Chapter 2
Gimli returned to Aglarond, and life for Legolas crept forth. He remembered little of the passing weeks, and the Sea-longing was a buzzing in his skull and an ache in his chest, and he did not sleep. He barely ate, and even the sight of the stars at night could not calm him. So he did the only thing he could think of to do.
When Gimli next came to Ithilien, his found Legolas varnishing a large grey ship. The Elf was on his knees, brow furrowed, deep in concentration. It was evident to Gimli that he had been very busy the weeks that Gimli had been away.
‘Ai, Legolas, you’ve gone utterly mad. Have ye slept at all?’ Gimli circled the structure. Legolas did not look up. His hair, normally loose with his warrior braids, was twisted up against the nape of his neck. He put down the varnish brush and began to sand down some rough edges.
‘I have built a ship,’ he said finally. He sanded inside of a finely carved leaf and its surrounding swirled branches. Gimli sighed.
‘I can see that. So you have finally made up your mind, eh, elf?’
‘I am going to sail down the Anduin and pass over Sea at last, and you are going to come with me.’
‘Oh, I am, am I? When did I decide that? What of the Glittering Caves? What of my people?’
‘What of your dearest friend?’ Legolas countered. He rocked back onto his heels and met Gimli’s dark eyes.
‘Ai! Lost his mind, he has. Legolas! Use your keen Elven sight for something! Can you not see that a Dwarf will not be allowed entrance into the Undying Lands? There is a reason they are called that, you know!’
‘Your unkempt beard is preventing rational thought,’ Legolas commented, smiling serenely.
‘Oh, no you don’t, elf! My beard has nothing to do with this. Eh, your hair is arranged in quite the feminine fashion,’ Gimli retorted.
‘The better way to keep from accidentally sanding it off,’ Legolas replied, unruffled.
‘Your pristine Elven tunic is collecting dirt. Odd, that. I had heard that dirt does not stick to Elves.’
‘And strangely, dirt seems to seek out Dwarves, particularly in tangling their beards.’
‘Our beards are nobody’s business, elf, but privately, they are kept quite clean, I’ll have ye know.’
‘Yes, you wash it regularly with ale,’ Legolas smirked.
‘And you never wash,’ Gimli grumped.
‘I have no need. Dirt does not stick, remember?’
‘Smug meddling Elves.’
‘Confounded Dwarves.’
‘Always bragging about their extra-sensory senses, their hair, their flowery impossible-to-learn language.’
‘And Dwarves are short-tempered, in fitting with their stature.’
‘Always rambling about trees and stars, and their accomplishments -- Imagine! Teaching trees to talk! And they glow in the dark--’
‘Always building caves and lurking about underground, cutting off the sounds of Arda--’
‘Legolas, peace, friend. Just tell me why you did not sleep.’
‘I slept.’
‘You have been working on this for weeks non-stop, I can tell. I know you, elf. You have pushed yourself to complete it.’
‘And I shall continue to do so until it is finished. I cannot bear this longing anymore, Gimli. I must eradicate it. I must sail before I crack.’
Gimli studied his friend. He had never known an Elf to speak of insanity, not that he’d known many Elves, but he knew of them, and he knew Legolas. He had spent countless years in the Elf’s company, and even in the company of some of the Silvan Elves Legolas lived with in Ithilien, and the prince had always been calm and serene. He had never been impulsive, although he was meticulous and driven. But Gimli knew that Elves had minds and temperments like the ocean when it was purring like a kitten. They felt no urgency, in general. They were content to exist, to be, to breathe in Ages past, and let Arda evolve around them. The prince was not so different. He was filled with solemn and pleasant humour, and he was kind, and Gimli knew that Legolas dwelt a third in the past, half across the Sea, and a third in Ithilien. Legolas did not feel the time passing as Gimli did, yet suddenly he could not bear the Longing anymore. In a way, Gimli understood. His friend had suffered for years and years, despite the peace and prosperity surrounding him. His normal Elven constitution was changed by the Sea much as it warps wood, and now he was impatient, hurried, impractical. His hair was never so neatly braided anymore. His clothes could almost be called rumpled. His inner glow and beauty had faded in the intervening years, and Gimli son of Glóin worried for his friend. Legolas needed the Undying Lands the way a plant craves water. It was time, nay past time, and Gimli knew he could not return to the Glittering Caves again.
He could not let his friend face this voyage alone. It was settled then.
‘Alright, elf, I’m going with you,’ Gimli announced.