Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I am simply borrowing them for a while.  I receive no profit from this story except for the joy I gained in writing it.

Acknowledgments:  Teanna, for allowing me to reference her story THE ELVISH WAY WITH ALL GOOD BEASTS.  Also, towards the end of the chapter when Legolas is relating the story of the Valar to Gimli and Strider, I have made some direct references to THE SILMARILLION, specifically the “Ainulindale” and the “Valaquenta” (not Tolkien’s words exactly, but certainly his thoughts!)

Chapter 4:  What Price Friendship?

     The last hour before sunrise lay upon the land in shades of deepest black fading to palest gray and silver shadow.  The world rested quietly, the only sound  to be heard the soft rushing sigh of the river winding its way across the plain, and an occasional comment from the small animals living on the riverbank.  Ithil hung low in the sky, but still cast its silver light, as the stars vanished one by one.  Only a particularly bright one remained, hovering above the highest peak of the neighboring mountains: the Mariner making his way home at the end of the long night.

     Gradually, the sky lightened from ebony darkness to deepest indigo.  Brighter and brighter it grew until suddenly, the fiery edge of Anor leaped above the mountains and sent its light cascading like liquid water down the rocky slopes and racing across the plains.

     Within minutes, the wide expanse of grassland known as Rohan bathed in the new dawn and a brisk, cool breeze sprang up, ruffling the tall grass and kicking up the waters of the Snowbourn.

     In a stand of trees near the northern bank of the river, the early morning light illuminated the form of a tall, silver gray horse standing motionless near a small tent.  A closer look would show an established camp, neat and orderly, with a large stack of wood for the fire and a covered cache of supplies. 

     The horse raised his head at the advent of the new day, and then bent again to nudge the motionless form laying at his feet…a motionless form that did not move at his prodding…which had not moved at all for two days.

    Arod snorted softly and nudged the elf’s shoulder again.  Nothing.  He shook his mane and lifted his head once more, keeping watch on the surrounding area.  Thus it had been for the two days and two nights since the morning Legolas had stopped abruptly on his way from the tent, shaking as if from a fierce chill and then falling to his knees.  Bent double, head almost touching the ground, his face concealed by his long golden hair, he had stayed frozen in that position for a few minutes, with arms wrapped around his middle in a seeming effort to protect himself from some unseen attack.

     Suddenly, he had thrown his head back, his normally bright eyes a dull gray, and in a panicked voice gasped, “Arod…”

     Arod, who had been drinking from the river’s edge, had raised his dripping muzzle at the first sound of Legolas hitting the ground, and by the time the strangled “Arod…” had reached his ears, he was moving quickly to his friend’s side.

     Lowering his head to the stricken elf, he had been just in time for Legolas to raise one hand to his nose, and gasp, “Arod…please…” Elven strength had failed then, as his friend fell forward face down on the ground.

     No amount of pushing or prodding, neighing or pulling of elf braids had roused him, so Arod had planted himself beside his friend and not moved, save to get water from the nearby river or graze on the grass growing a few yards from Legolas’ still figure.  There he had remained, alert to any sound or movement that might threaten the silent, motionless elf lying at his feet.

     A few hours had passed from the elf’s last spoken word when Legolas startled the horse by suddenly turning on his side.  He lay there with his knees drawn up and his hands almost tucked under his chin.  To the horse, he had seemed less stiff, more relaxed, and looking at the half-closed eyes Arod could almost believe he was asleep.  However, something FELT wrong, and as the hours had stretched into night, he became sure of it.

     Now, two days later, just as abruptly as he had fallen, Legolas awakened.  Arod watched as he drew a deep breath and turned over on his back.  He stretched slightly and made a soft, melodic humming sound.  Arod’s ears pointed forward, and he lowered his head again, nuzzling the elf’s ear and neck, blowing softly.

     The blue-gray eyes opened fully now, no longer dull, but still slightly unfocused.

     Arod?  What…?

     Legolas lay gazing up at the branches overhead, trying to sort out his thoughts, when memory abruptly returned.  His eyes snapped shut and he gave a great groan of anguish as fragments of the dream tore at his heart and mind.

     “No…” he moaned, moving his head back and forth in denial, “Ai, Elbereth…no…not again!”

     He struggled to sit up, and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them.  Burying his face, he rocked back and forth, his breath coming in short gasps.   Arod observed all this and shifted anxiously.  Something was still terribly wrong!  Legolas’ mind was reaching out to him, but he could not…He shook his head furiously.  The elf’s thoughts were a roiling, seething mass of anguish, against which he seemed helpless.

