Call of the Sea

CALL OF THE SEA


Chapter 13


On the sixth day after the fall of Sauron I awoke from dreams of Rivendell, and knew beyond doubt that the moment had come.

There had been little time, in those days, for Aragorn and I to be together in private. My visits to his tent at night were fraught with the need for discretion in the midst of the busy camp; by day, he was amongst his own and the demands upon him were many. Scouts were returning from their sorties to the East, and groups of men were organised to pursue the last remnants of the enemy’s allies. When he was not dealing with these, or passing through the camp with the other healers, tending to the wounded and heart-sore, he often sat in discussion with the captains and princes, and the men of influence of Gondor and beyond. It would be long before such a gathering met again and the chance to establish a new net of diplomacy could not be ignored.

I had watched from a distance as my lover became King in all but name, and my heart was full of pride and despair.

In the dawning of that sixth day, as I re-entered the conscious world, my mind crystallised around one clear thought.

- It is time to let him go. –

I left Gimli dreaming in the tent and stepped out into a cool, bright morning. My heart was pounding, and I felt that my body could barely contain my grief. Where could I turn for support in my pain? I crossed the dew-drenched grass as the Sun rose above the mountains, and headed towards the wooded slopes behind the camp.

I walked slowly through the trees, aiming for the peace of the higher ground, making no attempt to order my clamorous thoughts. It was a while before I became aware that someone was following me. I knew it was not Aragorn, but the tread was too light for it to be another man; one of the hobbits, perhaps? I stood behind a tree, and waited.

To my surprise, I caught a glimpse of a tall figure with long dark hair, and a moment later Elladan came into full view. I stepped forward, and called him by name.

“Legolas, good morning.” He smiled, but his face seemed troubled. “I am sorry to follow you, when you were clearly seeking solitude.”

“No matter, my friend. It is always good to see you.” I clasped his proffered hand in greeting, hoping that my inner turmoil was not too obvious. “Is there a problem in the camp?”

“No, no such thing,” he replied, and reached inside his tunic to produce a small pouch of soft green leather. “I came to give you this.”

I took the offering from his outstretched hand, wondering what gift could be so urgent. I did not open it, but sought eye eyes first for explanation.

“Before we left Rivendell, my father gave this to me with instructions to pass it to you, in his words: ‘Afterwards, and when the time is right’. I had no idea what he meant, but last night I dreamed of him, and I knew that I had to find you when I awoke.”

I shivered at these words, feeling the hand of fate plucking the threads of my life once more.

A brief look in the pouch revealed a small brown bottle and a folded paper. I closed it again, suspecting that this may be a gift best opened in private. Raising my head, I saw that Elladan was giving me a long look, and that my own sorrow was reflected in the still grey depths of his eyes. I clutched Elrond’s gift tightly in my hand as if for support, and felt my face betray my feelings all too clearly.

Elladan took a step closer and opened his arms to me without a word. In his firm embrace I felt myself surrounded by sympathy and understanding, and it was like the final wave that breaks the flood barrier. I abandoned my attempt at self control, laid my head on his shoulder, and allowed my tears to fall.

It seemed a very long time that I wept, and all the while he held me and stroked my back with gentle hands, and sang a quiet song of hope and courage to my spirit.

When no more tears would come, and I felt that my heart was washed clean and empty, we simply stood, each in silent knowledge of the other. Eventually, I shifted my head and cleared my throat to speak. Before I could form the words, however, he raised a hand to smooth my hair, and with the other in the hollow of my back pulled me closer still, so close that I briefly doubted his motives. Yet the kiss he placed on my lips was chaste, and drawing back at last, his hands on my shoulders, he said:

“Do not forget, Legolas, that my brother and I love you as one of our own. We will always be there for you when you need us.”

“Thank you,” was all I could whisper, before he kissed me again and turned to leave.

