Title:  THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Disclaimer:  The characters and world of Middle-earth belong to Professor Tolkien.   The stories I write about that world are for entertainment only.

Summary:  Finally the sea, and all its attendant problems!

A/N: Once again real life threw a wrench in all my plans to finish this story during the summer.  Please accept my apologies.  My heartfelt thanks go to Eruanneth_Luin and Alassiel for their encouragement and beta skills.

Chapter 16:  Linhir

          The first feathery fingers of dawn had just reached out to stroke the nighttime sky to wakefulness when a group of riders and one lone wagon set out from the house beside the Luinaelin.  Flanked by the two guardsmen the King had left behind, Laurelin stood on the front porch and watched them go. 

          She lifted her hand in farewell, smiling slightly at the unabashed enthusiasm of her eldest boys, visible even at this distance.  The King, Legolas, and Aravir also saluted her as they rode by - reassurance and a promise to care for her sons and their grandfather.  She sighed.  Turning to the two guardsmen waiting silently behind her, she eyed them for a moment.  So young!  And earnest, too. 

          “Well, lads, come with me,” she instructed.  “Erelas and the other children will be wakin’ soon and I’ll be needin’ yer help with my husband.”  She smiled, her green eyes sparkling, as the two exchanged grins.  Oh, to be young again when everything was an adventure to be anticipated and enjoyed!  Erelas and young Brethilas would soon disabuse these two of their innocent expectations…mayhap she should warn them before they awoke. 

          “Ye may smile now,” she said, struggling to maintain a stern expression, “But I’ll be warnin’ ye, Erelas is the worst patient it has ever been my misfortune to care for…and yer King is no longer here to keep him in line.” 

          Laurelin paused for effect before adding ominously, “And that doesn’t even begin to prepare ye fer that youngest one of mine!”  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Ai!  He’s such an inventive child!” 

          Laurelin laughed at their suddenly sober faces.  “Ah well, let’s eat now before the excitement begins.  Ye’ll certainly be needin’ yer strength.  Then I’ll tell ye what yer duties will be for the day.”  The guards followed her obediently back into the house, privately wondering just what their King had gotten them into.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Arador drove his wagon towards the forest, whistling a tuneless melody and listening with half an ear to his grandsons’ banter.  Calen and Raenor had begun the trip quietly, wide-eyed with awe and excitement at the prospect of accompanying the King and the elves on their journey. 

          The quiet had been short-lived.  Before leaving, Arador had removed the splint and sling from Calen’s arm.  After a quick examination assured him the wrist had healed, he gave the boy one of Brethilas’ soft, stuffed balls to squeeze while he rode in the wagon. 

          “’Twill strengthen those muscles that have weakened durin’ the weeks ye’ve been unable to use that arm, lad,” he explained, ignoring the disgruntled frown on his grandson’s handsome face.  “Now don’t ye argue…just be squeezin’ that ball like I showed ye.  When ye get tired, rest for a time and then start again.” 

          To Raenor’s secret delight, Calen had reluctantly agreed and the skirmish between the two had begun.   Arador grinned, clicking his tongue and snapping the reins, signaling the horse to pick up the pace.  He could tell Calen was rapidly reaching the point where stuffing the ball in his twin’s ear would afford him almost as much pleasure as being included on this trip. 

          “Stop countin’ for me, ya dolt!” Calen finally hissed at his grinning brother.  “Raen, I swear before the King and all, I will shove this ball in yer gob if ye don’t be still!” 

          Raen chuckled, but a warning glance from his grandfather effectively ended the skirmish and he settled to watch the passing scenery, which happened to include the elven Prince riding beside them.  Raen loved watching the obvious rapport between the elf and his two horses.  He was hoping Legolas might offer to let Calen and him alternate riding Arod for a time on the journey.  

        To the left of the wagon, Legolas rode the mare, Arod trotting sedately beside her.  He was vaguely aware of the twins’ teasing and Raen’s longing looks at Arod, but only peripherally.  The elf had not slept at all, content to wait out the night sitting on the porch, softly singing a counter melody to the lake’s song and preparing himself for this sojourn to the sea.  He had no idea what to expect and the rising tension that hummed through his body like a swarm of mischievous bees threatened to slip past his control. 

          Drawing a deep breath of the cool, misty morning air, Legolas closed his eyes and allowed the gentle sounds of the lake, coupled with the mare’s rhythmic gait and the sleepy song of the approaching forest’s trees, to seep into his spirit, easing tight shoulder muscles and the constriction in his throat.