     Legolas struggled to his knees, still bent double, soft protesting cries torn from him now.   He leaned forward until his forehead touched the ground, burying his face in the grass, strong fingers gouging out chunks as he struggled to control the emotions shaking him apart.  Never had a battle been harder fought, or a defeat more bitterly acknowledged. 

     Arod bent close to touch his stricken friend, to offer any sort of comfort he could, but Legolas was lost in his grief, and the horse was helpless to do anything but stand guard again and wait for the torment to pass.  And pass it did, finally.

     Once again, all was quiet.  Legolas stretched out face down in the grass, Arod standing protectively over him.  The elf breathed the sweet smell of new grass and the good, clean scent of damp earth.  Not for the first time, he heartily hated the desperate longing the sea had awakened in him.  These smells he could appreciate and still enjoy, but over this past year, he had come to understand that the JOY in them, which had blessed him throughout his long life, had disappeared.

     He had enjoyed his trip home to Lasgalen, he cherished the time spent with his Adar, he even found a great deal of personal satisfaction in repairing the damaged forests of Ithilien, but the inherent JOY that had formed the bedrock of his spirit and nature was gone, driven out by this never-ending longing for the Undying Lands.  How terribly, prophetically true the Lady’s warning to him had proven to be!

     And there was no relief in sight, for Legolas, who valued his honor and integrity greatly, and who loved so completely, would not even consider the cure for that longing until his pledges had been fulfilled. 

     He lay there, trying to compose himself.  That was another thing he hated about these more recent, virulent attacks.  They completely stripped him of control and dignity, and to Legolas, that humiliation was almost as unbearable as the sea-longing itself.

     He lifted a dirt-streaked, tear-stained face and looked up at Arod.  The horse lowered his head again in silent invitation, and Legolas grabbed a handful of mane and pulled himself to his feet.  He felt appallingly weak, still shaking slightly from the emotional storm.  He tried to order his scattered thoughts, but lacked the strength to even begin that task.  And he was so cold!

     Shivering, he stepped close to Arod’s strong, warm body, draped his arms around the horse’s neck and buried his face in the dark silver gray mane.  Arod stretched his neck back, enveloping the shaking, bereft form of his friend and stood very still.  Legolas felt welcome heat sinking into his chilled body, and at last, he calmed, wrapped closely in horse warmth and love.

     Arod?

     That was very bad.   And long.  What hurts you so?  Tell me, so I might protect you better next time.

     The big horse rubbed his face against the elf’s shoulder and back as Legolas leaned tiredly against the strong neck.

     It is nothing anyone can help me with, mellon nin.  Somehow, I must learn to fight it myself.

     Aloud, he whispered, “The attacks are getting stronger, and lasting longer.  This was, by far, the worst!”

     It must be a terrible nightmare you suffer!

     The horse sighed with pleasure as Legolas reached up to stroke his nose, then scratch the sensitive place on the broad forehead.

     No, my friend, it is a more beautiful vision of which I can hardly bear to speak!  Fresh tears filled his eyes.

     Arod snorted in alarm.  Then do not speak of it.  Come, you are weary and dirty and hungry!  He began to walk, leading the elf towards the river.

     The dappled white horse stood by and watched closely as Legolas knelt, bathed his face and washed his hands.  Then he cupped his hands and drank deeply of the cold, clear water.  Somewhat refreshed, he stood and turned, eyeing the newly risen sun.  Placing an arm over the horse’s neck again, he allowed himself to be led slowly back to the tent.

     I will bathe later when it is warmer.  Arod…how long?

     The sun has made its journey across the sky twice.  This begins the third time.  Legolas shook his head in dismay.

     And you watched over me?

     The horse turned his head and looked at the elf.  As you have done for me, so I do for you gladly.  Sometimes your thinking is…

     “All right, all right!”  Legolas chuckled shakily.  “My apologies…of course you would care for me!”

     The pair made their careful way to the tent where Legolas went inside and retrieved fresh clothing and linens, a comb and soft soap.  Laying those items by the long-dead fire, he went to the supplies, fetching a loaf of excellent bread sent weekly from Edoras, some dried meat, and several pieces of fruit.  He walked over and stood, looking down at the cold ashes of the fire.  He was so tired!

     Arod nudged him from his exhausted reverie.  Sit!  Eat!  Think later!

     Legolas laughed weakly, and sank to the ground.  He slowly ate part of the bread and meat, and fed one of the apples to Arod, eating another himself.  Licking the sweet sticky juice from his fingers, he set the rest of the food aside for later and stood up slowly.  Feeling marginally stronger, he said,  “Come, Arod.”