I stood still and watched him head back down the slope towards the camp, confusion and disbelief in my mind. How could it be that in the midst of my grief, my body could have betrayed me so and answered his obvious arousal with my own? And why had my friend taken advantage of my vulnerability like that, pulling me in to him, that I might feel his hardness and he might know my shame?

My face burned as I thought of it, but not for long. A sudden gust of breeze rustled the leaves as Elladan turned and looked back up the slope at me. I saw his smile, and felt his spirit touch me for the briefest of instants, and in spite of everything, I smiled in return. For I knew then what he had been trying to tell me, that all was not lost; my soul might yearn for Aragorn for all eternity, but life would carry on, and need not be entirely without its pleasures.

I did not open Elrond’s gift until I had reached the place I sought, a peaceful, beautiful glade high under the sun, where the breeze was fresh and fragrant with herbs. The bottle had no label, so I opened the carefully folded note, and read the elegant script which could somehow only be his:

Legolas,

Your spirit is noble and strong, and your heart pure.
You shall not know despair. Yet even the strongest
suffer no shame in seeking the help of those who love them.

Two drops on the tongue will strengthen resolve and soothe
the troubled heart.

May Elbereth bless you and keep you in her grace.

Elrond.

I folded the note again quickly and placed it back in the pouch, for I would not have my tears wash the ink away.


*******************


I caught Aragorn’s eye as we ate dinner with our companions that evening. He smiled at me, then held my gaze.

- Tonight. - I told him.

Even across the fire I could see the heat of passion in his eyes.

- Come to me in woo woods when I call. –

He seemed to shift uncomfortably, then turned his attention back to Merry, who was telling an outrageous tale of his heroic Brandybuck forefathers.

After the meal I went to one of the more distant pools to bathe. I took my time, washing my hair with fragrant soap, and trimming the nails of my fingers and toes. Finally, dressed in clean tunic and leggings, I returned unseen to our tent. There I collected my pack: a large soft blanket, a bottle of almond oil and a flask of rich, heady wine. These I took to the edge of the forest, where I waited for silence to fall on the camp.

It was a fine, clear evening, full of stars. I gazed up at them in wonder, and thought back to that first starlit night when I had sat in the oak tree dreaming of adventures at Aragorn’s side. Could anyone have foretold where my youthful hopes might lead? The warm calm of the afternoon still suffused my mind, and I had a sudden insight. However painful parting from him may be, I could not regret anything that had passed, and should count myself lucky to have known such love. I would not give in to bitterness.


*********************


I had spent many hours that day amongst the wise old cedars of Ithilien, letting the twin magics of the forest and Elrond’s remedy do their work. The grief had not vanished, of course; I did not need to recall Galadriel’s words to know that it never would. But its raw edge was, for the moment, dulled, and I no longer felt myself to be a desperate individual at the centre of a storm of pain. Instead I knew my place once more as a small part of the greater consciousness of the Earth, my needs and sorrow insignificant in the face of creation.

At the moment when my meditations had reached their fullness, and I had lain in the cradle of the forest under the golden sun of late afternoon, a strange thing had happened. Two gulls, far from their home, had swooped down over the glade and circled there, calling to me once more of the wide oceans and the West. Yet this time their song brought me little pain, and a great realisation stole across my mind.

When Galadriel had spoken to me through Mithrandir of the sea longing, I had thought her words a warning. I saw now that she had offered me hope, a hope which might burn in the waiting, but ultimately offered me a reason to continue. For I must lose Aragorn; first his physical love, but at some point the very light of his presence in Middle Earth, would be taken from me; and how should I then remain to live out my endless days in grief? My yearning for the sea would sustain me, carry me through the years, and once his story was told, I would follow my heart to the West. I had watched the gulls, and for the first time my curses turned to blessings, even as my tears fell.


**********************


Few voices were audible in the camp, and in spite of the bright moonlight a man who knew how to move stealthily would not be noticed. I called to him, and lingered in the shadow of the trees.

