Seascapes

SEASCAPES

Chapter 2

Legolas sat on the terrace with his face turned to the sea, as the lanterns burned low and the last plates were cleared from the table. Imrahil could not begrudge him his apparent inattentiveness; he was clearly entranced by the moonlight playing on the water’s rippled surface, and could hardly tear his eyes away from the sight. Indeed if the prince had been honest, he would have had to admit that he was glad of the elf’s distraction, for it allowed him to gaze surreptitiously at the object of his own fascination.

Six decades of training in the arts of war had taught Imrahil much about self control. His manner throughout the meal, therefore, had been calm; but in truth his mind was in turmoil. He could only hope that his companion was sufficiently preoccupied with the nearness of the sea for the man’s state to have escaped his notice.

After the initial shock of the elf’s dramatic entrance, their interview had settled into a more familiar pattern. Formal greetings were exchanged, and enquiries were made as to the health of mutual friends and former comrades. Legolas had produced two scrolls, one from the King and one from Imrahil’s nephew Faramir, prince of Ithilien. The man had put these to one side and summoned Belgan.

“You are a most welcome guest in muse,use,” he had told the elf. “I shall have my steward show you to your chambers, where you may refresh yourself before joining me for dinner.”

“Unless, that is,” he had added, as a sudden thought struck him, “you wish to descend to the water straight away?”

Legolas had smiled warmly at him but turned down his offer.

“It seems strange even to me,” he had said slowly, “but now that I am here, I feel no need to hasten to seek the first encounter.”

Imrahil had been unable to identify the nature of the emotion barely held below the surface of the elf’s words.

“Take your time,” he had responded. “I am honoured by your presence, and my home is at your disposal for as long as you wish.”

Belgan had worked at the castle all his life, and Imrahil knew that he would never treat a guest with less than the utmost courtesy. Still, he had been amused by the steward’s response to his words:

“Please show Prince Legolas to the west chambers and see that he has all that he needs.”

The old man’s face had not changed, but something about the set of his shoulders had visibly relaxed at the sound of the elf’s name and title. It had not surprised the prince; like most of his people, Belgan had never before seen an elf, and his attitude towards the fair folk was likely to be ambivalent, at best. However, royalty was royalty; and the name of Legolas was known to many through the songs and stories of the Great War.

Once the elf had left the study, Imrahil had taken the scrolls over to the ww sew seat to read. No urgent summons did he find; along with a smattering of news, both messages held cordial greetings and invitations to visit. The prince had pondered the possibility for a while. Maybe next year he would accept Faramir’s offer and ride to Ithilien. He had always been fond of the young man; his gentle, wise spirit resembled that of his mother more and more as the years went by. It would soothe Imrahil’s heart to see him, in his new found happiness with his fiercely beautiful wife. If matters with Celaeren had taken a turn for the better by then his son could ride with him… he had not been to Gondor since reaching his majority and surely it was time. Maybe, if things had really improved, the King would accept Celaeren into his service for a few years. It would be good for him to be away from Dol Amroth for a while.

He had re-sealed the scrolls and taken them into the study, once more dismissing the anxieties about his son from his mind. There were, after all, more pressing issues to be considered this evening. If he had wished earlier for some unforeseen event to break into the monotony of his life, his prayers had most certainly been answered.

Of course, Imrahil had not forgotten his offer to show Legolas the sea, although he could never have expected the elf to take his words literally, spoken in the heat of passion as they were. He remembered the details of that impossible, magical encounter with alarming clarity; his mind had rehearsed them well on many a lonely night. Even before Glantathar’s death, thoughts of Legolas had warmed him when he had crept from the bedside of his sick wife to seek solitary, guilty pleasure in his own chamber.

His memories were doing more than merely warming him now. As he looked on the elf, his profile arresting, thrown into stark relief by the lanterns’ light, he felt almost sick with excitement, anticipation . . . and dread that he may have misjudged Legolas’s purpose in coming here.

It seemed that he was alone in his nervous tension. The elf had eaten delicately, but had clearly enjoyed his meal, while to Imrahil every mouthful had been as dry and unpalatable as sawdust. He had barely swallowed enough to maintain appearances, but had moved the conversation along reasonably smoothly, by uraguraging Legolas to speak of his travels with the dwarf and of his new realm in the forests of Ithilien.