          You are not alone.

          He exhaled loudly and stroked the mare fondly.  I know, mir nin.

         Arod nudged his leg gently in support and Legolas smiled at his equine friend.  Stay close, Arod nin. 

         The big silver white horse shook his head.  And where else would I be?  Sometimes your thinking…  Legolas laughed softly as much of his tension drained away like water from an overturned bucket.   

          Aravir, riding some distance behind the group, sensed the moment Legolas began to relax and wished he could take the time to enjoy that fact.  However, he had his own problem to deal with in the form of an increasingly petulant Thalion.  At present, his only reason for rejoicing rested in the fact that he remained seated on the horse’s broad back!  He stroked the big bay stallion’s neck, speaking to him softly and firmly in an effort to soothe him.

          Calm yourself, mellon nin.  Thalion shied, shifting sideways and half-rearing in his agitation.  Aravir clamped his long legs firmly around the horse’s big barrel, absorbing the jolt with clenched teeth.

          Settle down, Thalion, or by the Valar, I will return you to the barn and ride with Arador in the wagon!

         The stallion snorted and shook his mane fiercely, his gait stiff-legged and choppy.  Several days of inactivity (along with the arrival of the strange horses that had unsettled the mare to the point that Legolas had removed her from the corral) had made the fiery horse short-tempered and irritable. 

          Sensing the underlying reason for Thalion’s tantrum, Aravir relented and allowed the stallion to take up his place behind Arod and the mare.  There now!  Are you satisfied?  She is fine, as you can clearly see for yourself! 

          The elf leaned forward, slapping the strong neck affectionately as he cajoled and coaxed the temper from the horse.  Finally, the stallion’s stride lengthened and settled, allowing his passenger to relax.    

          Aragorn, riding silently across from the elves, looked at Aravir, one eyebrow lifted in question.  Aravir rolled his eyes and shook his head as they exchanged smiles and prepared to enjoy this early morning trip through the woods. 

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          The company made good time, following the Gilraen as it plunged towards the sea.  By mid-morning, they stopped briefly to rest the horses, take some refreshment, and stretch their legs.  Arador pulled out a satchel of fruit and bread that Laurelin had packed, along with several water skins. 

          “We’re about an hour or so from the main road now,” he informed the others, passing out the food and water.  “I’ll be takin’ ye through the town and across the bridge to the other side.  We’ll set up camp this evenin’ on the promontory where the bay joins the open sea.  I’ve taken the twins there before.  It’s a pretty place…plenty of fresh water…trees…and away from the pryin’ eyes of travelers that come through town.  We’ll eat a bit here, then stop for a bigger meal in town before movin’ on to the camp.”

          All gratefully partook of the brief meal except Legolas, who wandered a short distance over to the bank of the river and stood staring at the rushing water, lost in thought.  Aragorn watched him closely, but made no effort to approach him. 

         Aravir set aside a peach from Laurelin’s orchard and a large slice of bread, wrapping it in a cloth.  He would see about tempting his friend to eat a little once the journey had resumed.  After the short rest, Arador checked the harness and horse carefully and nodded to the King that all was in readiness to continue.  The others mounted as Aragorn walked over to Legolas.

          “Legolas.”  A gentle touch on his shoulder.  “Legolas.”  The elf tore his attention from the rushing current of water below and looked into the concerned gray eyes of his friend.  “Come, my friend.  Arador is ready to move on.

          Legolas nodded and walked slowly over to the mare who was grazing quietly alongside Arod.  Aragorn watched as he spoke softly to both horses, leaning heavily against Arod’s side for a moment and gazing at the wagon nearby. 

          “Raen!” the elf called.  The boy jumped down from the wagon and ran over to his side, his silver gray eyes bright with interest and hope.  Legolas studied him closely before asking, “Do you need a saddle and bridle to ride, pen-neth?"”

          Raen shook his head, replying, “Calen and I both have ridden without before, though always inside the fence at the barn.” 

          Legolas nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention to Arod, laying his hand on the horse’s neck.  Horse and elf stood quietly for a long moment before Arod tossed his head and moved over to shove his nose into the boy’s chest.  Raen laughed, stroking the silky forehead. 

