And then here, all that happened before Leyth's story was revealed (in the previous chapter). From Legolas' POV, when the call of the gull struck him.

Thanks to Ruiniel, my friend, for her beta work.

The Call of the Gull

A call from the sky tore through Legolas' heart, high pitched and keen, strangely sad and sweet. It forced him to his knees. He succumbed to it, thoroughly defenceless, his face tipped to the skies, eyes wide in shock and amaze.

As if in a haze he took in the ghosts swarming the ships, like a shadowed mist with glistening dead eyes. They spread terror among the men who many ran madly, horror in their eyes as they leapt into the dark waters of the Anduin.

Legolas' gaze, still wide-eyed and stunned from the gull's rapturous, piercing cry, caught upon the shape of a young man clambering on the balustrade, half hanging down to the other side, shouting afeared, downwards to the water as if to somebody he held onto. His voice came out hoarser with every scream, sobs tore through his whole body shaking his frame, visibly weakening him. Another cry down to the water, pleading, and at the next desperate wail, he lost hold and slid.

Legolas stared, saw dark locks plastered to the boy's light-brown skin. Dark eyes staring back at him. The raw fear and despair in them jolted him into action. The boy stared back at him, as with their last strength his slim fingers clutched the railing. Their knuckles turned pale by the effort of clawing the wood.

The elf shot forward towards the boy, reached out with his arms, but before he could grasp the hand, a sleeve, anything, there was a raw cry of pure anguish and the hand slid away, gave in to the pull downwards. Legolas doubled over the balustrade just to see the boy plunge into the dark water beyond. He had been pulled down by a weight. There was a man there in the water and the boy now clung to him in blind panic, thrashing and spluttering, out of his mind. The man was older, Legolas recognized, dark-grey hair and stronger built. The man tried to break free, to overwhelm the youngster in his frenzied, deadly terror. But the force developed in panic proved indomitable and pulled the man underwater. The stunning strength of the youngster's desperate strive would bring them to death in the floods of the great river.

Legolas heard the gull cry over him, the call of a white sea-bird over the black ships, and he had to struggle to not crash to his knees, fight against the tearing call that seemed to paralyze him. His knees shook, wanted to give away. He saw the two bodies dragged by the current in a tangle of limbs disappearing at times from the surface, exposed to the force of the waters.

In his mind's eye, Legolas saw a flash of those young, fearful eyes staring at him. His body jolted forward all by itself. He was barely aware of his panting breaths. A jumble of emotions clashed and chafed in his breast, collided with his racing heart. His thoughts seemed void, as he leapt, head between his arms, splitting the water like one of his arrows. For a moment, he lost all his senses as the cold water enclosed him, plunged him into its silence.

The current helped him, as driven by instinct he dove and reached and got hold of a twitching shape. He grasped it, kicking and kicking against the pull of the river. He split the surface, gasped for air. He heard voices from above, heard his own name, saw long raven hair reaching down to him, a strong arm appearing from under it, taking hold of the man in his arms, pulling him upwards. But the limp bundle, the man had been holding onto, slid, ripped away by the water.

The man was heaved up on board into safety. He coughed and gasped, and between it cried out in broken Westron, "Please!" he begged, "Please- save him!" He gulped and choked, but then he managed more words, "He should not have held me, he cannot swim. – Please! Save the boy!"

Legolas heard his own name again in between the pleas of the man; weighty, compelling. It was Elladan, or Elrohir… and he heard a shout, a reverberating groan, like a cave-in, urgent and deep, even as he plunged again. He knew it was Gimli's voice; a low rumbling tenor increased by dread, much stronger than worry.

But then he was underwater again, and he heard no more, let the current seize him. The shape of the boy was dragged under. The water was dark; Legolas could not see. He remembered the cry of the gull and it pierced the silence. He heard the man's pleas, the gull's song strong in the silent depth of the Anduin. His lungs hurt, he could endure no more.

But then he discerned a shape, dark and still, dragged with the current and sinking. He dove faster, using the water's speed. The thought brushed his mind that soon his senses would fade, leave him to drown… but then he was close, his hand shot forward, snatched the dark shape. He kicked and fought against the current, against death in the water, pulling the unmoving burden with him. His lungs burned, all organs in his chest screamed. Suddenly there was a sharp pull to his tunic, and it hauled him to break the surface.