     Taking up the clean clothing and grabbing Arod’s mane again, he walked slowly back to the river’s edge.  Stripping quickly, he stepped into the cold water and washed the grime and some of the weariness away.  He loosened his bright golden hair from its confining braids, and scrubbed it as well.

     Climbing out of the water, he slowly dried off and dressed.  He towel dried his hair and ran the comb through it to remove the tangles.  Leaving it unbraided, he tipped his face up to the sun, letting the warm rays soak into his tired body and battered soul.

     Better?  Arod snuffled his new clothing, bobbing his head in apparent approval.

     “Much better, my friend.  It is good to be clean!”  Legolas smiled as Arod snorted.

     Unlike that friend of yours, who seems to draw dirt to him and then keep it!

     The elf’s smiled faded as, closing his eyes, he pictured one very grimy Ranger.  He found himself wishing that Aragorn was with him, if for no other reason than the support his friend always provided.

     Ai, Arod!  I wish he were here!

     Feeling the sting of tears once more, he gritted his teeth and fought the emotion grimly, muttering angrily,  “I hate this lingering weakness!  I am not some sniveling elfling!”

     It will pass once you have rested.  And perhaps your friend will come, too.

     Legolas nodded.  “Perhaps.  But I do not think so.”

     He once again allowed the horse to lead him back to the camp.  There, he clumsily built a fire, spread a blanket before it, and sat looking into the flames.  Arod stood patiently by, and could feel the exhaustion slowly staking its claim on his fair friend.

     Finally, the elf relented.  Just a short rest, my friend.

     I will be right here.  Sleep now.

     Legolas yawned and stretched out before the fire, wrapping himself in the blanket.  He sighed as he felt Arod’s reassuring presence close by, and permitted the warmth of the fire and familiar elven dreams to take him.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     The sun had passed its zenith, and was several hours into its journey towards night when Arod heard the approaching riders.  Many minutes before they arrived, he was able to identify several by scent.  Eomer he had known most of his life, and the two-legged colt that belonged to him always carried carrots in his pocket.  Ranalf of the soft voice and gentle hands he also knew.  He tossed his head as he caught the scent of his master’s friend and the small, gruff voiced one he sometimes carried and whom Legolas also loved.  There seemed to be another of elven descent with them; one, he thought, who lived in the forests Legolas now called home. 

     Now they will help him!  He did not attempt to awaken Legolas, who still slept deeply, his almost completely closed eyes a testament to his weakened state. 

     Instead, he stepped in front of the slumbering form of his friend and waited to intercept these new arrivals.  He knew the rowdy affection sometimes exhibited by these humans and the dwarf.  Friends or not, he would not allow any rough handling of Legolas, even if it did stem from loving hearts.

     The large mounted group crossed the Snowbourn upstream and came trotting into the camp, laughing and calling for Legolas to come out.  It was indeed a raucous bunch.  Along with those he had recognized were several he did not, and as they approached, his ears went back slightly and he raised his head high, snorting and pawing the ground in warning.

     The riders had dismounted and started towards the tent when Aravir’s keen eyes found the still form of his lord on the ground and noted Arod’s behavior.

     “Wait, Strider!”

     His voice and strong hand on Strider’s arm halted the King’s forward movement.  Indeed, the whole group stopped and fell silent at the elf’s command. 

     “Look at Arod!  Something is wrong!”  All eyes fastened on the agitated horse standing between them and the figure lying on the ground, a figure they now recognized.

     Strider sucked in a breath.  “Legolas…” His eyes flew to the horse, who watched them closely, and his hand grasped Gimli’s shoulder, just as the dwarf started to barge past him.

     “Why are you stopping me, Strider?  Look!  Something is wrong with the elf!”  He struggled against the man’s strong grip.  “Let me go to him!”

     “Wait, Gimli,” Strider cautioned in a low, urgent voice.  “We must deal with Arod first, and I would rather not force the issue and perhaps hurt him.  Look at him, Gimli.  He knows us, but he seems uneasy about letting us near.  Look how he guards Legolas.”

     Gimli subsided, and watched Strider walk slowly towards the restive horse, his arm outstretched, palm up.

     “Sedho, Arod.  Shhhh…It is I, Strider…remember?  Sedho…let me go to him.  Saes, Arod…” Strider’s low voice broke.  He carefully touched the horse’s head, all the while softly speaking in elvish, until Arod pushed his nose into the man’s hand, then stepped back to let him pass. 

