A fourth age Legolas/Gimli vignette Revised Version

To meet the rules of the writing workshop this fic has been slashed to fit a word count. I would be grateful for your comments on whether this is a better version than the longer one already posted. I promise this is the last time I will post this! Thank you for your patience.

1- present tense, first person POV.
Home

I sit on the dock, engaged in the most banal of activities, that of sharpening a blade.

I look up. There he is, near the mast, running some rope through rigging. Two gulls have perched above his bright head, and then one cries its haunt into the waning day.

Without warning I am thrown into memory, a piece of our past from when my beard was russet, and my blade an axe.

A dozen decades ago; I sit on another dock at Pelargir, plying a whetstone. In front of me a ship tugs at its tether. The elf is on board, an adventure I declined, but I look up from my sharpening at his call. He is perched on the crosstree of the mast, and gulls sweep round his head, crying into the wind.

"The gulls, Gimli!" He swings down to the deck, and then runs to the bow to follow their dipping flight. He stands, transfixed, for all the time it takes me to stow my axe and make my way to his side.

"Legolas?" I lay a hand on his arm. He tilts that unearthly face to mine, and his eyes have changed.

"Gimli," his voice barely makes the distance between us. "The sea."

One hundred and twenty years later; he stands in front of me, frowning at my preoccupation.

"Tomorrow, Gimli. Say those are not second thoughts, my friend. Would you
have us tarry?"

Would I sentence him to even a day more of the torment he had borne throughout the long reign of King Elessar?

"The wanderings of an old fool, Legolas. Tomorrow we sail, lad. As we
agreed." Again I place my hand on his arm and the elf places one
long-fingered hand over mine.

We both look along the straight path painted by the sinking sun onto the
sea. A gull lofts silently, silhouetted against the brightness in the West.
Leading us home.

2 - Other POV – third person / past tense.

The elf threaded the last sheet through a block, and then looked over the ship.

All was ready, and Gimli was still hale, still with him, still game for the adventure. Legolas glanced at the dwarf who was sharpening an adze on the wharf. The stropping sounded as enduring as their friendship. The elf tilted his head, aware of wings above him, and then the gulls cried. Legolas was jolted into the past.

The memory took him to the docks of Pelargir, more than a lifetime of men ago, and placed him on the crosstree of a Corsair’s mast. He remembered Gimli looking at the rocking ship, and then deciding to stay on the wharf.

The sun, muffled all day under a cloud, slipped free and lit the world. Gulls greeted the brightness and whirled around the elf’s head.

“Home,” they cried. “ Follow!”

The elf felt his heart stutter. He dropped to the deck, summoned. The bow rail brought him up short and his heart stretched after the flock.

The feel of a hand on his arm called him back. Eyes filled with concern looked up at him.

“Legolas?” said Gimli.

“Gimli,” Legolas said, his voice strangled. “The sea.”

The memory left him, and, a dozen decades later, the elf shook himself out of the past and looked to his friend.

Gimli’s hands had stilled.

Legolas made his way to the dock and to his friend’s side.

Gimli blinked up at him as his shadow blocked the sun.

“Second thoughts, my friend? Would you have me tarry?”

The fear of a positive answer must have shown on Legolas’ face because the dwarf shot him a look, and then stood, disclaiming any such desire.

As in the past, the dwarf anchored the elf with a touch. Grateful, Legolas placed a hand over the one on his arm. Tomorrow they would sail, home.

Rose Sared