Call of the Sea

CALL OF THE SEA

By Capella

‘Neither asked for, nor expected’: an elf tells the story of his love for an extraordinary man.

This is the story of the relationship between Aragorn and Legolas, from their first meeting in Mirkwood some forty years before the Council of Elrond until the very end.

The story is based largely on book canon, but it is archived here under the movie section because it features some of the key movie scenes in later chapters.


All the characters belong to JRRT, as we know. No offence is intended and no profit made by borrowing them in this way.

The author greatly appreciates feedback. Please find the time to review.

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CALL OF THE SEA

Chapter 1

Love at first sight is a most popular concept with both elves and men. It features in many a song and story of both races. This, however, is a tale in which heroism and romance play no more part than weakness and imperfection; and therefore I must admit the truth. Thoughts of love did not enter my mind when I first looked on Aragorn. In fact I was conscious of mild surprise and indeed disapproval at the sight and - let me be quite honest – the smell of him. Maybe he was raised by elves, but this all too clearly was a man, and one who had spent many nights in the wild places without much thought given to his personal needs.

In my six centuries I had met many men, fleeting encounters with hunters in the woods or traders of Dale and Lake Town. I had found them to be a rough, loud people, given to sudden outbursts of mirth or rage, and inclined to be surly or tongue-tied in the presence of my kind. Beauty there must have been beneath the dirt and rough clothing; I had never had cause to seek it out or wonder at its nature.

I knew of Aragorn, of course, long before I set eyes on him. News travels fast amongst elves and although my father had little love for Elrond, still we were bound to the affairs of our kin throughout Middle Earth. Messengers moved between Mirkwood and Rivendell at regular intervals, bringing news of the boy Estel, and later of the man Aragorn, and his many adventures in the wild lands. His true identity was known at our court, though little spoken of, and not common knowledge amongst the rest of the elves. Aragorn himself had passed through Mirkwood a number of times and had even been received by my father; I had been away patrolling our borders on these occasions, so had yet to meet him.

When one of the scouts of our party ran to tell me of our chance meeting with this most intriguing and exceptional of men, I was delighted at the prospect of seeing the phenomenon for myself. I dropped out of the tree where I had been resting and ran back to the edge of the clearing where we had made camp.

In my curiosity, I do not doubt that my eyes lingered on him. I saw that his garments, though worn and marked, were clearly of elven make, as were the bow and quiver slung across his back, and the sword at his belt. After the initial assault on my nostrils subsided – a variety of smokey, woody smells with strong undertones of sweat and leather – I looked up to his face, realising as I did so that his height and upright posture set him firmly apart from the other men of my brief acquaintance.

As I belatedly stepped into the circle, Aragorn turned from the other members of my hunting party towards me. Rare indeed is the mortal who can hear an elf’s step on the forest floor. His unkempt hair and straggling beard did not please me, but the direct frankness of his gaze came as a shock. I had seen many expressions in the faces of men as they looked upon me; envy, furtive desire, discomfort, wonderment - to name a few. Never until that moment had a man met my eye in cool, dispassionate interest, as an equal.

We greeted each other in appropriate formal style, in the elven tongue of my people, and I found that he spoke with a softness of timbre and accent which gladdened me. I invited him to share the comforts of our camp for the evening; pleased with this unexpected opportunity to trade tales and learn mof hof him. For his part he seemed happy to accept my invitation.

The evening was a merry one, fuelled by the best of our wine and a sumptuous feast of forest fruits and meats. The whole party sat entranced as Aragorn told his tales for us. Hdvendventures were recounted with humour and passion; he had the skill of painting a most vivid scene with a few wisely chosen words. At length I recalled my position and chided the other elves for badgering him for more; instead we sang and told stories of our own, while Aragorn relaxed in the fire’s glow. Eventually, noticing him yawning, I called the party to a halt.

“Let us set watch now and allow our guest some rest.”

He smiled lazily at me. “Would that I had the stamina of your kind for such merriment. I am afraid it is many nights since I have been able to sleep deeply and secure – such is the burden of the lone traveller.”

I stood and made a small bow. “The least we can offer you in exchange for your wonderful stories is a night of peace. My people will scout the area, and I myself will watch over this clearing, as I have no need of sleep tonight; I shall be tell ell occupied thinking over all that you have told me. I wish you a night of beautiful dreams.”

Aragorn rose and returned my bow. “Your company and the excellence of your provisions have more than repaid me for any small entertainment I have offered. However, I am grateful for the chance to sleep long and well. You may find me more personable in the morning.”

