Call of the Sea

CALL OF THE SEA


Chapter 11

In the instant when I realised that the dying orc spoke the truth, and that Aragorn had fallen from the cliff, I felt my world end. A mere moment later, however, a different realisation came to me; my spirit sang to his still, and I knew that he was alive. I peered down the rock face, looking for evidence of his fall, but saw no blood, no shreds of cloth from his garments, no body in the waters beneath. Either he had sunk without trace, which my spirit told me could not be so, or somehow he had hit the water breathing, and disappeared downstream. It seemed impossible that a man could fall so far and yet live; but then, my lover was no ordinary man.

I scanned the cliff for footholds, and prepared to descend to him. Theoden’s sharp instruction stopped me in my tracks, and I whirled around, words of protest on my lips, for he held no authority over me. What I saw in his eyes, however, silenced me: fear and an unspoken plea. Glancing about me, I felt the despair of his men, and realised what it would mean if Gimli and I deserted them now. Yet still I could not find the will to leave Aragorn to his fate. In that moment of indecision, my hand closed around Arwen’s jewel and I shut my eyes . . . and felt it, a sudden rush of warmth, a wordless reassurance unlooked for.

The words came from my heart, - Watch over him – and I do not know whether I prayed to Arwen, or to Elbereth herself. But my choice was made, and I followed the king.

Gimli’s eyes were wild, but I hissed to him, “Fear not: he lives,” as I swung up onto the horse and turned him around sharply, veering to come alongside the riderless figure of Aragorn’s grey steed, Hasufel.


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The clamour of preparation for war sounded all about me, as I stood in the highest place in the citadel and waited for my lover’s return. I had watched from afar as Hasufel carried him across the great valley; and I knew that I could wait a little longer, for I had no wish to greet him at the gate with the mob all around us. He would be drawn to me, soon enough.

Our eyes met while he was yet fifty paces away, but I did not move, though each step was a great effort for him. I longed to rush to him, to enfold him in my arms, to carry him if needs be; but I would not. Before the curious eyes of the Rohirrim he walked towards me as a king of men, weary beyond measure but proud, his spirit and strength undiminished.

With every step I sang to him of my love and joy at his return, though I uttered not a sound. When he finally stood before me, I saw the glitter in his eyes and spoke light words to him; the rush of feeling through the simple touch of hand on shoulder was enough to convey the truth. Silently, I placed the jewel in his palm, and felt his thanks and something more - something he was not yet ready to tell me.

“You sent Hasufel to me, did you not?” he asked me later, as I washed the dried blood from his wounds. He lay on a narrow pallet in the small chamber set aside for us. It had been difficult to persuade him to rest at all, for the men were arming now, and the battle drew close.

“Aye, I spoke to him,” I replied, delving in his pack for the healing ointment. “But I shall ever beg your forgiveness for not coming to you myself.”

“No, Legolas,” his voice was soft, “You did what was right.”

“At least I knew you were beyond immediate danger,” I told him, “and that your lady had you safe in her regard.”

He turned his head sharply to look me in the eye. “You knew?”

“I could not have left you, otherwise,” I said softly. “And still I will regret it always.”

“There is nothing to regret,” he said. “But how did you know she was with me? Did she speak to you?”

“No, there were no words, but I felt her presence clearly.”

We were silent for a while, as my hands busied themselves with the care of his torn and bruised flesh. It was strange to speak of Arwen; since the day in Lórien when we had become lovers once more, we had avoided doing so. Eventually my curiosity overcame my discretiand and I asked, somewhat tentatively, “Does she speak to you often?”

“Not now, not since . . . sometimes, at night she does, nights when I am not with you.”

So she had to know – at least in outline – what had passed between us. Surely she had tried to reach him on some of those other nights, only to find his mind too full of another’s presence to let her in. Yet I had felt her warmth, even so. The generosity of her spirit astonished me.

I kept these thoughts to myself, and dressed his wounds without comment. But it seemed that he misunderstood the reason for my silence, for he whispered, “I am sorry.”

“Why? I have always known how it is between you, and it is good that she has you in her sight.”

“If I had been stronger, I could have spared you . . .”

