formed a living wall. Below them grew thick bushes. They were all arranged so that it looked as if they formed the back boundary of the garden.

It was a deceptive arrangement, for behind the greenery in the far right corner and extending back about twenty feet, existed a tiny oasis with a beauty all its own. The majority of it reached back under a hidden, rocky overhang, allowing someone to sit on a bench in the deepest part during a rain storm, and they would be protected. The little garden was perhaps fifteen feet wide.

Aragorn didn’t think of this spot at first, believing that if Legolas had come here, he would be found either in or under a favorite tree near the right wall of the garden.

Aragorn called out to his friend when a cursory search produced no elf. Standing at the foot of the tree, the man scrutinized the upper branches. Knowing the wood-elf could hide himself even from the discerning eyes of the former ranger if he so chose, Aragorn called the elf again.

There was no answer and after a moment, Aragorn became even more concerned, though he tried hard not to allow negative thoughts to cloud his mind.

He was just about to turn away, thinking perhaps his friend had gone to the stables, another favorite spot in the city, when he heard a sound he couldn’t quite place. Cocking his head, Aragorn listened intently, but the only sound that came to him now was the wind rustling the leaves above him.

Thinking a playful wind must have been what he had heard before, he once again started to turn away. Then the sound came again. ‘That’s not rustling leaves,’ he declared to himself, finally identifying the sound as that of a strange kind of moan.

When the sound came a third time, he knew right where it originated. It had to be Legolas in the hidden garden, because all the others, who knew of it, were at the banquet. The sanctuary was unknown even to the gardeners, having been created by Legolas and tended to by him and Arwen. Even Aragorn was known by them to weed and prune from time to time.

Aragorn walked up to a section of the rear wall of greenery and stood before it. He reached in among the tiny leaves of the bushes growing there until he felt a latch. Turning it until he heard a click, he pushed inward.

A small wooden gate swung open. It was so cleverly concealed that no one would ever have guessed that anything other than what they actually saw existed there, thanks to the clever design by Legolas. Aragorn slid in sideways through the bushes and then closed the gate behind him.

It was force of habit that made him stop and take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers that blossomed. As always, the incredible scent made him close his eyes and feel almost giddy.

When he opened his eyes, they were met with a profusion of colors and delicate shapes. There were several varieties of flowers cultivated here that grew no place else in Gondor. He didn’t think there was a more fragrant or colorful place in all the land than this glorious little piece of heaven, though he had to admit he was a wee bit prejudiced about it.

The king was almost lost in his pleasure, when the strange moaning sound, much closer this time, brought his attention back to the reason he was here in the first place.

Aragorn stared into the depths of the natural, cave-like section at the rear of the little garden.

The setting sun was at an angle that created shadows in the hidden garden, but there was still enough daylight to illuminate the area deep inside.

At first, the man didn’t see anyone, so he took a few steps closer. Then he saw Legolas and to Aragorn’s shock, the elven prince was sitting on the ground behind the bench with his back to the rock wall. His head was down on his knees, which were drawn up to his chest, and his hands were covering his ears.

TBC

Chapter Two

“Legolas!” Aragorn shouted, running forward. He made his way around the bench and dropped down to his knees beside the elf. “What has happened?” His tone was desperate, having no idea of what could be wrong with his friend.

If Legolas was injured, he surely would have sought aid. He could not have been attacked. No one who would do such a thing knew of this place. Was the elf followed and then attacked? No, Legolas was too careful for that to have happened.

So many thoughts and quickly-dismissed possibilities swirled through the man’s head that he had to force himself to concentrate on the facts he knew, which wasn’t saying much.

He leaned forward. “Legolas, please speak to me.”

Legolas didn’t seem to hear Aragorn, or at least gave no indication that he had.

“Are you sick?” Aragorn immediately tossed out that question, since elves didn’t get sick, at least not the way mortals did. He placed his hand on Legolas’s head.