With that we said goodnight and he took his pack to the side of the clearing where the roots of a great beech made a natural sleeping alcove.

True to my word, I climbed into an ancient oak on the opposite side and settled myself there. Long hours I spent gazing at the stars, re-living parts of our conversation and listening to a growing note of excitement in my heart. It was not the person of Aragorn that stirred me, but rather the tales he had woven throughout the long firelit evening. The older elves of my acquaintance had seen much and travelled widely, but their adventures had become the stuff of myth and song. Aragorn’s stories had the immediacy of recent events and made me long to share in his journeys. I found myself wishing that my blood was not royal, that I had no responsibilities, and that I could take off into the forest by his side in the morning. Gladly would I face danger, darkness and toil in order to see and do the things he had seen and done.

At length the colours of dawn touched the sky and my cnionnions started to return to the camp. Knowing Aragorn to be safe in their presence I slipped off to the small river nearby to bathe. The water was cold but sweet on my skin, and I lingered, unbraiding my hair to wash it in the deepest pool. By the time I pulled on my shirt, the late summer sun was making its warmth felt. I left the remainder of my clothes on the bank and climbed onto a large rock to stand in full sun. Tipping my head back, I gazed at the sky while running fingers of both hands through my hair to dry it, and let the yearnings of the night leave me as the sun warmed my back and I felt the pulse of the ancient forest around me. The air was already growing heavy and rich with the scent of flowers and foliage; the sounds of water and insects set up an answering buzz in my skin. My spirit soared in the beauty of the day, and I began to sing.

Even in my ecstasy I was aware of him before his foot snapped a twig at the forest’s edge. Gentle of him, to warn me of his presence – a Ranger such as he would normallyp wip with more stealth. I finished the verse, shook my hair, and turned to him as he stood, as if transfixed, beneath a tree.

“I do not wish to disturb you,” he said.

“You are welcome. The sun is warm and the water refreshing, delightful –”

“But your singing –”

“By the Valar’s grace I may sing out my joy on a thousand such mornings. Your company I may only enjoy today. Please, bathe, and I shall leave you to have some privacy.”

“I would rather hear you sing again, and let the sound refresh my soul as the water my flesh. Would you mind?”

His smile was broad, but genuine. It touched me.

”I am an elf. I do not need to be asked twice!”

So I pulled on my leggings, sat on the rock and combed, then braided, my hair as I sang. Although I had turned, to spare him my gaze as he undressed, I found it impossible not to glance at him through sheer curiosity – I had never had occasion to look at a naked man before.

His body was broader and darker than that of any elf, with bulkier muscles clearly defined beneath the skin. He had patches of quite thick hair in places where my people are, without exception, smooth; and a number of clearly visible scars were apparent on the tanned flesh. Despite his roughness and imperfections the sight of him pleased me greatly; only propriety stopped me from turning again and openly staring.

There is beauty in the race of men, indeed.

I turned my head fully away and began another song, one less familiar to me, which required some concentration.

When he had finished bathing he climbed onto the rock and sat beside me, dressed in his leggings and a loose shirt. I was pleased to note that he had thoroughly washed his hair, although the mere application of water could do little for his beard. I drew my song to a cusiousion and smiled at him.

“Good morning, Estel. Did you sleep well?”

“Prince Legolas. Yes, indeed, under your watchful gaze.” He used the honorific title playfully but respectfully, smiling still.

“Do you plan to return to your father’s palace today, or to continue your hunt?” he enquired after a short pause.

“We have finished our work here, and yet it is such a pleasing spot, and the day so glorious, I am in no hurry to return to the business of Court. I have in mind a day of leisure for mysend mnd my friends, to appreciate that which Yavanna has wrought for us.”

“May I then make a suggestion, and a request?”

“I am at your command.”

“I have some business of my own to discuss with the King and had intended to make my way to him this morning. However I too would enjoy a break from my labours on such a day as this. May I impose upon your hospitality once more? We could then return to the palace together tomorrow.”

I could feel the smile widening across my face. “This is no imposition! You know that I would welcome your company most gladly.”

He shifted his position slightly. “Perhaps we could shoot together for sport? Your prowess as an archer is famous from Ered Mithrin to Gondor, and I would see it for myself. Maybe I could learn something.” Now I was grinning most undecorously.

He added: “Could it even be that the rumours of your skill, like those of the beauty of your person and voice, are understatements?”

