Chapter Two

“Legolas!” Aragorn shouted, running forward. He made his way around the bench and dropped down to his knees beside the elf. “What has happened?” His tone was desperate, having no idea of what could be wrong with his friend.

If Legolas was injured, he surely would have sought aid. He could not have been attacked. No one who would do such a thing knew of this place. Was the elf followed and then attacked? No, Legolas was too careful for that to have happened.

So many thoughts and quickly-dismissed possibilities swirled through the man’s head that he had to force himself to concentrate on the facts he knew, which wasn’t saying much.

He leaned forward. “Legolas, please speak to me.”

Legolas didn’t seem to hear Aragorn, or at least gave no indication that he had.

“Are you sick?” Aragorn immediately tossed out that question, since elves didn’t get sick, at least not the way mortals did. He placed his hand on Legolas’s head.

Legolas sat up so suddenly that Aragorn was startled, jerking away and almost falling over backwards. When he regained his composure, he looked at Legolas closely. “Have you been injured? Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice betraying the beginnings of desperation.

The elven prince let out a long, slow breath. “Not the way you may think.”

Aragorn didn’t like the sound of that. It definitely implied something wasn’t right. “Then tell me how.”

“It calls to me, Estel. The song of the sea. It calls to my very soul, and I can hear nothing else, not even the voice of a friend.”

Legolas hadn’t heard anything Aragorn had said until he had felt the man’s touch, but he knew Aragorn must have been speaking to him before that.

Now it all suddenly made sense to Aragorn. “The sea longing,” he whispered.

Legolas nodded. “All else fades, Estel. It weaves its melody into the rhythm of my heartbeat. It fills my mind and courses through my veins. I rise and fall with every note, and I cannot escape it. Yet, the song is so powerful, so hauntingly beautiful that I do not wish to escape it. I wish only to soar with the gulls in their flight above the sea.” His voice was full of a wistfulness that showed as strongly as his words the yearning his heart could not deny.

“I am so sorry, Legolas. I had no idea an attack had come upon you. Why didn’t you just send word to me that you couldn’t come and simply stayed in Ithilien? I would never want you to travel here at a time like this.”

He avoided asking why Legolas hadn’t mentioned that the sea longing had resurfaced when the two had been together upon Legolas’s arrival. Then again, it would have been typical of the elf to hide it, not wanting to disappoint Aragorn.

Legolas shook his head. “I was not affected when I left Ithilien. In fact, it did not strike until I was leaving my room to join you at the banquet. I could not go there, so I sought refuge here.

Making no comment, Aragorn sat in front of Legolas and listened.

“It never disappears completely. This you know, but I tried to push it aside, as I often do. I could not. It was just too strong this time.

“The song speaks to the very essence of my being. Even thoughts of the trees and all that I love about the forest cannot break the spell that falls over me.”

Much of this Legolas had tried to explain, in various ways, to Aragorn and Gimli, even to other elves who had not yet been affected. Still, no one who didn’t suffer from the sea longing could ever come close to comprehending its nature or the way it invaded an elf’s heart and soul.

Legolas was a wood-elf through and through, so it was hard for anyone, who knew him well, to understand how anything could turn his heart from the forest. But try as he might, Legolas knew that there was no emotional obsession, no physical addiction he could compare it to.

The sadness of what his friend was going through tugged at Aragorn’s own heart, as it always did each time they discussed the sea longing, yet Legolas had never been quite so eloquent or detailed in describing it before. Perhaps he had held back, despite wanting Aragorn to understand, so that he wouldn’t have to see the look of helpless sorrow on the man’s face that he now saw residing there.

Silence fell between the two friends before Legolas finally broke it. “Everyone thinks it is blue or green. I used to believe that, as well. But it is actually silver.”

“What are you talking about?” Aragorn asked, slightly puzzled.

“The sea. It is like liquid silver, and it sparkles like diamonds floating on its surface, even when neither sun nor moon shines upon it.”

Aragorn was still not sure exactly what the elf meant. “I have sailed on the sea, Legolas. It is green, appearing as blue only when the clear sky is reflected on the water.”

“Perhaps only those of us who suffer the longing can see it the way it truly is.”

Legolas paused and for a moment his eyes took on the faraway look Aragorn had seen in their depths many times over the years.