He was barely aware as the soaked bundle was taken from him. He blinked up at the hands reaching for him. But his body felt heavy, like stone. He could not lift his arms anymore. The water closed over him, muting the shouts, the frantic screams. All turned silent.

He heard only the cry of the gull but he could not see the sky, nor the waves of the sea, and he felt burning pain in his heart, in his lungs, crushing him. And then darkness came, and over it rushed the waves, not of the Anduin but of the sea. Gleaming foam in the sunlight as they broke on the shore. A deep longing and sadness claimed him, that he might never see those promised lands of elven home…

Almost violently, he was hauled up. He choked, overwhelmed by the tearing air; the pain was searing in his starved lungs. Hard planks impacted with his knees, his ribs. He was stunned, motionless on the ground. But then his body jerked and he coughed and gagged and expelled water. There was somebody there, close to him, holding his head, stroking him encouragingly. Long, dark, soaked hair, reaching down to his face, strong hands and a voice rich and deep, speaking softly, soothingly, yet coarse with anxiety.

Legolas trembled uncontrollably. His breath hitched as he shook from deep within. He turned his head away from the wooden planks, saw the boy and the man with the dark-grey hair he had pulled from the waters. The man cradled the youngster close to him while Elladan was bent over them, checking the boy's vitals with the concern of a healer. The man and the boy both squinted over uncertainly at the elf sprawled on the planks. His senses dulled in agony, Legolas blinked, focusing, and saw how the two humans' gazes met in relief and then looked back at him. He saw their hands intertwining.

The gull cried; a lament, a deep wailing… soft and spiked, and painfully sweet, with the promise of a land far to the west, over the waves crowned with foam, gleaming white in the sunlight, where all this pain could not reach. He longed… so achingly deep… to flee these lands, where men would enslave and slaughter their own, again and again. He felt a hopelessness, a heavy doubt that even if the Dark Lord may be defeated, it would not cease. This thought, this feeling, took hold, wrapped around his heart and pressed heavily. He found it hard to breathe.

Another day without dawn.

He blinked blearily; it was hard.

And yet – two lives saved, two hands intertwining in love, eyes expressing care and comfort - maybe one day… there was hope.

But still, he was weary, and the gull cried in the sky, circling and circling.

The colour of their skin reminded him of her. And their eyes… still young, not ancient like hers, but bearing this sadness in their depth, of all the cruelties they had seen, the loss of lands succumbed to darkness, of people forced to fight for a horrible purpose, pushed into battles where they did not even know what or whom they served. And he understood her then. He felt her love for those lost, swallowed lands, the pain of their people enslaved, reduced to misery, forced into soldiers abused for a vile cause. He felt the clutches of hopelessness.

He breathed, hitching... and the man and the boy regarded him with those sad weary eyes but also gratitude and something else… flickering softly, hesitantly – fear... and hope…

His heart soared and plummeted with the wails of the gulls' song, the pain, bitter and sweet, stole his senses, stole the air from his lungs. He gasped. He could not breathe anymore. He coughed in agony, expelled more water on the planks of the ship, lying slumped on his belly. His hands under him trembled from the effort of gulping air in, of trying to push himself up to his knees.

The pain peaked, the waves raged, tugged mercilessly.

Who would understand him? Would Aragorn? – He knew about it, but never felt this way… and he was laden with duty and responsibility towards these lands… Would Gimli, who feared the unknown? – He knew not of such things as the call of the sea, the ailing heart of elves… it would scare him…

Who would understand? – Would she?...

… She who was weary, running from everything, running from him, ceaseless… She who was fighting her own battle, unknown to anyone. She who had the knowledge and the power to heal but perhaps would not return anymore. Would she understand the pain and the beauty, the tearing beckoning, of the gull's song? – But she was not here now, and they might never meet again...

And the gull called, ceaseless, a sweet lament and a promise of a land bathed in everlasting brightness – of home.

It tore him apart.