     When the others started forward, however, he snorted and half-reared, indicating clearly they could not move just yet.  Once more Aravir halted everyone.  “Stay here.  We will wait for the King to give us leave to approach.”

     “He needs help, Aravir,” Gimli growled fiercely, his fear growing.

     “Yes, my lord Gimli, I know.  Let the King see to him first.  I believe the large number of our group alarms Arod right now,” the elf explained, never taking his eyes from Arod, listening closely and recognizing the horse’s protective concern for his friend.

     Strider knelt quickly by the still form of his closest friend, his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with fear.

     He lifted the blanket, looking for blood or any kind of wound, and found none.  A quick examination for broken bones revealed nothing.  He smoothed the blond hair back…no head wound.

     Legolas appeared to be asleep.  Strider frowned.  He slipped an arm beneath Legolas’ shoulders and lifted, cradling him carefully.  With his other hand, he shook the elf’s shoulder a bit. 

     “Legolas, wake up.”

     Legolas drew a deeper breath and wrinkled his forehead a little.  Strider smiled slightly in relief.  Still, what was causing this deep sleep?  He shook Legolas again gently.

     “Legolas!  Come, gwador nin, wake up!  Gimli is threatening to cut off your hair if you insist on slumbering his visit away!”

     Legolas’ eyes shot open and looked up into the relieved, smiling gray eyes he had most wanted to see.

     “Estel?” he whispered.

     “Yes, I am here.  Come, my friend, call off your ferocious guardian, so the others may relieve their minds about your well being,” he urged, helping Legolas to sit up.

     “What?  Guardian?  Who is my guard…oh, Arod.”  The puzzled, confused look faded, leaving behind a rather embarrassed elf.  He called to the horse, who turned and came to him immediately.

     Strider helped Legolas to stand, and Arod pushed his nose into the elf’s chest.

     You see?  He came.

     Legolas framed the great horse’s face with his hands and rested his forehead against Arod’s.

     “Hannon lle, Arod nin,” he whispered.

     Strider, watching the two, understood in that moment just what Legolas faced in the coming days, and his heart broke for his friend.

     Arod lifted his head, nuzzling Legolas’ neck and face lovingly, and snorted as he stepped aside.

     Greet the others now, before the small, loud one does someone harm.

     Legolas laughed, the musical sound carrying to the others and gladdening every heart that heard it.  Strider motioned them forward, and they came, their relieved voices washing over the heart sore elf like a warm, welcome rain.

     He greeted each one, very aware of Gimli’s stern gaze studying him closely.  Finally, he turned to the dwarf, a smile lighting his eyes and curving his lips as Gimli gruffly challenged him.

     “Well, Master Elf?”  Gimli demanded in a low, harsh voice.

      But Legolas knew this dwarf well, and the keen eyes and ears of friendship saw the worry in Gimli’s eyes, and heard the fear hidden in the harsh question.  Legolas laid a comforting hand on Gimli’s shoulder.

     “Peace, Gimli,” he said quietly.  “I am all right now.  We will talk later.”

     The dwarf glared at him.  “Your word on that?”

     “My word,” Legolas promised, including Strider in this vow.

     Both of his friends nodded, and the newly arrived members of the group proceeded to enlarge and prepare the camp for the evening, unpacking supplies and building several new fires.  Bedrolls and pallets were set up for those who would sleep under the stars, and bright tents befitting kings quickly erected for Eomer and Strider, much to their mutual disgust.

     Soon attention shifted to the task of putting together an evening meal from supplies in Legolas’ cache, and the fresh ones brought from Edoras.  The tempting smells of roasting meat and vegetables baking in the coals of the fires presently wafted throughout the camp, drawing all to come and gather before the welcoming flames to eat.  Flagons of ale were poured, and laughter flowed as the hungry company consumed the meal.

     The sun had set in a blaze of riotous colors and the first stars had made their appearance by the time the men left to water their respective mounts and settle them for the night.

     Aravir, after a quick word with Legolas, went to Arod carrying a ration of grain brought from Edoras.  He bowed respectfully to the horse and stepped closer, placing the container within the animal’s reach.  As Arod bent his head to enjoy this rare treat, the elf stood by, quietly stroking the strong silvery white neck.

     Mae govannen, Arod.

     I am pleased to see all of you.  Arod gently nudged Aravir, arching his neck and clearly relishing the elf’s deft touch.

     Was it difficult for you?

     The horse snorted softly, shaking his head.  Before in the forest I saw him after these attacks.  He would come to me and we would ride.  This time was long, and it hurt him.  Perhaps then his friends can help him.

     Perhaps they can.  We will hope it is so.