I was no longer smiling as I snapped at him “Do not flatter me, master Estel!”

As soon as I had said it, I cursed myself silently for my lack of self control. He merely opened his grey eyes wider as they stared into mine, and placed a hand on my arm.

“I am sorry, good Prince; you are weary of the shallow compliments of Men seeking favours - of many kinds - from you, or your father’s house.” Was this Man capable of reading my mind through my eyes? “I have no such favour to ask of you, save the pleasure of your company and conversation. But I was raised in Rivendell and some habits do not leave me. In these dark days it is ever more necessary to recognise and praise beauty where I find it. I did not wish to offend you.”

The curses doubled in intensity as I felt myself blushing with shame. I sighed. “It is I who should apologise. My kin are famous for our taciturnity, yet after six hundred years I have not learned to think before I speak. No wonder my father despairs of me.” I attempted a rueful grin, which he returned at full strength.

As we stood, I added: “And please, you do not need to call me Prince. I would rather be just Legolas to you.”

“And I Aragorn to you, at least when we are alone,” he quickly rejoined.

In comfortable silence, we headed back to the glade where breakfast was prepared.

Later that day we did indeed take our bows and shoot together. He had much skill, but was not displeased when I matched each of his shots with a better one of my own. He merely laughed delightedly and asked me many questions about the finer points of my technique. All pretence of formality had now been dropped and we seemed to talk easily, as if we were long time companions.

After a time, Aragorn suggested that we move on from the bow to the sword .

“Then perhaps I may even the score somewhat.”

When forced into close combat I generally preferred to use my short hunting knives, but none the less I felt confident enough in my swordsmanship to agree, in spite of Aragorn’s fearsome reputation with the blade.

That the bout would end with his point to my throat was inevitable, but I am happy to say I made him work hard for his victory. We stood immobile for a while, as I listened to my rapid heart and his heavy breathing. Then some devilment overcame me, and I reverted to the tricks of a youngster being schooled in the art of sword play by an over-indulgent tutor.

I leapt up and to the side with a half twist, then bent down and stepped back into him. With one elbow I winded him, with the other arm I knocked the sword from his hand. It is a tricky manoeuvre, which relies on elven speed for the element of surprise, and should only be attempted in play. On this occasion my body remembered the move perfectly and Aragorn was caught quite unawares. He grunted as my elbow hit home and the sword spun of the the side, then gave a shout of laughter. As I had hoped he would, he stepped forward as he tried to grab me from behind; I shifted my weight under him and pitched him, under his own momentum, straight to the ground.

He was not about to give in easily, and I soon found my legs pulled out from under me. We wrestled and threw each other like children until mirth overcame us completely and we lay side by side on the forest floor, laughing to the point of tears.

As the hilarity subd, ad, awareness of the situation returned to me. The heir to Gondor’s throne and the Prince of Mirkwood, strangers only a day ago, grappling in the dirt like infant brothers. What would our fathers think? A sudden vision of the faces of King Thranduil and Lord Elrond, gazing in speechless horror at their wayward children, overwhelmed me, and I snorted with laughter again. Aragorn rolled to his side and leaned on his elbow, looking into my eyes as he spoke my thoughts for the second time that day:

“If I was told of this scene I would not believe it, Oh Prince.”

“Nor I, my Lord”.

“Truly, Legolas, you are balm to my soul. I do not remember a time when I felt so at ease outside Rivendell.”

“And I had never thought to find such friendship with a man. Lucky are the sons of Elrond, that they may call you brother.”

That night our camp was a quiet affair. Sensing that we wished to talk between ourselves, the other s wis withdrew a little into the woods to keep watch after the meal, leaving me to linger with Aragorn by the fire. We spoke of many things; of families and childhood memories, of news of the wider world, of hopes and dreams, and of duty and honour. There was little laughter, but much deep truth in our conversation. I realised that Aragorn, like myself, took his responsibilities to heart, but often found them to be a heavy burden. His strong, almost palpable, sense of his own destiny both moved and impressed me. Did I, even then, hear a faint whisper of my own fate linked to his? Certainly from that day on there was little doubt in my mind that great things awaited him in the fight against the Evil one. I stared into the embers long after Aragorn had retired to sleep, vowing in my heart that should the day come, my bow, knives and sword would be at his command.