          “He is willing to carry you, Raenor, without saddle or bridle,” Legolas said. “He responds to direction by pressure from your legs; however, he will follow the mare closely without prompting from you.  It would not harm him to carry you at this pace for a time.  Would you like to ride him until we reach the town?” 

           Raen clamped down on his shout of joy and replied steadily, “Yes, hir nin, if you will allow it.” 

          Legolas smiled slightly. “Oh, it is entirely up to Arod, and he is agreeable.  Also, Calen may ride him on the return journey, if Arador pronounces his arm strong enough.” 

          He nodded at Calen, who had been sitting in the wagon watching and feeling decidedly left out.  The boys both beamed at him in agreement and Legolas helped Raen mount the gray gelding before vaulting onto the mare’s back.  Urging her to follow the wagon, they moved off with Arod and Raen trotting beside them. 

          Watchful green eyes marked the conversation between Legolas and Raenor and when the boy mounted Arod, Aravir looked over to meet the gaze of the King and nodded.      

          Legolas had grown progressively quieter as they had traveled, although they heard him humming softly from time to time.  This interaction with the twins was encouraging; it proved he was not as lost to the sea’s call as they had feared.  They were only an hour or so from reaching Linhir and after that, the sea.   Neither King nor captain had any idea what lay ahead for them and their friend.  They still could not help but approach the next hours with caution and a large measure of concern, but this small action on Legolas’ part eased their hearts and minds considerably.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas forced himself to laugh and talk with each member of the party after that brief stop to rest.  He had surfaced from his contemplation of the river’s song at Aragorn’s summons, feeling drained and slightly dizzy, and very aware of the eyes of his fellow travelers surreptitiously studying his face, his every move.  He realized his preoccupation had revived everyone’s concern for him and set himself to erase that concern, or at least deflect it. 

          Suppressing a groan at the thought of being the center of attention, he took a large bite of the peach Aravir had saved for him and froze.  Ai!  Nectar fit for a Vala!  Swallowing, he made quick work of the fruit, savoring the sweet flavor and licking the sticky juice from his fingers like a greedy child.  Legolas noticed Calen grinning at him and chunked the peach pit at the boy, who yelped when it bounced off his shoulder. 

          “Let that be a lesson to you, young Calen,” Aragorn called.  “Never comment on the table manners of elves!” 

          Legolas sniffed grandly and nibbled on the bread, pausing from time to time to respond with a joking remark to Jarrod or one of the guards.

          Aravir watched his lord’s efforts to lighten the mood, marveling at how quickly and willingly the men put aside their worry to laugh with Legolas.  He, however, was not fooled.

          Neither was the man riding beside him.  Since resuming their journey, Legolas had pointedly ignored the two he was closest to.  Aragorn watched Legolas tease the twins, his expression an interesting combination of irritated exasperation and fond worry.   

          “His talent for frustrating me knows no bounds, Aravir,” he stated in a soft, flat voice.  “Look at him – as carefree and merry as an elf could be.  And he is blatantly avoiding us.”

          Aravir nodded.  He was well aware of the source of Aragorn’s frustration, but knew Legolas would not welcome any questions in front of the others; would only see them as embarrassing and intrusive.  His Prince valued his privacy, and had cultivated a rigid discipline of his emotions from the time he had been old enough to understand his public role as the King’s son.  Such a skill had proven invaluable in his travels as his father’s ambassador, had surely saved his life on the Quest, and, unfortunately, made him difficult to approach when he was hurting or needed help. 

         The two rode silently for awhile before the dark-haired elf uttered a silent, heartfelt curse and looked at the man beside him.  Legolas will not thank me for sharing this with the King, but it is necessary.  Perhaps he will forgive me…after an Age or two…

          “I grew up watching Aran Thranduil, my lord.”  Aragorn’s gaze sharpened at Aravir’s sudden confidence.  “He, too, governs his emotions and temper with an iron will – most of the time.” 

          Aravir smiled as Aragorn snorted in surprised amusement before continuing softly.  “The Prince is not as volatile as his Adar.  He is more slowly angered or distressed, yet the feelings tend to remain with him longer.  He has become quite the expert at concealing them, as you might have noted.” 

          “Indeed,” Aragorn murmured.  They rode a short distance further in considering silence before Aravir offered the King of Gondor one final observation about the Prince. 

          “I realize you have known him well for tens of years, while I have only recently made his acquaintance and become his friend.  However, I have watched him closely for hundreds of years.”  He paused. 