“Spared me, or denied me, Aragorn? Would you have denied me this?”

I bent my head to kiss his neck, and caressed the hollow at the base of it with my lips and tongue. He shivered under my touch.

“Ah, Legolas,” he sighed, and his voice spoke of surrender, “You know full well that I could deny you nothing.”

The unmistakeable sound of Gimli’s footsteps in the corridor interrupted us, before my mouth had journeyed far down his chest. I sat up, and reached for Aragorn’s shirt. He was working on its fastenings when the dwarf’s head appeared around the door.

“I am sorry; the king demands to see you, Aragorn,” he said. “I held him off as long as I could.”

Aragorn sighed and rose stiffly from the bed. I stood beside him and could not prevent myself from smoothing his hair with my hand.

“Best that you go alone,” I said to him, as he smiled at me tenderly.

“Aye. It will not be an easy meeting.”

Gimli and I watched as he strode down the corridor, shoulders squared back and head high. Even his posture these days spoke of his regal heritage. In spite of my pleasure at the sight of him, I could not suppress a melancholy sigh.

-Thus he turns from me and walks towards his fate amongst his own.-

My lover was changing, as I should have foreseen, and I was finding it hard to bear.


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Sixteen days we spent in Lórien after that fateful afternoon. Sixteen days, and sixteen magical nights. For while the company slept, Aragorn and I lay togetin sin secret glades or borrowed talans and explored our mutual passion to the full. I brought forty years of unwavering love to our coupling, while he, freed from guilt and doubt at last, allowed himself to learn the meaning of joy.

It was with regret that we left the enchanted woods and turned our thoughts to the quest once more. As we journeyed, our times alone were brief snatched moments, yet I could not be unhappy; for he was ever in my sight and within my spirit’s knowledge. Even through the grief of Boromir’s death and our terrible anxiety over the Halflings, our union banished fear and lent us strength and courage. I began to understand my true purpose in the fellowship, as I realised that we could walk to the depths of Mordor itself with song in our hearts, as long as we were together.

At first Aragorn was loathe to accept Gimli’s knowledge of our love, despite my reassurances. But the dwarf himself overcame my lover’s reluctance, when I could not. One evening I slipped from the others to join Aragorn, only to find Gimli there before me, the two deep in conversation. As I approached, Aragorn turned to me with shining eyes and wordlessly caught my hand, bringing it to his lips as our friend smiled his approval, and my heart filled with joy.

From that day on, Gimlovedoved to be a most loyal and resourceful accomplice in ensuring our times together went unmarked and undisturbed.

Once the fellowship dwindled to three, subterfuge was no longer needed, though we took care not to discomfort our friend. Exhausted as we were each evening, we did not seek privacy to indulge in physical pleasures; but when the dwarf’s turn came to take watch, he would sit with his back to us while Aragorn slept untroubled in my arms, and in spite of all that beset us I was happy.

Between the three of us there developed in those days an unbreakable bond, as comrades, brothers, friends; our talk was frank and far-reaching and the trust between us absolute.

When we reached Edoras, the change was apparent at once. In the company of men, Aragorn became every inch the son of a king, confident and commanding. His gestures quickened, and he spoke ready words to them in their own harsh tongue. He seemed one of them, yet set apart by his obvious nobility. They would have followed him anywhere.

He did not distance himself from us, and still found time for a stolen glance or a hidden touch to reassure me of his love, but the signs were unavoidable. I could not deny the evidence before my eyes; Aragorn was coming into his own and the time was fast approaching when he would need me no longer.


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No doubt my fear of losing Aragorn coloured my speech when I shouted at him in the armoury. It seemed that the hopelessness of the ragged band of men mirrored that of my soul, doomed to my eternal, fruitless love. For one brief moment, I lost my faith.

At once I regretted my immoderate words, and was ashamed of my heart’s failing.

When he replied, without a moment’s thought, “Then I shall die as one of them!” it was as a physical blow; the realisation that he would willingly choose the fate of his own kind, leaving me alone and desolate. For the first time I truly felt the gulf between us, elf and man, and I despaired.