He arrived promptly, and I knew that he had been waiting for my summons. I took his hand without comment, and led him through the forest along the path I had followed earlier in the day. We walked for some time, but when we stepped out into the glade, I knew he would understand why I had chosen it. The moon lit the open space brightly, and the magic of the ancient trees seemed to hang in the thyme-scented air. We were far enough from the camp to know that we had privacy, and the nearby waterfall would mask the sounds of our passion.

I pulled him into the clearing, and turned to face him. He looked long, holding me at arm’s length.

“Gods, Legolas,” he said at last, “Your beauty could break my heart.”

He too had made an effort for this night. He had bathed and dressed in clean clothes, and his beard and hair were trimmed. I would have loved him no less had he come to me covered in the filth of battle, but I was pleased to think that I would remember him this way.

I placed the pack on the ground and walked into his arms at last. We kissed for an age, bodies pressed together, tongues breaking away to wander down necks, hands in hair, on shoulders, running down each others’ backs. Much that I feared to say to him was said in that embrace, and finally he held my face in his hands, pulling back far enough to look into my eyes.

“This is the last time, is it not?” he asked me gently.

“Yes, Aragorn.”

We held each other close, and could not look at each other for a while.

There was a catch in his voice as he said, without conviction, “Does it have to be so soon?”

“You know it, my love. Arwen will come to you before the summer is over. You cannot leap from my bed into hers, and we both need time to prepare. For I would stand at your side as you take your vows, and wish you joy with all of my heart.”

“Oh Legolas,” he whispered into the side of my neck, and his breath was hot. “I have never deserved you.”

“Do not say that, my heart. It has been my choice, my joy, my honour to love you, and I shall love you still, even though our circumstances change.”

I broke away from him, and went to unroll the blanket on the ground. He joined me there, and we lay sid sid side, facing each other, our hands entwined. Desire would come later, but this moment was too precious to rush.

“In Lórien, on that day,” he started, and I moved to interrupt, for I did not wish him to mar the night with his guilt.

“No, love, let me speak of it; I need to do so. On that day I tried to humiliate you, and you only shone more brightly. I tried to punish you for my own faults, and you somehow took it all and turned it into love. If I lived for eternity at your side, I could never love you enough for what you have done for me.”

“Then I think you do not know what you have given me, nor how much joy your love brings me.”

“Will you show me, tonight?”

“Yes, Aragorn, I will.”

We lay a little longer, caressing each other gently, almost hesitant to proceed. At last he asked me, “Would you undress for me? I wish to look upon your beauty tonight.” How different this courteous request was from the commanding growl he had so often used to arouse me. Perhaps we had no need of such games now.

I stood and did as he requested, slowly, lingering on every clasp and tie, revelling in the heat and awe in his gaze. By the time I stood before him naked I was completely hard, as I knew he would be, yet I did not want to rush into his embrace. Instead, I moved to the centre of the clearing and lifted my face and arms to the moon. The song seemed to come through me, not from me, and its melody was strange and wild, yet sweet. I had not heard it before, but I knew that every note would stay with me for ever, for it told of our love.

As I finished, I felt his arms wrap around me from behind, and his lips and tongue on my neck. He pressed me against his body, and the feel of his clothes against my nakedness excited me. His hands, rough and hot, ran across my flesh with a firm touch that only inflamed me further. I clutched back at his hips as his fingers found my nipples . . . and stayed there, rubbing, pinching and rolling the flestil til I became boneless with pleasure, and my head fell back to his shoulder. He continued the delicious torture as he whispered to me, telling me of the first time he had found me singing at the river’s edge, and how he had seen me so in his mind as he pleasured himself on many a lonely night. This image was enough to finish me. He did not move his hands from my chest, nor did I attempt to touch myself, but as his tongue traced the length of my ear I came nonetheless, balancing on the edge for an agonising time, then falling quickly, as the silver fluid fell to the woodland floor.

It seemed fitting, somehow; an offering to the forest. I smiled as the trees rustled their approval, although there was no wind.