     Horse and elf stood silently, watching the evening shadows deepen.  Then Aravir led Arod to a small grove of trees a short way from the main camp, and began fashioning an enclosure for him and the rest of the group’s horses.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     The fires had dwindled and the company slept, but for the two set to guard the camp’s perimeter, when the three friends finally met in Strider’s tent for their “discussion”.

     Strider examined Legolas closely as he entered the tent.  He noted the shadows of exhaustion still darkening the shuttered, troubled eyes.  Legolas returned the King’s look impassively, and turned to watch as Gimli seated himself on the cushioned ground beside Strider, wishing he was back in Lasgalen…or Ithilien…or anywhere but here.  He settled across from Gimli, crossing his legs and staring into the fire burning merrily in the brazier, waiting.  He did not have to wait long.

     “Well?  What happened?” Gimli barked impatiently.  “And I must warn you, my friend, my patience with the vague answers and riddles of elves has worn out!” 

     Legolas stiffened slightly at the dwarf’s words, his face assuming the aloof, regal expression that Gimli hated.

     Blasted princely airs!  There will be no talking to him now!

     Strider, watching the exchange, sighed soundlessly.  That was gently phrased.  If I thought he would forgive me, I would gag that dwarf!

     Looking at Legolas anxiously, he frowned.   Arwen had warned him at his departure from Minas Tirith that Legolas would probably be difficult about this matter. 

     “He is not you, Aragorn,” she had said.  “He is an elf, and elves do not accept help or sympathy readily, nor will they ask for it.  You know that.  You call it pride, when actually it is his way of thinking…and best friend of a human or not, my love, he IS an elf first.”

     Strider considered those words again thoughtfully.  She was right, as usual.  How often during their long friendship had he forgotten how different Legolas was?  Too often, apparently.

     As much as I hate to admit it, his mind is foreign to me sometimes.  He grimaced slightly.  Ah well, I have nowhere to go now but forward.

     He took a deep breath and plunged in.  “Legolas,” he said, “Tiro na nin.  Please, my friend, look at me.”  The deep, young-old eyes of his friend met his reluctantly.  “You must speak of this to us…explain what happened and let us…”

     Legolas leaped to his feet in one fluid motion, his agitation a painful thing to see.  He paced away from the two, and for a moment, they thought he meant to leave them.  He stopped near the entrance, however, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes staring blindly at the floor.

     When he turned back to them and spoke, his voice was so low they strained to hear him.  “Let you do…what?  I will speak of this matter only once, Estel…here and now.  After this night, you will NOT tax me further with questions about it or offers of help.”

     His eyes, cool gray and remote, locked with those of his friends.  “And please understand…there is NOTHING you can do to help me.  Right now, all I require is that you attempt to understand.  Sympathy or concern will do me no good, although I appreciate the hearts behind it, and having you here helps tremendously, BUT…” He raised a hand to silence Gimli, who had opened his mouth to speak.  The dwarf subsided into grudging silence.

     “…but…” he continued, groping for the words, “these questions constantly keep the memories fresh and I…”  His voice faltered. “…I…just cannot keep doing that…so I beg of you…after tonight…no more.  Please…Gimli…Estel…” He turned away, visibly fighting for control.

     Strider was on his feet in an instant, crossing the tent to Legolas and laying his hand on the elf’s shoulder.  Gimli followed, his face stiff with concern and self-reproach.  He had not meant to cause the elf further upset, but it seemed he had.

     The three stood there for a long, silent moment.  The presence of the man and dwarf proved reassuring, but the two long days spent in thrall to the sea’s voice had sapped Legolas’ strength, making his composure tenuous, at best. 

     He swallowed hard and whispered, “Ai, Estel…Gimli…I am drowning, and I know not how to stop it!”

     “Aye, lad, I would wager we have all felt that way one time or another,” Gimli responded gruffly, “but we are here for you, and I have found sometimes that a shared burden will lighten the load, even if only a little.  And sometimes, that ‘little’ might just be enough to help you through the rough time.”

     Legolas looked down at the dwarf, his tear-bright eyes surprised.  “You, Master Dwarf?  Share a problem?”

     Gimli snorted, his face becoming slightly more ruddy with remembered embarrassment.  “Well, what would you call helping me survive the Paths of the Dead?  I would not have made it if not for you…and that confounded horse!”

     Even Strider looked at him now in perplexed surprise.  Legolas shook his head in confusion.  “Well, it is true I was aware of your…er…problem within the cave of the Dead, but I do not recall speaking to you of it, nor you to me…”

     Gimli interrupted, “No, lad, you did not speak of it, and for that, I thank you.  As for me, I could not speak at all.”