The prince found that he was sorely discouraged by the elf’s apparent ease in his company. Perhaps, after all, he had come to look at the sea, and nothing more. If that was the case it might leave him ruined with wanting, but at least he could give to Legolas that which he sought.

Draining his wineglass, Imrahil leaned towards the other.

“Are you ready? Shall we go down to the water?”

The beautiful face turned towards him and the elf’s lips pa in in an eager smile.

“Now? Yes, I am ready.”

So they moved rapidly, through the quiet corridors, to the lower door that led directly out onto the cliffs. The sleepy guard roused himself and stood to attention as the prince approached, but could not stop his eyes from straying to the stranger at his side. Imrahil smiled, and called the man by name, saying,

“Prince Legolas is to be given free passage in and out of the castle at any hour. See that your fellow guards understand.”

As the man stammered his assent and bowed low before the prince, Imrahil caught his companion’s eye. He could not have said exactly why, but the expression he saw there caused a sudden hope to leap in his heart. Still, he determined that he would make no move towards the elf unless it was quite clear that his attentions would be welcomed, for rejection would be an agony too great to bear.

Imrahil could have descended the worn stone steps at a run, even in the near dark, so familiar was the path to him. He slowed his step out of courtesy for the elf. Surefooted Legolas may be, but he had shown no sign of wishing to rush into this moment. The silence was heavy between them, broken now by the restless sounds of waves breaking against rock and shingle, sounds that would forever sing to the prince of home and childhood.

At last they stood side by side on the tiny gravel beach between the high rocks. The elf did not speak, but simply stared out across the endless water. Imrahil needed no elven meeting of minds between them to sense that Legolas was near overcome with emotion. It occurred to him that his presence might be intrusive.

He asked quietly, “Would you rather be alone?”

Legolas turned to him quickly and briefly laid a hand against his arm, and all the blood in the man’s body seemed to rush to his head at once.

“No, if you do not mind, I would prefer you to stay.” With that he turned back to the sea and his hand fell away.

Imrahil dared not move. There was a long pause, during which he made a futile attempt to quell the legion of questions in his mind.

As Legolas bent to remove his boots, the man roused himself.

“It is unwise to swim here. The undertow is strong, and the rocks are deadly.” A vision of the elf, naked, wading into the water, came unbidden to his mind; his desire threatened to suffocate him.

“I thought not to swim. I simply wish to feel it . . .” the voice fell to nothing, and his companion walked slowly to the water’s edge to stand motionless in the swirling foam, the light wind catching his hair.

The prince, acutely uncomfortable, moved to sit on a large flat rock, and tried without success to avert his eyes, to think of other things.

At length Legolas sighed, turned, and padded towards him across the shingle, his feet making hardly a sound on the tiny stones. He settled gracef on on the rocks, near enough for Imrahil to be painfully aware of his presence even were he to shut his eyes, but far enough away for there to be no real suggestion of intimacy.

“It is wondrous . . . like nothing I could have imagined.”

Imrahil said nothing for a while, but eventually commented,

“I am astounded that you waited so long.”

“If I had felt able to do this alone, I would have done it sooner.” Legolas replied, quietly.

The elf’s unexpected words brought a further crowd of questions into the man’s head, but he said simply:

“Did you not think to travel to the coast with Gimli?”

“No, it would not have been fair to him. He has no love of boats and water.”

The man knew at once that this was nothing like the whole truth, but did not pursue the matter.

“I could not ask my own kin to accompany me; for I would not subject them to the same yearnings that have plagued me daily,” the elf continued, “And I did not wish to trouble you before…”

It had been Legolas who had raised the subject of Glantathar earlier in the evening. He had offered Imrahil straightforward, heartfelt sympathy for his loss.

“I hope I did not presume too much by coming to you unannounced.”

Imrahil found his voice at last.

“Indeed, no. I am greatly pleased and honoured that you came here.” He wanted to say more, but his anxious uncertainty restrained him.

“I will confess,” said the elf, in a lighter tone, “that there is another motive to my visit. There is the matter of a promise to a lady.”

The prince started forward before he could control himself. He looked into the elf’s eyes, but found them quite unreadable in the poor light. He tried to avoid analysing the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly Legolas smiled.

“Last winter, I tarried in Edoras, and spoke to the lady Lothiriel.”

A warm rush of feeling flooded through the man. Perhaps it was simply joy at the sound of his daughter’s name; perhaps it was something else.