I turned to him then, and placed my hands on his chest. “It is my turn now. I would look upon your beauty.”

I removed his clothes with care, taking my time over those parts of his body which were usually less noticed. I knew that I was trying to memorise it all by touch, as I had already done by sight, but I had no wish to dwell on the implications of the fact. When finally he stood before me naked, I walked around him slowly, caressing him with lips here, fingertips there, before stopping behind him to take in the loveliness of his sculpted form. I trailed my lips from neck to waist, sinking to my knees behind him, and played a while with the delicate hair in the hollow at the base of his spine. I spent some time massaging the firm muscles of his buttocks, listening to his soft groans of pleasure, before I parted them with my hands to allow access for my mouth.

A shudder ran through him and he groaned, loudly, as my tongue swept down the flesh and pushed inside.

“Let me kneel, before I fall,” he said, raggedly.

I stood, and led him to the blanket, where he willingly knelt for me, and writhed as my tongue opened and explored him. I was already growing hard again at the sight of his beauty and the completeness of his surrender, and it was not long before I reached for the oil.

I was not gentle with him, I will admit. I wanted to ride him hard, to fill him completely, so that he should feel me in the rush of his blood, in the air swirling in his lungs, in every particle of his being. If this was to be the last time, let him remember it well. Having already spent my first pleasure I could make the second last, and this I did; thrusting deep into him as my fingernails dragged down his beautiful back, and he shouted out, begging me to finish it before the terrible ecstasy killed him. I reached below him then and stroked him hard, holding myself back until he was ready and we came, crying out together, before collapsing to the ground.

A little later, as we held each other close, he said, “I am ashamed of my selfishness, but I do not know how I will live without this.”

I sensed that he wanted to say more, but found it difficult, so I allowed myself to touch his thoughts a little.

“She will move you in ways you cannot imagine, Aragorn,” I said gently, for I understood his fear. “You need have no anxiety about that.”

Arwen had spent most of her young life in Lórien. If Aragorn was not aware of the fearsome reputation of the elves of that realm in the lore and arts of love, I would not be the one to tell him. Let him discover it first hand in the bed of his queen. Much as the thought might have pleased me in the darker reaches of my soul, I did not imagine that he would spend his nights with her yearning for my touch.

“But what about you, Legolas? Must you spend an eternity alone? I shudder at the thought that I will hurt you so.”

We had avoided talking about this, at my insistence, before now. I had little reassurance to offer him, for in truth I did nnow now the answer myself. Elves have died for loss of a loved one; it is said that others have gone on to know love again, although the first bond remains the strongest, and the grief does not disappear. I had no wish to speculate with him now, so I took another direction.

“I have sources of strength denied to you, my love; I will live with the hurt. Do not try to blame yourself again. Do you forget that I am here of my own choosing?”

“And after this summer, what will you do?”

“You know I must return to my father’s kingdom, and I cannot foresee what duties will await me there. Yet when he gives me leave, I will keep my promise to you, and return to these fair woods; for there is work that needs to be done here to restore them to their glory. As for Minas Tirith – such a city is not fit for a king of Lúthien’s line; you need gardens, and who better to build them than the elves of the wood?”

“It soothes my heart to know that you will return, and I may see you, even if I may not hold you close again.”

“It may be some time before I return, you do realise that?”

“Aye, and perhaps that will be for the best.”

I knew he was right; he and Arwen would need time to establish themselves before I saw him again. However understanding she might be, she would not welcome my presence at the start, I was sure. It was strange to speak of her now. By implicit agreement, we had not done so before, not since Helm’s Deep, at least.

“She will know, will she not?” he asked.

“Can you doubt that she knows already?” he had to face this, before he faced her. “I think she knew it was likely, before we even left Rivendell, and has already accepted the fact. Do not go to her wracked with guilt, Aragorn. It will do neither of you any good.”

Our talk turned to other matters then, and before long the talking led to touches and more. The night was long, and we had no plans for sleep.

