Call of the Sea

CALL OF THE SEA

Chapter 2


Mithrandir saved me the trouble of finding a reason to visit Rivendell and seek Aragorn’s company once more.

He arrived in Mirkwood in the first days of spring, requesting an audience with the king at the earliest opportunity. My father, as ever, was heartily pleased to see him, but wary of the news he brought. The Istari is merry in his person, but so often bears disturbing tidings.

This occasion was no exception. As we sat around the wide council table, Mithrandir told us of Elrond’s proposals for an extensive orc hunt, an attempt to clear the way between Mirkwood and Rivendell. Mithrandir confirmed our observation that the number of orcs and other foul beasts in the region had been growing for some time, and that the nature of their attacks was showing a worrying pattern of organisation and confidence. Since the hunt was vital to both our peoples, Elrond was suggesting a combined force, a small, mobile but deadly band of fighters drawn from the two kingdoms.

After questioning him closely for a while, my father agreed to the plan. To my astonishment, the decision that I should lead the Mirkwood party came from him, before I even had the chance to volunteer. In two hundred years I had not visited Rivendell – my father’s personal dislike of Elrond had made sure that state visits were kept to a minimum, even as messenger contacts continued to flow between the two houses. Now I was being given leave to go, to stay for several weeks, and to seek the adventures I so craved. I struggled to conceal my excitement in the interests of royal decorum, and flung myself into the detailed discussions. Mithrandir seemed to be smiling at some inner joke, and when I caught his eye, I was sure that he sent me a barely perceptible wink.

He and I rode at the head of the small company which set off three days later. We spoke of various matters for a while until I found the moment to ask him.

“Did you use some wizardry on my father, to put into his mind the idea that I should lead this party? You have always seemed to know my thoughts and must have been aware how much I desired this task.”

“Give me credit, Legolas – I prefer to use fair means unless other tactics are strictly necessary. I was prepared to argue on your behalf should the need arise, but in fact the suggestion was your father’s own. It is not so surprising. Honour demands that he sends to Elrond a representative who will lead with confidence and fight with skill and valour. Your brothers may be his preferred representatives at Court, and in dealings of trade and diplomacy, but for this task you are the obvious choice.”

He returned my smile and as usual read my mind.

“Aragorn is in Rivendell. He will be joining the company and is hoping that you will be there.”

I have always found it easy to open my heart to Mithrandir. Perhaps because he already knows half of what lurks there, spilling out the rest does not seem like telling secrets.

“I long to see him, although I do not know why he should seem like a truer friend to me than elves I have known for hundreds of years.”

He said nothing, but sucked on his pipe and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“He has seen much, and recounts it well. If I were free, I would journey with him. I love my family and willingly do as my father wishes, yet I have long yearned for more, as I am sure you know.” He nodded, but did not speak. “I had not appreciated how lonely I was; I wonder if he realised it before I did.”

“Aragorn himself is a lonely man,” he said at length. “He has chosen a dangerous and trying path through these years of his life. His destiny weighs heavily on him and he does not yet fully know how he shall meet it. It is very unusual for him to feel that he can become close to someone. He must have recognised something in your spirit, my friend.”

We rode in silence for a time, until he said,

“It seems to me, although I can not be certain, that perhaps fate had some hand in your meeting. Maybe you have some part to play in this destiny that awaits him.”

I looked at him sharply. “You feel that too? I had a strong sense of it when we met, but dismissed it as the foolishness of an inexperienced youngster desperate for adventure.”

He laughed, but rather sadly, it seemed. “Do not underestimate yourself, Legolas.”

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There is a quality to Rivendell which is unique. Its magic is solemn and wise, and seems to come from Elrond himself, and the other great elf-lords of his house. It is most tangible at night, particularly when the moon is low and the stars shine most brightly. Rivendell’s sound is that of the rushing of its many waterfalls, and its colours are the silvers of birch and fir. My Mirkwood home has its magic too, but it is of a different nature, primal, ancient and green, reaching its heady strength in the midday sun. I love them both; to me, the air of Rivendell is as a draught of cool, clear wine, both fragrant and sharp, after a rich meal. As we arrived at dusk I could feel the enchantment luring me into the forest, and after formally greeting Elrond, I sought his leave to wander a while to refresh myself. He smiled graciously at me, and I wondered again why my father could not put the bitterness of the past behind him and make his peace with the lord of Imladris.

“I hope that you will treat my house as your home, Prince Legolas, and wander as you wish.”