          “He is the calmest, most controlled ellon I know…on the surface.”  Another thoughtful pause. 

          “But if ever you wish to know his true state of mind, Aran Elessar, look at his hands.”  With that cryptic statement, the elven captain nodded politely, flexed his knees and sent Thalion trotting forward ahead of the wagon.

          A puzzled Aragorn stared after him, a frown creasing his forehead.  His hands?

          Speaking softly to the mist-gray stallion he rode, Aragorn allowed the horse to drift until they drew even with Legolas, Raenor, and the wagon.  He exchanged a smile with his elven friend and a few sallies with Arador, watching the twins attempt to play a word game with Legolas.  He joined the light-hearted laughter as the boys quickly became quite tongue-tied, only then allowing his eyes to fall, casually examining the Prince’s posture and hands.  Legolas sat the mare gracefully, one strong hand grasping her light golden mane, the other resting on his thigh.  

          Well…he looks relaxed enough.  Then Aragorn looked more closely and realized the truth of Aravir’s observation.  The Prince’s hands were fisted; the fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles showed white with strain under the fair skin.

          And we are yet miles from the sea.  What will happen when he must face it?

~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

          The sea’s presence grew ever stronger as the little party drew closer to Linhir.  They regained the main road a league’s distance from the town and quickly noticed how the scent of salt and wet sands and fish became more noticeable, carried to them on a prevailing breeze.  They stopped long enough for Raen to rejoin his brother in the wagon and Arod moved even closer to Legolas’ side.

          Arador led them through the outskirts of Linhir, populated by a smattering of small farms; the land checkered with fields of tall plants bowing with heavily laden heads of grain, ripe for harvest.  Other fields sported the golden stubble of recently scythed crops, while still others contained the precise rows of low-lying green plants, each row tended by women and young girls intent on filling the baskets they carried with large, ripe red berries.

          “Look, Calen!  The strawberry crop is ripe!” Raen exclaimed.  “Mayhap Daerada will buy some in town!” 

          Calen laughed and slapped his brother affectionately on the back.  “No wonder Naneth gave us the coins before we left!  She knew if the berry crop was in ye’d never rest until ye had some!  Truth is, brother mine, ye are as bad as Brethilas when it comes to berries!”  Raen grinned.  Actually, he was worse than his little brother…he just wasn’t quite as messy about it.

          The road continued to drop towards the bay where the fresh waters of the river mixed with the salt of the sea. They could now see the flashing glimmer of light reflecting off water from time to time, though the sea itself still lay mostly concealed from their eyes.  Arador led them across the big bridge that connected the outer farms to Linhir proper and Legolas and Aravir found, to their relief and delight, that this town of men was not at all what they expected.

           With the removal of the Corsair threat, Linhir had blossomed from a mediocre fishing village into a thriving port of call.  Its location at the head of a narrow inlet connected to the open waters of the Belegaer offered more than adequate protection to ships during squalls and storms.  The townspeople had decided then to make it as attractive to visitors as possible. 

          The town itself was built into the side of the surrounding hills; the docks and storage houses constructed at the water’s edge were easily reached by well-kept roads winding down the hillside to the sea.  It provided a welcome haven to the fishing fleet that called Linhir home, as well as the larger visiting ships that brought goods to the town and carried away barrels of grain and salted fish, as well as boxes of strawberries or dried herbs to the large markets at Pelargir.

          A pretty town, it had been constructed in terraces around the landscape rather than in place of it, so that the native trees and shrubs remained, lining the roads and growing next to buildings to provide color and shade to citizens and visitors alike.  Storefronts as well as homes boasted boxes and wooden barrels overflowing with bright flowers.  To the discerning eyes of two wood elves, it was indeed a pleasant surprise.

          Legolas leaned towards Aravir and whispered in Sindarin, “I believe this is the first mannish town I have ever seen that has allowed any trees to survive its construction!” 

          He looked up, his attention captured by a gull floating overhead, and murmured, “Its cry does not seem to bother me right now.” 

          The Prince then turned turbulent sea-gray eyes on his captain and friend and studied him closely.  “You should never have come.  You also bear the risk of hearing the gulls and awakening the call of the sea in your heart.”  

          He looked away, his face grim.  “I hope you have not sealed your fate by following after me.”

          Aravir smiled.  “Stop worrying, Legolas!  I am fine.  As of this moment, I feel nothing but fascination for the sea.  Truly, I cannot wait to see it!” 