“Did you find her well?” he asked, eagerly.
“She was well, exq exquisitely happy, but for one thing; she worries for her father. When I told her I had thought to visit Dol Amroth, she all but begged me to do so. It would take a harder heart than mine to refuse her request.”

“She told me nothing of this in her letters!”

“Maybe she doubted that I would keep my word . . . or maybe she thought to surprise you.”

Imrahil felt sure that the latter explanation was more probable. How like gentle, perceptive Lothiriel to sense from his letters all that he could not tell her; his loneliness, his growing sense of tedium and frustration. So she had sought to send Legolas to him . . . for what, exactly?

The elf seemed to answer him, as if he had kept pace with his thoughts.

“In our conversation this evening, you have said nothing of your life, yet I would not have needed your daughter to tell me that you have your cares.” His voice was soft, and full of compassion.

“My friend, I know what it is to be lonely; it is neither shameful nor unusual for one in your position. With me you do not need to be Prince Imrahil, nor I, Prince Legolas. We are simply a man and an elf who have fought side by side, and each has known grief and trial. If you wish to talk of it, you will find me more than willing to listen. And I trust I do not need to tell you that you may speak freely before me, and be certain of my discretion.”

Then Imrahil understood what it was that his kind, clever daughter had hoped for, and perhaps also the true reason why Legolas had made the journey to his city. In spite of his burning desire, he could not allow himself to feel disappointment, for genuine friendship is the most precious of gifts.

So Imrahil talked, and told Legolas a little of his life. He spoke of his sadness since his wife’s passing, and the loneliness of carrying on without her. He confessed to his lack of purpose since the coming of peace, and his dissatisfaction with the formal, uneventful rote of his existence. He told of his fears for his daughter, and the extent to which he missed her presence in his daily life. But he did not speak of his sons, although he was not aware of a reason for his omission; it simply seemed that a moment came when he had said enough, and he knew that there would be other days.

The elf was true to his word and listened earnestly; and such comments as he made were pertinent and wise. Imrahil found himself astonished by the sympathy in the other’s voice and manner. He had been raised to believe that elves, though magnificent in many respects, were cold, aloof creatures, little interested in the plight of mortal men. Such terms could never be applied to the one who sat beside him now. The man already knew him to be capable of passion and warmth; what he had not expected was the immediate understanding, the recognition that his words drew from the other. He wondered if Legolas was strange amongst elves, perhaps because of his love for a man; or whether the differences between their races were not so great as his elders would have had him think.

When the man finished talking, they sat for a time in silence, looking out over the swelling darkness of the sea towards the low, gibbous moon. It was Legolas who finally broke the comfortable peace between them.

“Too well do I know the guilty shame of longing for the past, for that time when the shadow of evil roamed the world,” he said thoughtfully. “I am lucky to be the third son of my house, and therefore free of many of the responsibilities you have to shoulder. Now that the Greenwood thrives in the sun once more, my father has willingly given me leave to travel and to make my home in Ithilien. My journeys with Gimli are not yet over; there is much we wish to see together, much to learn, and much pleasure to be found in his company as we travel. There are many things for me to look forward to, even to the day my ship leaves this shore; yet I cannot tell you how much time I spend in looking back.”

The elf’s willingness to confide in him moved Imrahil greatly. “It “It does not surprise me, and I see no shame in it,” he said softly.

Again they sat, and the night grew dark and chill around them.

Legolas stirred himself when Imrahil failed to suppress a yawn.

“Forgive me, my friend,” the elf said, “I believe you have need of your bed.”

The prince stood, and stretched, wondering suddenly if he was not being dismissed. It was true that his back was beginning to ache from sitting too long on the cold rock, and his eyelids were feeling heavy. He knew that he should climb back up the stone stairs before long, but was loathe to do so, as it was evident that he would be making the ascent alone.

“You will stay here?” he asked, although he knew what the answer would be.

“Yes, by your leave. I do not need sleep tonight, and would listen to the sea’s true voice until morning.”

Still the man lingered, unsure what he was waiting for. A sign of some sort, or an invitation? None was forthcoming, but he saw the elf’s faintly glowing features arrange themselves into a gentle smile.

“Fear not,” Legolas said, a lilt of humour in his voice, “I promise that I will not attempt to swim, and that you shall see me safe at the breakfast table.”

Realising that he would only appear foolish if he stayed longer, Imrahil finally bade the elf goodnight, and turned to run up the steps to the castle.