Legolas sat up so suddenly that Aragorn was startled, jerking away and almost falling over backwards. When he regained his composure, he looked at Legolas closely. “Have you been injured? Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice betraying the beginnings of desperation.

The elven prince let out a long, slow breath. “Not the way you may think.”

Aragorn didn’t like the sound of that. It definitely implied something wasn’t right. “Then tell me how.”

“It calls to me, Estel. The song of the sea. It calls to my very soul, and I can hear nothing else, not even the voice of a friend.”

Legolas hadn’t heard anything Aragorn had said until he had felt the man’s touch, but he knew Aragorn must have been speaking to him before that.

Now it all suddenly made sense to Aragorn. “The sea longing,” he whispered.

Legolas nodded. “All else fades, Estel. It weaves its melody into the rhythm of my heartbeat. It fills my mind and courses through my veins. I rise and fall with every note, and I cannot escape it. Yet, the song is so powerful, so hauntingly beautiful that I do not wish to escape it. I wish only to soar with the gulls in their flight above the sea.” His voice was full of a wistfulness that showed as strongly as his words the yearning his heart could not deny.

“I am so sorry, Legolas. I had no idea an attack had come upon you. Why didn’t you just send word to me that you couldn’t come and simply stayed in Ithilien? I would never want you to travel here at a time like this.”

He avoided asking why Legolas hadn’t mentioned that the sea longing had resurfaced when the two had been together upon Legolas’s arrival. Then again, it would have been typical of the elf to hide it, not wanting to disappoint Aragorn.

Legolas shook his head. “I was not affected when I left Ithilien. In fact, it did not strike until I was leaving my room to join you at the banquet. I could not go there, so I sought refuge here.

Making no comment, Aragorn sat in front of Legolas and listened.

“It never disappears completely. This you know, but I tried to push it aside, as I often do. I could not. It was just too strong this time.

“The song speaks to the very essence of my being. Even thoughts of the trees and all that I love about the forest cannot break the spell that falls over me.”

Much of this Legolas had tried to explain, in various ways, to Aragorn and Gimli, even to other elves who had not yet been affected. Still, no one who didn’t suffer from the sea longing could ever come close to comprehending its nature or the way it invaded an elf’s heart and soul.

Legolas was a wood-elf through and through, so it was hard for anyone, who knew him well, to understand how anything could turn his heart from the forest. But try as he might, Legolas knew that there was no emotional obsession, no physical addiction he could compare it to.

The sadness of what his friend was going through tugged at Aragorn’s own heart, as it always did each time they discussed the sea longing, yet Legolas had never been quite so eloquent or detailed in describing it before. Perhaps he had held back, despite wanting Aragorn to understand, so that he wouldn’t have to see the look of helpless sorrow on the man’s face that he now saw residing there.

Silence fell between the two friends before Legolas finally broke it. “Everyone thinks it is blue or green. I used to believe that, as well. But it is actually silver.”

“What are you talking about?” Aragorn asked, slightly puzzled.

“The sea. It is like liquid silver, and it sparkles like diamonds floating on its surface, even when neither sun nor moon shines upon it.”

Aragorn was still not sure exactly what the elf meant. “I have sailed on the sea, Legolas. It is green, appearing as blue only when the clear sky is reflected on the water.”

“Perhaps only those of us who suffer the longing can see it the way it truly is.”

Legolas paused and for a moment his eyes took on the faraway look Aragorn had seen in their depths many times over the years.

“The song of the sea,” Legolas began softly, once again attempting to explain the sea longing. “The plaintive cry of the gulls and the gentle lapping of the waves upon the shore blend together, and I fall under its spell. It captures me, Estel, and I have no defense against it. I become lost in a world I do not fully understand, though I know that the song was a part of me even before my birth.”

Aragorn had tried on more than one occasion to imagine wanting something so badly that nothing short of giving in to the urge could satisfy him, but it was a hard thing to do. The closest he could come to it was his desire for Arwen. Even that, as strong as it was, could not compare to what Legolas was describing now.