          Legolas stared at his friend for a moment, then retorted, “I hope that fascination is all you come away from this trip with.” 

          Aravir shrugged.  “We are told that the call will come to all of us, Legolas.  Worry not for me.  It is yourself you should be concerned about.” 

          “Why bother?”  Legolas relaxed suddenly, grinning.  “You and Aragorn worry enough for me.  My energy is better spent on other things.” 

          Aravir sniffed.  “Like what?  Rescuing men…dealing with argumentative dwarves…naming new horses…and keeping the older one happy…?” He grinned at Arod’s indignant I heard that!  “Traveling all over Ennor singing...or ordering a King or two around, perhaps?”  He continued to tick off his list on his fingers until Legolas was helpless with laughter. 

          “My, I am a busy elf, am I not?” he chuckled, feeling the warmth of friendship deep in his heart.  He looked over at Aragorn to find the man laughing at Aravir’s foolishness also, his gray eyes filled with mirth. 

          He responded to the King’s laughter impishly, “I would never dream of ordering a King around, Aravir.  As for the dwarf – one does not deal with him, one only endeavors to survive the encounter!” 

          The listening guards laughed with them, clearly recalling some of the more memorable conversations between Legolas and Gimli.  Then of course, Arador and the twins had to hear of them, resulting in even more hilarity.  A merry, boisterous group turned onto one of the side streets leading to a nearby inn, their laughter blending with the startled calls of birds overhead.

          A very tall, muscular man dressed in a clean, plain tunic and loose trousers came out the door at the sound of the wagon, took one look at the number in the party, and sounded the alarm in a deep, booming voice.

          “Artamir!  Haldor!  Valadir!  Come out here, ye slackards!  We have guests!”

          The doors of a building next to the inn flew open and three youths ranging in age from fifteen to ten years burst out.

          “Coming, Father!” the youngest shouted, his shorter legs pumping to keep up with his long-legged older brothers.

          The man turned to greet his guests, his whole face lighting up at the sight of Arador.  “Arador!  It’s been an age since we’ve seen ye, my friend!  And ye’ve brought Erelas’ lads, too!” 

          “Get down!” he urged, his dark eyes sparkling with pleased surprise.  “Get down, old man, so I might greet ye properly!”  Arador chuckled, climbing down from the wagon only to be swept into a hearty, bone- crushing hug from his much larger friend.

          “Ummmmph!” Arador gasped.  “Thoron, ye great oaf, leave off!” 

          Thoron shouted his amusement and gently set the smaller man down, thumping his back energetically and almost knocking him off his feet.  Calen and Raen climbed down to be swarmed just as happily by Thoron’s sons while the elves, Aragorn, and his guards watched the reunion, laughing. 

          The babble of greetings finally died down as Thoron asked Arador, “What brings ye to Linhir, Arador?  We weren’t expectin’ ye until next month when ye and Erelas bring in the last herbs of the season.”

          Arador turned the large man around and directed his attention to the men and elves waiting patiently behind them.  One dark eyebrow vanished into Thoron’s black hair as he quickly took note of the fine horses, the four men dressed in the livery of the King of Gondor’s guard, the tall, imposing figure who could only be the King himself…and two elves!

          “Well!” he sputtered.  “WELL!…Yes…umm…! 

          Arador turned his bright blue eyes on the King and exclaimed, “Make note of this day, my lord!  Thoron is speechless!” 

          Everyone laughed, Thoron loudest of all.  He quickly remembered his business and bid his sons and the twins lead the guards’ horses and wagon to the stable.  Aravir leapt from Thalion’s back, taking the reins of Aragorn’s stallion and calling to Arod and the mare. 

          “I will take these to the stable, Master Thoron,” he offered, bowing slightly, and walked away with his small herd following behind amiably.

          Introductions made, Thoron led the group into his “humble inn” as Arador explained.  “We’ve come for a meal, my friend.”

          “Well, ye be in luck, my lords,” Thoron’s dark, laughing eyes encompassed the whole group.  “A meal ye want…tis a meal ye shall have!  My wife has prepared a particularly fine lunch today!” 

          He directed them to the taproom where the guards made themselves comfortable near the door and Arador found the King and Prince a large table with a fine view of the hills and bay below.  Aravir joined them, explaining that Raen and Calen would eat with the other boys outside.