********************


In the last hour of the night, I sang once more, as he came inside me while I sat astride his hips, our arms wrapped around each other and our eyes locked together. Our spirits met then and I understood that I had experienced the last perfect moment of union with him, and that it would be with me always.

There were tears afterwards, and pledges of love and loyalty, but we both knew that this part of our journey was finally over.

I cannot describe how difficult it was to let him go when he finally left my arms and set off back to the camp, nor the scale of my anguish as I watched him depart. It would be pointless to try; I know of no words in any language that could convey the depths of my sorrow. There was nothing I could do but embrace it.

I lay face down on the earth beneath the great cedars, and immersed my grieving spirit in the enchanted stillness of the forest.


*********************************************************


TRUTH


I do not know what lies before me, for the world is changing fast, and I have no gift of foresight; yet of this one thing I am sure. Even though I may outlive all my forefathers, I shall remember that night in every detail until the end of my days. And when I lie upon my death-bed at the last, I shall shut my eyes; and I shall see him standing in the moonlight and hear his haunting song once more.

When he took my hand and led me through the forest, prickles of unease ran down my spine. The trees were too still, the air too heavy for such a clear spring night. It seemed that some enchantment was afoot, something ancient and strange; yet as I turned my mind to it, I sensed no menace around me. I thought to ask him of it, but he walked with such quiet purpose I was loathe to break the silence.

Once we reached the clearing and he stood before me in the bright light of the moon, I felt my breath leave my lungs as if for the last time, and my body ached as I looked upon his beauty. His skin glowed softly golden in contrast to the silver-blue silk he wore, his tunic fitting closely enough to emphasise the elegant form beneath. His long slim legs were tightly encased in a darker fabric and his delicate feet were bare. Pale hair fell loose about his shoulders, framing the perfection of his face, which spoke as clearly to me of love and anguish as e hae had said the words aloud. His pain came as no surprise to me, as I had known from the moment he took my hand that this night together would be our last.

If I had thought he was beautiful then, I could find no words to do ice ice to the sight of his glorious body once it was revealed naked and aroused before me. He stood with his face turned up to the moon, his arms raised and his hair flowing down his back. After all that I have seen and done in these long hard years, I had come to believe that I was beyond astonishment. As I beheld him there I realised that I was naught but a fool to think it. Had I the good fortune to spend a thousand years at his side, he would never cease to amaze me, or to fill my heart with awe.

He began to sing, and at once I knew what it was that the forest had been waiting for. A shiver ran through me and my breath caught in my throat, as his voice pierced the heady night air. The silence around us seemed to deepen as he sang, and I could well believe the trees were leaning in close to hear him better. I knew I saw him then for what he truly was; a magical creature of the earth, part of some greater spirit which I, in my clumsy humanity, could never know.

His song had no words that I could discern, yet I knew he sang of our love, passionate and sweet, perilous and fair. The melody was disturbing, familiar yet strange, by turns both frenzied and serene. I hear it still, and will do so all my life, yet I could not sing a single note of it aloud.

How did it come to be, this love between us? How could it be that a spirit so strong and luminous should bind itself to that of a mere mortal, weak and imperfect, filled with guilt and uncertainty? I have always known that I did not deserve his devotion, yet I could never doubt its depth and intensity; for since the day he bound himself to me, my soul has been filled with the knowledge of it.

Am I the luckiest of men, to have known such a love, to have walked in his light when all about me darkness threatened? Or am I the most miserable of wretches, to have touched such beauty, only to have it torn from me for the sake of destiny, duty and a promise made? For I am certain now that the rumours I have long heard in my heart are no more than the truth. I have made my decision and will keep to it, for I am the heir of Elendil, my father’s son and not least a man of my word; but I can no longer deny what it is that holds me to my choice.

I may strive every day of my life to bring her happiness, but I know I will never love Arwen as I love Legolas; and were I a free man, my life would be spent at his side.