     The elf and man exchanged small smiles, and the dwarf glared at them before pointing out,  “But you spared me the humiliation when you talked that horse of yours through it.  And you were always loud enough so I could hear your words of reassurance; though they were mostly in elvish, I still took comfort from the tone of your voice.  Somehow, I do not think that was entirely by accident.”

     “Oh,” Legolas said, his fair face awash with stunned comprehension.

     “Yes, oh,” the dwarf answered.  “Now, I know you have helped Strider when his burden of gaining the crown weighed heavily on him.  I think you can let us help you, at least this once.  We want to give you the understanding you say you require of us, but you must share with us what troubles you a little, is that not so?

     Legolas sighed, “It does seem only fair.”

     Strider smiled at Gimli.  On second thought, no gag!

     He turned Legolas back towards the cushioned seats and led him to sit.

     “Come, mellon nin, sit down and have some wine,” he coaxed.  “We will not speak of it yet…not until you have calmed some.  Tell us of Arod’s injury and your treatment.  He seems almost fully recovered now.”

     Legolas sat down between them, and wine was shared among the three, to the grumbling complaints of the dwarf, who thought a good stout ale would have proven more restorative for all.  Legolas spoke at length of his past months with Arod, and the effectiveness of the treatments on the injured leg.  Strider questioned him extensively, watching the panic fade from his friend’s eyes and his stiff posture gradually relax as the warmth of the fire, along with fine wine and good friends worked its magic.

     Finally, Legolas took a shaky breath.  “He is ready to return to the herds.  I will speak with Eomer tomorrow about taking him to the Westfold to release him.” 

     Strider replied,  “We will all accompany you on this journey.  It will take you up near the Gap of Rohan, will it not?” 

     Legolas nodded, regarding his friend with dismay.  He was not sure he wanted witnesses to this last trip with Arod.

     Strider gazed back steadily, and said, “That is only a journey of a few days, and I would be glad to see that region again.  Eomer says it has much recovered from Saruman’s treachery.  Besides, you will be going on a search, will you not?”

     Legolas looked at him oddly.  “A search?  For what?” he asked.

     Strider’s quick glance at Gimli spoke volumes.  “For a new horse,” he answered innocently.

     Legolas just stared at him for a long moment, then looked away.  “I do not know if I will seek a replacement for Arod,” he said distantly.

     Gimli reached over and grasped the elf’s forearm, shaking it impatiently.  “Not a replacement, dolt.  Just a new horse to ride.  One does not replace an Arod.”

     Legolas digested Gimli’s rebuke gravely, and, with the faintest of smiles, agreed,  “No, one does not replace an Arod.  Still, I am not sure…”

     Gimli broke in abrasively, “Master Elf, then we will be sure for you!  I, for one, have heard much of these Rohirrim searches for new horses, and long to see one.  You need a new mount; therefore, we will all go with you.”

     Legolas flashed a lightning grin at that statement, to the delight of his friends.  “You will be complaining of a sore backside before we ever reach the Westfold, Master Dwarf!” he predicted.

     He glanced sidelong at Strider, smirking.  “I am glad I am not the healer who will be charged with treating such an injury!”  Strider broke out laughing, and Gimli shook a fist at Legolas.

     “You pointy-eared excuse for a friend!  Sore backside, indeed!  We will see about that!”  But the smile in his voice was apparent, and neither Legolas nor Strider were fooled by his growling.

     The trio quieted, and Legolas took another deep breath, steeling himself to speak of his recent experience.  “You wanted to know what happened.  I suppose I should ask where you think I should begin.”

     Strider answered, “I know a little about it, mellon nin, but begin where you will.  From the beginning, for Gimli’s sake, if you can.”

     Legolas gave an imperceptible shake of his head, and stared long at the flames of the fire, his fair face thoughtful and still.  Strider and Gimli waited patiently, knowing their friend would speak when he felt able. 

     “Do you know the story of the Great Song sung by the Ainur?” Legolas asked in a low voice.  Gimli shook his head no. 

     “It is called the Ainulindalie,” the elf explained.  “The elves tell of how Iluvatar created the Ainur, His holy ones, by His thought alone, and how they made a great Music before Him.  It is said “in that Music was the World begun.” 

     He closed his eyes, and continued speaking in a soft, dreamy voice.  “Just imagine, Estel…Arda created from the Music of the Ainur and Eru’s thoughts!”  He smiled, and Strider and Gimli could not help but smile, too, at the childlike wonder reflected on the immortal elf’s face.