          Thoron and his wife, a statuesque brunette with shrewd eyes and a welcoming smile, served them large platters of fresh grilled fish, roasted potatoes, crusty loaves of hot bread, plates of sharp cheese and aromatic fruit, featuring bright red strawberries with bowls of clotted sweet cream on the side.

          Both men and elves ate until their appetites were sated, pushing back from the table with loud, appreciative groans.

          “Thalion will refuse to carry me,” Aravir moaned, “And the mare will collapse when you mount her again, hir nin.” 

          Legolas scowled briefly at his captain.  “I did not eat that much.” 

          At Aravir’s patently disbelieving look, he chuckled and stood, clapping him on the back. 

          “Come, mellon nin,” he invited, grinning across the table at Aragorn and Arador.  “I sense a sudden attack of pipe-longing in Aran Telcontar.  We should leave before he succumbs to it!”  Aravir rose with alacrity and accompanied the Prince to the door, the laughter of the men following on their heels.

          Thoron beamed at the two elves as they passed, saluting him and extending their compliments on the meal.  High praise indeed, coming from two of the Firstborn!   

          Aravir followed Legolas as he made his way over to a large, ancient beech tree that cast its shade over the stable and the well-kept grounds.  They settled comfortably under the tree, caressing the rough bark in greeting and smiling at the surprised thrumming response from the old one…a tree that possessed a sapling’s memory of the touch and song of the Eldar who had traveled this coast long ago.  Legolas leaned back, content of feel the sea breeze on his face and listen to the old tree’s welcome.

          Cloud gray eyes surveyed the activity in the harbor below, noting the organized chaos of a newly arrived ship unloading its cargo, and Legolas smiled slightly at the shouted instructions issued by a large, imposing individual.  The man seemed to have everyone hopping to obey him - the men scurrying to move large boxes from the ship’s hold to the dock.  The Prince gradually grew aware of the close regard of his companion, the lucent green gaze of his friend studying his features.  He looked at Aravir, one eyebrow lifting slightly in question.

          “Is the call strong now, my lord?” Aravir asked quietly, the concern evident in his voice.

          Legolas closed his eyes, his face calm and relaxed.  “Oddly enough, not at this time, Aravir,” he replied.  “I believe the song was actually more troubling on the path by the river.” 

          He paused, opening his eyes to frown at Aravir’s softly grumbled, “I noticed” before continuing.  “Right now it is a pleasantly faint melody playing in the back of my mind.”  

          Staring at the bay stretched out below them, he murmured thoughtfully, “Perhaps the open sea is still too distant and the harbor here is confined enough to block the full effect of the open waters.”  

          Silence reigned for a time as the two elves lost themselves in the bright sunlit scene before them and the whispered song of the tree at their backs.  Legolas had almost slipped into dreams when a troubling thought catapulted him back to consciousness.  He straightened suddenly, looking closely at Aravir and nudging him with an elbow. 

          Aravir turned his head. “What?” 

          “Are you well, my friend?” Legolas asked. 

          At Aravir’s blank look, he added, “The call of the sea, remember?” 

          Aravir smiled reassuringly.  “I am fine, neth ernil.  Worry not, Legolas.  I have not felt even a flutter of reaction – neither here nor in Pelargir when we passed through days ago.” 

          Legolas sighed deeply.  “I am relieved to hear it.  One of us suffering is more than enough.”  He closed his eyes, settling back against the tree once more and ignoring Aravir’s soft snort of amused agreement.

          The two elves passed the next hour quietly until the guards exited the inn, Aragorn and Arador close behind and accompanied by Thoron.  Aravir spoke a quiet word to Legolas before rising and making his way into the stable to alert the twins and prepare the horses and wagon.

          Legolas rose and strolled over to the group of men, grinning at the display of rough affection from Thoron as he said farewell to Arador. 

          “Arador does not see our friend Thoron often,” he whispered to Aragorn. 

          Aragorn glanced sideways at the elf.  “And how do you surmise that, mellon nin?” he asked softly, his words hidden by the noisy arrival of the wagon and horses as Aravir led them from the barn. 

          “Because his walk has thus far been unimpaired,” Legolas’ grin broadened. “At least until now.”  Both chuckled as Aravir rescued the old man from a particularly exuberant embrace and helped him into the wagon beside the twins.  The rest of the party hurried to mount their horses and in no time the company was ready to depart.