We agreed that the company should dine together somewhat later, and went our separate ways. A young elf showed me to a simple, elegant room, and it took me moments to arrange my belongings. I wondered briefly whether to try to find Aragorn, but a glance from my window across the grey-green valley was enough to decide me. I took off my boots, ran down the stairs and over the terraces, through the gate and into the trees.

Sitting with my back against a tree, near a small bridge below a waterfall, I watched the sky turn from indigo to black as the stars reached their full brightness. Letting my mind empty, I slowed my breathing to match the rhythm of the forest, and experienced peace. I must have passed into a state bordering sleep, because this time I was not aware of the presence of another until he spoke.

“So I disturb you once again, Legolas. But this time on my father’s orders.”

It only took an instant for me to focus my thoughts, then I leapt up and ran towards Aragorn as he stood motionless on the bridge.

“Aragorn! I am happy indeed to see you.”

“And I, to see you.”

A moment of foolish grinning followed, and then we both stepped forward, and hugged each other, as brothers or comrades might do.

It took all my powers of self control not to flinch away and back off across the bridge, in the shock of that moment, that embrace. For the sensation of sudden tightness in my belly, and the thumping of my pulse behind my ears, were unmistakeable.

Desire. Urgently physical and strong, unnervingly strong.

I extricated myself from Aragorn’s arms as gracefully as I could, and forced myself to calm down, to ignore the unwanted feelings, while studying his face intently to see if he had noticed. As far as I could see, he was wearing the same grin as before – a good sign, I felt.

Words continued to fail me, but he stepped into the breach.

“Elrond bid me gently remind you that dinner is about to be served.”

“Of course . . . I had quite lost myself in the night’s magic.”

“So I could see.” He smiled even more widely.

My mind was clearing. “You think I have lost my skills, to let you catch me off my guard?”

“No, I was referring to your . . . youow.”ow.”

I glanced at my hands, which were admittedly a little more luminous than usual. And then felt my eyebrows draw together in a frown. “You can see it? I thought that men could not.”

“It is the sign of a true elf-friend, obviously . . .” He smirked.

We laughed, and I relaxed, and thought perhaps there was hope for me.

“I should put on some shoes before dinner, I think. Princely duty, and suchlike . . .”

“I shall save you a seat next to me. There is much I wish to tell you.”

Side by side, we walked towards the house.


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WARRIOR


When he fights, his beauty is terrifying.

He stands quite still, straiand and tall, and moves his hand from quiver to bow almost too fast for my eyes. Even in the confusion of a skirmish at dusk I have never seen his arrow miss its mark. His gaze does not linger to see his victim fall, but already has a new target in sight .

When the bow will no longer suffice he draws his knives and becomes perhaps more fearsome. He dances with deadly grace amongst his opponents, leaping, twisting, spinning and ducking, bringing them to grief, as often at, tt, through their own clumsy movements as they attempt to intercept him.

To the enemy locked in his stare his attention must seem absolute, but I have seen him reach behind and dispatch another opponent with a swift thrust or kick, without for a moment breaking eye contact with the creature before him.

His movements are so swift and sure, they appear to be long practised. And yet he fights only by constantly changing his tactics, reacting and anticipating, seizing the otunitunity of weakness presented to him.

At first I could not reconcile the nature of this dreadful warrior with that of the gentle, playful elf who finds rapture in the starlight and trees. When I tried to ask him of this apparent contradiction, he had little to say.

Eventually he offered:

“To those who serve the darkness, Aragorn, a swift death is more than a kindness.”

I looked into his eyes then, and was humbled by what I saw. The ancient sorrow of the elves who have known a bliss beyond evil, and have lived through its long debasement and corruption. If I had not known his true age, I could have believed that Legolas had witnessed the dawn of suffering in Middle Earth at first hand.

A momentary lull in str struggle around me allows me to look across at him where he fights. He does not seem to tire, nor does the stench of blood and death appear to affect him. His strength, speed and intelligence in battle are breathtaking, but that is not what holds me in awe. It is the magnificent calm with which he dispenses death that makes me weak. Awareness hits me like the tug of dread in my gut. I may call him a friend, but in truth he will be forever alien to me, burning with a controlled intey thy that I may never touch or comprehend.

Of course it is in that instant, when its utter futility becomes apparent to me, that my desire for him reaches its peak.


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Author’s note: Mithrandir is the elvish name for Gandalf.