     Legolas sighed, and his voice took on the cadence and tone of a storyteller reciting a beloved tale.  “The Song was only pure thought at first…and then Iluvatar allowed the Ainur to see their Song.  When the Ainur saw this vision of the world, they loved it, and because of that love, Iluvatar made their vision real.  He allowed those of the Ainur who would to come to this world, and He gave them the task of fulfilling the vision of Arda they had sung.  He said to them, ‘See what your Music has wrought!  This I appoint to each of you – that you find in this vision of the world I have set before you all those things you created in your minds as you sang your part of the Song.’”

     Legolas paused, remembering his Nana and Ada speaking as they taught him the high stories of the Valar.  He could hear in his mind his Nana’s sweet voice saying, “Oh, Greenleaf, what a clever little bird!  Come, say them again for Ada, ion nin.” 

     He smiled as he obediently recited them for Estel and Gimli.  “And the Ainur, whom the elves call the Valar, came to Arda:  Manwe, the dearest of all to Iluvatar and Lord of the Breath of Arda, Varda, the Lady of the Stars, Aule and Yavanna, Ulmo, Mandos and Lorien, Este and Nienna, Tulkas and Orome, Vana, Nessa, and Vaire.” 

     “They each turned their thoughts to one particular thing in their Song.  Manwe loved the air and Yavanna all manner of growing things, but Ulmo, who above all the Valar had received instruction from Iluvatar Himself in music, turned his thoughts to water.  So it was that when the Valar finally saw Arda revealed, of all their music and thoughts had created, they praised water the most highly.”

     Legolas opened his eyes and looked at his friends, the blue-gray depths shining with the starlight gifted by Iluvatar and Varda to all of the Firstborn.  He told them, “It is said that the Firstborn of Iluvatar can still hear the music of the Creator in the voice of the ocean, and that it causes great longing in them, although they know not what they hunger for.” 

     Legolas drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and staring again into the fire.  “It lies sleeping in us, until we hear the voice of the sea or the cry of the gull, that single pure note that pierces the heart, and whispers to us of the Song…and our true home.”

     He looked up at Strider, who knelt beside him, watching his face closely as he spoke.  The plea for understanding struck Strider’s heart like the sharpest blade, and he placed a comforting hand on Legolas’ shoulder, not knowing how else to reassure his friend.

     Legolas struggled to explain,  “The sea-longing is like a dream.  When it first happened at Pelargir, it only lasted a few minutes.  Each time over these past twelve years, it has lasted no longer than an hour or so.  I can only describe it as like standing between two worlds.  Here, on Ennor, we see the world through a haze, like looking into a clouded mirror.”

     He paused, searching for the right words to describe the experience.  “But there…the veil is lifted from the eyes.  Colors are so painfully clear, scents so sharp, the air a light, sweet wine you can almost taste and soft, like the finest silk upon the skin.  You can hear the very music of Eldamar…pure and perfect, and ringing chimes of the golden bells of the Valar.  It is so different from Ennor’s song, which seems muddled, even discordant in places.  When you are ripped from that perfect dream and thrust back into the real world, having seen and experienced perfection, the world now holds nothing but pain…and longing.”

     Legolas shuddered, and Strider squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.

     “When the attacks were only minutes long, I could easily put them behind me.  The last few years, they have begun to strengthen in intensity and duration.  Yet still, I was able to cope with them.  I could go to Arod, and we would fly with the wind until the pain lessened to a bearable ache.”

     He lowered his head, resting it on his knees.  The fire’s light gilded his figure, his golden hair almost incandescent in its glow.  Strider looked across at Gimli, his gray eyes damp with emotion, and even the stouthearted dwarf’s dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears. 

     What to say in the presence of such heart-deep grief?  What words to offer in the face of such rending loss?  There were none.

     Legolas continued, his voice soft and hoarse with remembered pain.  “This last time was different.  It came out of nowhere, cleaving through me like an orc blade.  I do not remember going down, and the dream has faded now, but Arod told me I was unconscious for two days!”

     Strider drew a sharp breath, and he placed his arm fully now around the elf’s shoulders, murmuring, “You are not alone, Legolas.  We are here with you.”

     Legolas lifted his face then, and his two friends almost cried aloud at the terrible longing and anguish that now shadowed the once bright eyes.  Where before had shimmered the light of Iluvatar, now only a cloud of uncertainty and grief remained.

     Strider tightened his arm around his friend, and just managed to speak, “Go, Legolas.  It is wrong that you stay and suffer so.  You must go now, my friend.”  Gimli nodded.