          “We thank you for your hospitality and a fine meal, Thoron,” Aragorn told the man.  “This is a beautiful place.” 

          Gray eyes scanned the surrounding town and harbor before returning to look approvingly at their host.  “I will be certain to apprise the palace cooks of the excellent fish provided here.  You can be certain we in Minas Tirith will take advantage of it in the future.”

          “Thank ye, milord,” Thoron smiled broadly.  “We could use the business and yer kind recommendation, that’s fer certain.  And ye are welcome here at any time ye care to visit!” 

          He bowed deeply, his stately wife and three sons following his lead.  Farewells exchanged, the wagon lumbered forward, leading the group up the street to the main road and out of Linhir.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          About three miles west of Linhir, Arador turned the wagon left and quit the main road.  The faint lane he led them down crossed a wide expanse of rolling hills.  The soil became sandier, supporting mostly hardy grasses with the occasional patch of late-blooming wildflowers caught amidst the green like bright jewels in a net. 

          The land dipped and the lane followed, curving west then slowly south before entering one of the few areas of dense vegetation nestled in the hollows between the hills – an old wood consisting of gnarled, wind-twisted trees of interesting shapes.  The trees offered welcome shade from the sun’s glaring rays and garnered the elves’ undivided attention as they sought to understand the wild, restless song sung by trees totally in thrall to the breezes and gales of the sea.

          One hour past their entrance into the wood, the troupe broke from the forest into full sun and Arador stopped the wagon.  Sharp blue eyes examined the tree line for a moment before the old man turned the horse and wagon off the lane.  Clucking to the patient animal, he guided the group forward until they reached a point where the trees began to thin, the boundary separating the wood from the grassy plain curving again even further left.

          As they rounded the corner, Legolas drew a sharp breath, his stunned eyes fixed on the unimpeded panorama laid out before him.  The dense living forest whispered on his left while before him the tall grassy plain extended for several miles more before giving way to sand, which gave way to the swelling waves breaking upon the shore in a constant rhythmic pattern.  Entranced, the elf’s slate blue eyes clouded to deep gray as they traced the shoreline meandering west; the smooth white sands of the beach before him ended abruptly several miles down, broken by immense stone outcroppings at the base of high, rocky cliffs.  The swelling waves of the beach became crashing breakers, throwing a misty fog filled with fractured prisms of light into the air.

          Legolas closed his eyes, grabbing a handful of the mare’s mane and holding tightly as he concentrated his considerable strength and will in an effort to counter the sharp longing that twisted his insides and stole his breath.  Beside him, Aravir sat transfixed by the enormous scope of the waters before him.  Stories told of the sea could never begin to match the reality of it.

          Several gulls flew overhead, their destination the shallow waters and tidal pools scattered between beach and cliffs.  Their wailing cries reached the ears of the two elves, causing them both to flinch slightly.  Aravir lifted his eyes to follow the birds’ wheeling flight, a strange tightness causing him to swallow hard as he rubbed his chest absentmindedly. 

          Finally, he shook off the strange heaviness, his forest green eyes fixing on Legolas with concern.  He watched the golden-haired elf sitting astride his mare, silent and still, face lifted towards the setting sun, eyes closed.  Even as he watched, Legolas’ anguished expression smoothed and became composed as his hands, his whole body suddenly relaxed.

          He does not seem to be in any pain or distress.  Aravir turned his attention to the steel white gelding standing alertly beside the mare.  Arod, my friend, is he well?

         He does not hurt as before – but he is far away.

         Aravir nodded.  That is what he had sensed also.

          Aragorn rode up beside him and asked softly, “ Aravir, how fares the Prince?”

          “He does not appear to be in any great distress, hir nin,” Aravir replied.  “Although he has been transfixed since our first sight of the sea.” 

          He turned to the King, his eyes questioning.  “Arod is concerned, but not frightened.  Should we try to rouse him?”

          Aragorn considered the still figure of his best friend, his healer’s eyes noting the even breathing, the fine flush of color on Legolas’ high cheekbones.  “Nay,” he answered.  “Nay, leave him be for now, Aravir.” 

          He studied the rapt face, a sudden thought occurring to him.  “It could be the Song he is so immersed in right now.”

          Aravir’s eyes brightened; he nodded slowly in agreement.  “It was his sole purpose in coming here – to find that part of the song he believed the Belegaer could provide.”  They exchanged mutually relieved glances.