The next day we returned to the formality of the Court, where I watched my father greet Aragorn with respect if not affection. He dined with us and spent the night between fine sheets in the palace before taking his leave in the morning. There was little chance for private talk during the evening’s festivities, and the man retired early to his chamber. However my father agreed that I should accompany him part way to the border of our kingdom the next day, an opportunity for further conversation which I seized eagerly. Once again, we spoke easily about a multitude of things, both serious and frivolous. If he had been an elf I would have believed him to be long lost kin, so natural did it seem to be with him. When we reached the end of the path, I was reluctant to turn back, and he to carry on, it seemed.

“If I had no responsibilities of my own I would gladly shoulder my pack and accompany you in your travels, Aragorn. Your tales of adventure have stirred my heart.” I tried to make light of it.

“And I for my part would welcome a companion such as you, Legolas. Any man would be lucky to fight alongside you. But it is this new friendship which is truly sweet. I do not wish to lose it.”

“Then may you pass through Mirkwood again ere long.”

“I do not know when I shall walk this way again; there is much before me. You will always be welcome in Rivendell though – and I shall be there for much of the coming Spring. Perhaps we will meet there if the King’s business leads you that way.”

“Perhaps.” I found it rather hard to smile, then remembered my position. “It has been an honour and a great pleasure to meet you at last, Aragorn. May you journey safely and succeed in all your toils; and may the Lady watch over you.”

“And over you too, Legolas. May you have cause to sing out your joy every morning, until we meet again.”

With that we clasped hands and looked for a long moment into each other’s eyes. I was quite unprepared for his next action – he stepped towards me and kissed me gently on the cheek, then said softly, with his face close to mine,

“I did you a great disservice yesterday, Legolas. It is your spirit which is most beauteous of all. Farewell.”

“Farewell,” was all I managed before turning my head to the side, taken aback by the tenderness of his words and his kiss.

I did not linger to watch him walk away, but stepped into the woods to make my way home. The trees and the Earth have ever been my comfort when sadness threatens to overwhelm me.


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LIGHT

A man can only walk in darkness for so long before he must seek out the light, for the sake of his own sanity.

My light has always been the company of elves. Whenever my heart starts to fail me and the tasks ahead of me seem too testing, I know it is time to make a detour into their lands, before the dread overwhelms me.

I do not attempt to worship the elves, as many mortals are wont to do. They are not rare and exotic to me; my foster family and most of my friends are numbered amongst their kind. Beautiful and wondrous they may be, but our relationships are as prone to irritations and misunderstandings as those between humans.

My need to be amongst them is of a more specific nature.

All elves, from the solemn old ones of the havens to the merry wood folk of Thranduil’s realm, have a God-given connection to the Earth and the Heavens. They absorb joy and strength from their natural surroundings into their spirit, and somehow intensify it, projecting it out again to those around them. I know of no mortal who has this connection to the Earth; and while I may have an immortal ancestor many, many generations back, it has been denied to me. The strength I draw from the elves is a second hand blessing, but none the less real for that.

When I first realised this to be the case, it troubled me, and I sought Elrond’s advice. It pained me to think of myself as a weak and useless parasite, somehow draining my elven friends with my need. My foster father heard what I had to say in silence, then smiled lovingly at me as he placed a hand on my shoulder. He reassured me then that elves dstrestrength from each other in the same way and that nobody is diminished in the process. “You will never takem anm an elf’s spirit that which is not freely and willingly given; and you should understand that joy shared is joy doubled.” Even as he hugged me to him, I felt the surge in my soul as his spirit sang to mine.

On that summer morning I felt the hairs rise on my arms and neck as I stepped up to the wood’s edge and saw Legolas. The forest was so beautiful in the early sun, even I could have sung for the joy of it, but never like this. His voice was clear and strong, and the melody brought tears to my eyes. It felt as if everything pure and good in the forest, in the bright sky and the sun’s radiance, was being channelled through him into my heart. I was completely overwhelmed, and staggered a little, alerting him to my presence with clumsy movements, and partially breaking the spell. He turned to me and I looked upon his face.

To those who know how to see it, an elf’s spirit has an aura which glows faintly through their skin. As he turned to me that morning Legolas did not merely glow. He was dazzling, radiant. This was not about physical beauty, although I could not deny that the sight of the golden prince in his silver shirt would be enough to move the hardest heart, on that basis alone. It was as if for the briefest of moments I could see his soul, and see that it was strong and innocent, and full of joy.

How could I fail to love him?

When we parted on the following day he told me he would come with had had he no responsibilities of his own. I could not begin to tell him how much I wanted it, how much it would mean to me.

I would never walk in darkness again.