     Instead of answering, though, Legolas looked down again, his face obscured by the fall of his hair.  The silence in the tent lengthened, the only noise the creaking of small insects from outside and the occasional popping of the fire.  Suddenly, the elf shook his head and looked up at Strider.  Once more, they encountered the gaze of the strong, determined Prince they knew so well.

     “I have told you several times…both of you…my path lies here, with you,” he told them firmly.  His lips curved ruefully, and the crushing sorrow of the moment fell away.  The blue-gray eyes were still not as bright as they could have been, and the smile did not convey the joy a smile from Legolas normally did, but neither was his expression hopeless any longer.

     He studied their concerned faces for a time.  “I have been thinking…and remembering.  When I was much younger, my father explained the sea-longing to me.  It had already called him, you see,” he looked at Strider, eyes alight with amusement, “but you know my Adar.  He told me it was not his time to leave, even though his heart longed for Aman and Naneth.  He saw he still had a need to be here.  He would not even consider leaving his realm to the tender mercies of Shadow.” 

     Gimli nodded approvingly, while Strider grinned at Legolas.  “Shadow learned, to its detriment, not to challenge the King of the Wood,” he commented, his voice suffused with admiration for the Legolas’ father.  Legolas agreed, his answering smile in complete accord with Strider’s.

     “When I went home last time, we spoke of how he has managed to stay for so long.  He then spoke to me of Cirdan, who he has known for ages.  Cirdan lives by the sea, and Adar said only his great will enables him to stay.  He said Cirdan had once told him, ‘My appointed time is not yet come, and while I may never overcome the sea’s call, I have learned to endure it.’   That is what my Adar has done… learned a way to endure.  He told me every elf’s experience with the call was different.  The easiest thing to do would be to leave…but, a different path can be chosen.  Just remembering those words comfort me now.”

     Legolas gazed at his two friends, his expression hardened now to one of resolve.  “I WILL find a way to deal with this!  I will not let it drive me away…not when I know in my heart that my appointed way lies here on Ennor with you.  Like my father, I will not let the call govern me…at least not completely.  There is a way for me…I just have to discover what it is.”

     Strider and Gimli’s promises to Legolas were just as resolute.  “Anything we can do to help, you know we will do it.  You have only to ask,” Strider stated firmly. 

     “And, Legolas…” The elf looked at him questioningly.  “…you had better ask!” 

     Gimli grumbled, “Too right, Strider!  Mark my words, though, that stiff neck of his will be trouble!”

     Legolas arched one elegant eyebrow at them both, and asked silkily, “Oh?  And I suppose you two have appointed yourselves as my guardians?”

     Both man and dwarf spoke together, “YES!”

     They smiled at each other at the elf’s irritated expression, the relief of dealing with something they could understand evident in their faces.  There would be time enough later to come to terms with his pain.  At this moment, the smile on his face eased some of the cold fear for him in their hearts.

     “I will let you explain to Arod about your promotions!” Legolas warned them.  

     Gimli snorted derisively, “You know nothing, elf.  That horse is SMART…he will be more than grateful for our help with you, and you know it!”  At Legolas’ stunned look, Strider and Gimli collapsed laughing.

     The three friends stayed together that night, talking quietly and drawing comfort and strength from shared memories.  Finally, shortly after midnight, Legolas dozed off.  Gimli had given into sleep earlier, his soft snores rumbling through the tent for an hour already.  Strider looked at the two fondly, and got up, stretching the kinks from cramped legs.  Walking silently to the entrance of the tent, he raised his eyes, studying the ebony sky with its bright crown of stars.

     “Eru,” he whispered, “guide him to peace, if he must stay…please.”

     It seemed a soft breath of air sprung up, rustling the leaves in the trees overhead, touching the tears on his face with gentle fingers, and Strider could almost swear he heard the word “SOON…” whispered on the wind. 

Translations:

Ithil - moon

Anor - sun

mellon nin - my friend

sedho - be still (peace)

saes - please

gwador nin - my brother (as of a close friend, not related)

hannon lle - thank you

Arod nin - my Arod

mae govannen - well met

tiro na nin - look at me

Ainur - the Holy Ones

the Ainulindalie - the Great Song

Iluvatar - Father of All, the Creator (Quenya)

nana - mommy (diminutive of naneth)

ada - daddy (diminutive of adar)

Adar - father

Naneth - mother

Aman - the Undying Lands

ion nin - my son 

Ennor - Middle-earth

Arda - the world

Eru - the One (Iluvatar is the Sindarin name for the Creator)