          “Leave him undisturbed for now, my friend,” the King instructed, his eyes narrowing as he watched Aravir rub his chest again.  The elf had made the same gesture several times since they had started talking and seemed unaware of his actions. 

          Aragorn gritted his teeth and, in spite of a growing concern, managed to continue calmly, “We will establish our camp here.  If he remains lost to it, perhaps we will try to rouse him later.”

          He waited for a moment, watching Aravir stare at the waves.  “Aravir?”  No response.  Aragorn reached across and shook the elf’s arm.  “Aravir!” 

          The elf turned startled green eyes on the King.  “I beg your pardon, my lord.  Were you speaking to me?” 

          Aragorn stared at him, holding the elf’s eyes with his own stern gaze.  “Are you all right?  Are you in some sort of pain?  You seem uncomfortable.”

          Aravir shook his head.  “No, my lord.  It is not a pain precisely.”  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “I am fine…just somewhat overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.”

          “I will take your reply as truth, my friend,” the King said slowly.  “And I will trust you to tell me if you are in any trouble.”

          “I give you my word, Elessar,” the elf replied softly.  “If I feel the longing begin, I will tell you.  This is more of a tug…without form or direction, really.  It is not bad, hir nin.” 

          The man nodded curtly and the two moved to help the others unload the wagon.  Jarrod had the guards quickly erect two tents while he laid a fire large enough to cook a substantial meal on later, pausing from time to time to look at the silent, motionless figure of his lord’s friend.  Arador sent the twins off to the beach, two long, efficient-looking spears in their hands.

          “Fish, lads,” he told them, grinning.  “Fresh fish baked over hot coals, along with some of those fresh vegetables yer naneth sent…and some of the fresh bread and strawberries Thoron’s wife packed fer us.”

          Raen and Calen laughed at their grandfather’s beatific expression and promised him a fine catch in time for supper.  Abruptly, Raen’s face sobered as his gaze returned to Legolas’ still figure.  At some point, the elf had dismounted, but still seemed lost to a vision only he could see; a song only he could hear.  The mare and Arod had not left his side, although they had relaxed their vigilance enough to begin grazing on the deep, thick grass. 

          “Daerada?” Calen whispered as Arador laid a comforting hand on each boy’s shoulder.

          “He knew it would affect him, lads,” he told them.  “He also knew he had to come.  We’ll stand watch until he finds his answers.” 

          He smiled reassuringly at both boys.  “Don’t worry – his time here is not yet ended.  Not even close.”  He squeezed the strong young shoulders and gave them a gentle shove in the direction of the beach.  “Now, unless fish have taken to jumpin’ onto yer spears, ye’d best get started before it gets too dark to see.  Off ye go!”

          Comforted somewhat, the twins raced off.  Arador sighed and looked back at the elven Prince.  “Now, just WHO will reassure this old man?” he grumbled, moving stiffly to the back of the wagon. 

          Calling to two of Aragorn’s escorts, he grabbed two buckets from the wagon, along with some of the empty water skins.  “Come on then, lads.  Fresh water not too far from here.”  The men groused good-naturedly as they lifted the rest of the skins and followed Arador into the woods to fetch water for the camp. 

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Night had fallen, soft darkness punctuated by brilliant stars and Ithil waxing, their reflections glittering on the ever-shifting surface of the sea.  The men had eaten their fill of grilled fish and laid about the blazing fire, talking in quiet, desultory tones. 

          Legolas came to himself with a start; his heart pounded frantically and he felt panicked…as if he had forgotten something very important.  He was still standing in the same place, Arod and the mare grazing off to one side, their coats molten silver and gold in the moonlight. 

          What?  I have forgotten something vital…what was it? 

         He breathed deeply, forcing his mind to calm down and think.  The mouthwatering scent of good food cooked over an open fire reminded him of hunger; the faint trembling of his legs told him he had been standing, muscles locked, for far too long. 

          What have I forgotten? 

         Suddenly, elven ears detected a faint song blending with the melody of the sea, a song that spoke of great love and great loss.  Legolas shut his eyes. 

          Ai, no!  Aravir!

TRANSLATIONS:

mellon nin – my friend

hir nin – my lord

pen-neth – young one

neth ernil – young prince

aran brannon – lord king

Ai! – alas!

Daerada – Grandfather

naneth – mother

ellon – male elf

mir nin – my treasure (jewel)