Chapter 1

Chapter One

Legolas could feel the familiar ache in his chest, the swift tightening and release every time he breathed. He had been resisting the call of the Sea for years -- more than Gimli could count, and Legolas did not keep track of the passage of time; it made one weary, when one was immortal. And, when one was immortal, it was best not to tire of life. This was a pain he had never gown used to, a longing he could postpone but never ignore. He inhaled the scent of fresh flowers, filled himself up with the song of the earth and felt the ache ease somewhat. Only the friendship of Gimli and others and the sweet song around him relieved the ache at all. The birds, the trees, the ground beneath him sang of peace, a peace that Legolas had helped to achieve. But despite the beauty of Middle-Earth, Legolas had heard the gulls cry, and ever since his heart dwelt far across the Sea where his body longed to be. He loved his friends dearly, but the call could not be ignored. He was one of the Elves who had been Chosen to hear the call, and he was expected -- had been, for years. But then, he could not come yet. Now, Gimli had grown old, and the Hobbits had long since departed -- two to Valinor, and two to the Halls of Mandos -- and at last Aragorn had bid good-bye to his friends, his love Arwen, and all of Middle-Earth. He passed the crown to his son and was buried in a great ceremony. Legolas exhaled, and the ache flared in his chest. He had sworn to dwell in Middle-Earth until the reign of King Elessar was ended, and now that time was upon him. He missed his dear friend, but the Sea overwhelmed all other emotion. Legolas crossed his courtyard in Ithilien and ran his fingers over the bark of an old oak. Idly he wondered who was more ancient, he or the oak, and felt ancient. He closed his eyes and breathed, listening for the tree’s unique language. Instead, his mind was swept away to white shores, and the cry of gulls filled his ears and trickled like liquid -- like the Sea itself -- into his soul. The pain surrounding his heart blossomed, sharp and searing. His breath hitched, and his equilibrium, the legendary calm and serenity of the Elves, was shattered.
‘Legolas!’ a gruff voice called. ‘Open your eyes, ye fool and stop listening to that infernal Siren’s song.’
‘That’s not so easy,’ Legolas murmured, and opened his eyes. ‘Hello, Gimli. It is a beautiful day, but not for me.’
Gimli shook his head. The melancholy that had stolen slowly over his friend was now complete. The cheerful, playful Wood-Elf had been eaten away by War, and what the Ring and Sauron had not corrupted, the Sea-longing had.
‘Stop talking like an idiot,’ Gimli growled. ‘Tis a beautiful day for all, even a Dwarf above-ground.’
‘You remind me of that often, but I do not hold you here.’
‘But our friendship does. I would not leave a friend to suffer, even an Elf,’ Gimli stated. He put a hand on Legolas’ elbow.
‘Your heart serves you well, my friend,’ Legolas said in a soft voice.
‘But yours begs for a better place,’ Gimli said. ‘That time is nearly here, and then maybe that damn longing will be appeased.’
‘But the Fellowship is not all ended,’ protested Legolas. ‘You are here. You remain here. You have not died.’
‘No, I have not, but you talk as though you wish I was,’ Gimli said.
‘You know that is not true!’ Legolas turned from Gimli’s worn face. Gimli sighed gustily. Legolas was not even himself, the arrogance and the insults had been replaced by apathy and acceptance.
‘Surely not, but even an Elf should take the bait of a Dwarf!’ Gimli tried.
‘This Elf is weary of life, old friend. I have seen my share of war and peace, and I wish to sail.’
‘This is terrible.’ Gimli shook his head and stroked his beard, thinking. ‘We have to do something about this. You cannot just fade away here.’
Legolas turned again and gazed at his friend. ‘Never thought I a Dwarf would be such a dear friend,’ he began.
‘Perhaps you never thought ere you were introduced to me!’
‘But a dear friend you are, and I swore to remain in Middle-Earth until all the Fellowship was ended.’
‘Aw, my friend,’ Gimli said. ‘I can see in your eyes the pain you feel. Build a ship, Legolas, and sail over Sea. Then you will not suffer.’
‘But to leave you--!’
‘Ai, what else is there to do?’ Gimli brushed a lock of silvery-white hair off of Legolas’ face. ‘Ay, what else indeed,’ he muttered. Light filled the Elf’s eyes. Colour swept into his cheeks. Gimli nearly stepped back, startled by the sudden change.
‘I know, I shall take you with me!’ Legolas cried. He threw his long arms around Gimli. Gimli sputtered.
‘Take a Dwarf to Valinor? Convince all of the Eldar and the Valar too to allow a Dwarf into the Undying Lands? Lad, are you quite mad?’ Gimli shouted.

‘And I shall do it, too. I have asked for no reward for assisting in the salvation of Middle-Earth. You beheld Galadriel, Lady of Light, and have sung her praises ever since. She favoured you. She will find a way.’ Legolas twirled on his heel and sprang into his hall. His swift feet carried him silently to his study, where he sat and began to think. Surely there was a way to communicate with the Lady of the Golden Wood. As he thought, he grew tired, and sleep crept over him. It was a strange thing, he thought, for an Elf to dream. They did so rarely, content to live within the song of the stars and to see with sleeping eyes the world of the waking. But oddly, he dreamt.

‘You have been a faithful servant, Beloved one,’ came a whisper of a voice. ‘You were correct when you said you have not been rewarded.’
‘What is this? An Elf, dreaming?’
‘This is no dream. This is illusion and reality.’
‘The two are mutually exclusive.’
‘Do not argue. Long have you withstood the call of the Sea, Legolas Greenleaf. Come home.’
‘I cannot! Gimli--’
‘You are correct. It is highly irregular for a Dwarf to be friend to an Elf, but we shall allow it. You have both served Middle-Earth and the Valar well. Come home, Legolas. It is time.’