“The song of the sea,” Legolas began softly, once again attempting to explain the sea longing. “The plaintive cry of the gulls and the gentle lapping of the waves upon the shore blend together, and I fall under its spell. It captures me, Estel, and I have no defense against it. I become lost in a world I do not fully understand, though I know that the song was a part of me even before my birth.”

Aragorn had tried on more than one occasion to imagine wanting something so badly that nothing short of giving in to the urge could satisfy him, but it was a hard thing to do. The closest he could come to it was his desire for Arwen. Even that, as strong as it was, could not compare to what Legolas was describing now.

Despite all the elves he had known in his long lifetime, none of them had ever actively suffered from this mysterious elven malady. Aragorn never used to consider it a malady, simply an awakening of sorts, but whenever he saw Legolas afflicted like this, he could find no better word for it.

What he didn’t know was that he had never seen the worst of it. That was the one thing Legolas kept from him. During those times, no one, not even Aragorn would have been able to bring him back until the attack had taken its course.

The sea longing was meant to tell elves when it was time for them to leave these shores and sail over the sea to their true home, Valinor, the Blessed Realm. They were not supposed to suffer any longer than it took them to depart the Grey Havens and sail the Straight Road. They were not supposed to fight it in order to remain in Middle-earth.
Yet, that is exactly what Legolas was doing.

Ever since the longing was first awakened in him, Legolas had refused to break his promise to Aragorn to stay by his side as long as the man lived. And every day of his life he paid the price, to some degree, for that decision.

When Aragorn’s mind refocused on the present situation, he realized that Legolas was looking at him very much the way Arwen did after one of his mental wanderings.

The look changed to one of compassion. “You are not to blame for any of this, Estel. It was my promise to make and mine to keep. I will not sail, as you have more than once suggested I do. I will not break my promise to you just because I am a little inconvenienced.”

“Inconvenienced? You call what you are going through a little inconvenience?” Aragorn’s voice rose in volume with each word he spoke. He sighed and then said sternly, “I would not have you suffer on my account, as I’ve told you before.”

“I know, but I have managed it for many years now, and I will continue to do so. It is well worth whatever I must endure to remain here.”

The ’argument’ was going nowhere, which was exactly where it went on all the previous occasions they had had this same discussion. The stubborn elf was determined to stay and that was that.

Legolas was gripping his arms so tightly that his knuckles were white. It was obvious he was straining to keep himself under control. He turned his head aside, so Aragorn couldn’t see how great the inner struggle had become.

He longed to give in and just let the song of the sea carry him away into its welcoming embrace. But there was no way he would do so while Aragorn watched and worried.

The king wasn’t fooled. “How can I help you, Legolas? I am a skilled healer. I should be able to do something to ease your suffering.”

“Many have tried through the years. None have succeeded. You know as well as I do that the sea longing will not respond to athelas or any other medicine that exists. There is but one cure, and I will not surrender to it until...”

“I die,” Aragorn quickly finished for him. The two had long since gotten past feeling the need to tip-toe around blunt truths. Still, he wanted to spare his friend from having to utter those words, the very thought of which he knew pained his friend.

“I learned the majority of what I needed to know to be a healer from the best there was. Other knowledge I picked up along the paths I’ve trod in my life. Many times I was forced to improvise. Through it all, I’ve always felt I did a fair job at the healing arts.”

“Fair?” Legolas scoffed. “You patched me and your brothers up more times than I care to recount. And I know you also did so for many others. Of course, in my case, it was usually because you got me into trouble to begin with.”

The jest was offered purely to ease Aragorn’s mind, and the man was happy to know Legolas‘s sense of humor was still intact.

“As I was saying,” Aragorn cleared his throat meaningfully and continued on a serious note. “I’m a skilled healer, able to cure illnesses, mend broken bones, repair torn flesh and brew the foulest tasting teas since Lord Elrond left these shores. Yet, I can do nothing for you, my dearest friend, to ease the burden you must carry.” Aragorn shook his head. “I used to think my greatest skill was as a healer.”

Legolas smiled. “You give comfort, loyalty, compassion and the wisdom of your experiences to those you love. That has done more for me over the years than any physical healing you have ever done.

“You are a great king, husband, father and friend. You are, even now, holding an important banquet, yet here you sit with me in this private garden, freely giving the only thing you have that can truly help me.”

Legolas’s smile broadened, as he reached over and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No, Estel, your greatest skill is not in your hands. It is in your heart and the way you choose to share it.”

The End