Despite all the elves he had known in his long lifetime, none of them had ever actively suffered from this mysterious elven malady. Aragorn never used to consider it a malady, simply an awakening of sorts, but whenever he saw Legolas afflicted like this, he could find no better word for it.

What he didn’t know was that he had never seen the worst of it. That was the one thing Legolas kept from him. During those times, no one, not even Aragorn would have been able to bring him back until the attack had taken its course.

The sea longing was meant to tell elves when it was time for them to leave these shores and sail over the sea to their true home, Valinor, the Blessed Realm. They were not supposed to suffer any longer than it took them to depart the Grey Havens and sail the Straight Road. They were not supposed to fight it in order to remain in Middle-earth.
Yet, that is exactly what Legolas was doing.

Ever since the longing was first awakened in him, Legolas had refused to break his promise to Aragorn to stay by his side as long as the man lived. And every day of his life he paid the price, to some degree, for that decision.

When Aragorn’s mind refocused on the present situation, he realized that Legolas was looking at him very much the way Arwen did after one of his mental wanderings.

The look changed to one of compassion. “You are not to blame for any of this, Estel. It was my promise to make and mine to keep. I will not sail, as you have more than once suggested I do. I will not break my promise to you just because I am a little inconvenienced.”

“Inconvenienced? You call what you are going through a little inconvenience?” Aragorn’s voice rose in volume with each word he spoke. He sighed and then said sternly, “I would not have you suffer on my account, as I’ve told you before.”

“I know, but I have managed it for many years now, and I will continue to do so. It is well worth whatever I must endure to remain here.”

The ’argument’ was going nowhere, which was exactly where it went on all the previous occasions they had had this same discussion. The stubborn elf was determined to stay and that was that.

Legolas was gripping his arms so tightly that his knuckles were white. It was obvious he was straining to keep himself under control. He turned his head aside, so Aragorn couldn’t see how great the inner struggle had become.

He longed to give in and just let the song of the sea carry him away into its welcoming embrace. But there was no way he would do so while Aragorn watched and worried.

The king wasn’t fooled. “How can I help you, Legolas? I am a skilled healer. I should be able to do something to ease your suffering.”

“Many have tried through the years. None have succeeded. You know as well as I do that the sea longing will not respond to athelas or any other medicine that exists. There is but one cure, and I will not surrender to it until...”

“I die,” Aragorn quickly finished for him. The two had long since gotten past feeling the need to tip-toe around blunt truths. Still, he wanted to spare his friend from having to utter those words, the very thought of which he knew pained his friend.

“I learned the majority of what I needed to know to be a healer from the best there was. Other knowledge I picked up along the paths I’ve trod in my life. Many times I was forced to improvise. Through it all, I’ve always felt I did a fair job at the healing arts.”

“Fair?” Legolas scoffed. “You patched me and your brothers up more times than I care to recount. And I know you also did so for many others. Of course, in my case, it was usually because you got me into trouble to begin with.”

The jest was offered purely to ease Aragorn’s mind, and the man was happy to know Legolas‘s sense of humor was still intact.

“As I was saying,” Aragorn cleared his throat meaningfully and continued on a serious note. “I’m a skilled healer, able to cure illnesses, mend broken bones, repair torn flesh and brew the foulest tasting teas since Lord Elrond left these shores. Yet, I can do nothing for you, my dearest friend, to ease the burden you must carry.” Aragorn shook his head. “I used to think my greatest skill was as a healer.”

Legolas smiled. “You give comfort, loyalty, compassion and the wisdom of your experiences to those you love. That has done more for me over the years than any physical healing you have ever done.

“You are a great king, husband, father and friend. You are, even now, holding an important banquet, yet here you sit with me in this private garden, freely giving the only thing you have that can truly help me.”

Legolas’s smile broadened, as he reached over and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No, Estel, your greatest skill is not in your hands. It is in your heart and the way you choose to share it.”

The End