There were no trees, no green havens where I could find some peace for my heart, so I did the best I could and sought the comfort of the stars. From the battlements I saw the sky to be obscured by clouds, but there also I found Gimli, who clearly sensed my pain and met it with gruff, insistent affection. Before long I found myself replying in kind to his teasing jests, and my spirits lifting once more.

“This will be a desperate fight,” I said to him, “and who is to tell which of us shall survive it? Yet you comfort me, Gimli, my true friend, and bravest of comrades in battle.”

“Aye,” he said, “and as your true friend I say to you: go to him now, for you know not what the night shall bring.”

I ed med my thanks, and ran to find Aragorn.

One look in his eyes told me no apology was needed, but still for my own sake I had to say it. My pledge to him renewed, I kissed him, and in the heat of his response I knew that things were right between us yet. I let my spirit touch his for a moment, to strengthen us both, then stood back and smiled at him, saying, “Let us go then, and fight with honour, and with love in our hearts.”


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While the battle raged, I did not feel the agony of the dying.

In those momentary lulls when I could relax my concentration, I even jested with Gimli, as we tallied the enemies felled by our hands. When the fighting recommenced in earnest, no part of my mind was free to contemplate the reality of the carnage before us. Yet in a corner of my consciousness I was aware of Aragorn at all times, his spirit like a bright flame, burning, passionate, invincible. I felt no fear for his safety.

Once the combat ended and my heart had slowed to its usual pace, and when I knew that my lover and friend were safe, I stood upon the wall and looked around me. I saw the dead, and felt the wrenching pain in my soul once more. I had seen the aftermath of war before; but to me it is a horror which becomes no easier with experience. As I gazed about me I saw amongst the bodies boys, mere children who had fallen in the desperate defence, and at the sight of their innocent faces contorted in death my grief overwhelmed me.

I felt my legs buckle, and sank to my knees.

Before I had time to struggle to my feet again, he was there, crouching and cupping my face in his hands to look into my eyes. He knew what he saw, and offered me no platitudes, but simply raised me to my feet and supported me with a strong arm around my waist as he led me to tornbornburg, to the tiny chamber where I had tended his wounds the day before. Men approached us as we passed, but with a gesture or a word in their own language Aragorn sent them on their way.

He sat me on the narrow bed before bolting the door behind us. Finally he sat at my side and held me, and I allowed my tears to fall.

After some time, I ceased to weep, and simply sat with my head on his shoulder, feeling the tender concern in the touch of his hand as it stroked my hair. At last I turned my face to his, and he looked at me with compassion.

“My love,” he whispered, “I would willingly give my life to spare you such grief.”

His kiss was soft and ge, bu, but my fingers soon linked behind his head, pulling him into me harder, as I sought to drown my sadness in the desire welling up in me.

He knew what I needed, my sweet and sensitive lover, my strong and passionate man. Deft hands swiftly relieved me of my garments, and his own followed soon after. It was not long before I lay naked beneath him, shuddering as his hands explored every inch of my flesh. He bent to kiss me again, as his fingers traced patterns on my thighs, and his thumb gently brushed against my swelling cock.

As he pulled his mouth away from mine, sitting back on his heels to reach for his healer’s pack, I opened my eyes and drank in the sight of him, muscled, scarred and battle-stained, yet utterly beautiful to me.

“I want you, inside me,” I murmured, and saw his cock twitch in response to my words.

He found what he was looking for, and opened the small bottle. The healing scent of rosemary filled the room as he rubbed the oil over his hands.

He was gentle with me, at first, using his fingers to make me ready. Yet once he was fully inside me, I found myself wrapping my legs around him and clutching at his hips, urging him to move faster and deeper, to fill my body and mind with his love, to leme nme no room for doubt and woe. He gave all I wanted, and held nothing back; taking me hard and biting his lip to stop himself shouting as he came, though his words of love resounded in my mind. My release came soon after in his hand, and my words were no less passionate.

We lay together then with no thought for the day outside, a few brief hours before we would ride once more into the turbulent world. As he slept a while I studied his face, and thought again of the changes I had seen in him of late. And I realised, in the warmth of that moment, that my fears had made me a fool. I should not wish him to be weak, that I might support him; how much better that he should come to me as my equal, with strength and joy and ardour to match my own.