Finally, panting and trembling, the elf pushed himself up; he felt the wet, hard planks under his knees, saw in his mind dark eyes filled with agony, the waves of the sea raged and soothed and tore at him. He looked upward, facing the heavy sky hung low with grey clouds. – Another day without dawn.

He wanted to scream, but he could not. A painful sob shook him from deep within. For a moment Legolas wished it all to cease, for the sea to take him and drown him, welcoming him in its depths where he would feel nothing but the all-encompassing silence.

The waves crashed over him, pulled him down and all muted once again. Even with the hard floor under his knees, he was drowning.

But then strong arms wrapped around him, hauling him up to the surface. The breath burned in his lungs and Legolas felt he would burst, for the longing was painful, persistent, strangely soft and sweet, and yet unbearably oppressing.

He cried out in despair and leaned in, slumped forward against a firm, warm body. A deep voice hummed to him, soothing, while the sea was restless. It was Elrohir's voice, holding him up in the tide, cradling him, moving with the waves, smoothing their pull, sinking and rising softly with him.

"I know," he heard the voice say, full of compassion, over the sighs of the waves, "It will never end, but you will learn to float and navigate rocking gently, you will learn to weather it."

There was a knowing soreness in Elrohir's voice, but such strength and control as well.

For a long time, Legolas kneeled like this, on the hard planks of the black ship, letting Elrohir's hold steady him. The gull still circled above in the sky, and at every cry, the magnitude of the waves rose and spiked the tearing pain in his heart.

"Breathe," Elrohir said, his voice calm, his chest rising and falling soothingly against Legolas' own – like the tide, rising and ebbing and constant. Legolas closed his eyes and breathed and breathed, the sea all around him. Saltwater burning in his eyes, wetting his cheeks, catching on his lips.

He knew not how much time had passed when he blinked his eyes open. Elrohir still held him. Water dripped from them both, pooling at their knees. Beside him was Elladan, so very close now, and like them, down on his knees. Legolas tried to focus on him. And there, in the deep grey of the other elf's eyes, he saw again the sea. Pain and understanding filled them. Elladan's lids lowered and closed over the sea of his eyes and he freed a long shuddering sigh. When his lids opened, his limpid gaze caught Legolas' lost one and held it. His hand sought the wood-elf's, wrapping stiff fingers into comforting warmth.

Then, as if awakening from an exhausting, tormenting dream, Legolas let his gaze wander. The pain was still there, still burning, in his chest, in his throat, and the clouds hung low, but Elrohir's and Elladan's closeness, and that they knew, was bringing him comfort. – He was not alone. – They sheltered him somewhat from the force of the waves.

The gull was circling above, but his awareness drifted slowly over shapes around him seeping into his vision. He found Gimli, standing pale and startled, not far away, staring at him, the end of his beard in his white-knuckled fist, as if holding on to it not to faint. And beside him were the man and the boy he had pulled from the waves, looking at the elves in insecure, wide-eyed confusion.

Legolas then pulled back from Elrohir. Unsteady and wavering, he rose. Elrohir did not hold him back. Step after wobbling step Legolas walked until he reached the balustrade. He felt Gimli's eyes following his every shaking movement. But he could not face the dwarf now, did not know what to say, how to explain what had overcome him. He could not find words at all, could not speak at the moment. The feelings and the waves were too strong, their sighs and the rushing of the foam on their crests captured his senses. He became distantly aware of Elrohir standing watch not too far from him..

Wrapping his fingers around the wood, Legolas leaned forward over the deep water of the Anduin. It was not the sea... dark streaming water… but the sea was now in him, overwhelming, and he knew he could never forget, would never again be rid of its call. The dark waves broke and slapped against the bowel of the ship.

Legolas lifted his gaze from the water to look up at the great ship beside theirs. There were men over there, organizing things in calm, steady business. People clothed in dirty, torn lumps were rising on deck warily, mostly men, but some women also; the slaves who had been chained to the oars, it sunk slowly into Legolas' quavering perception. Behind him, he heard voices and the creaking of feet on wooden steps – captives regaining freedom. There were slaves on their own ship being freed... – It was not in vain! Their struggles and sacrifices, the deaths, were for freedom. All the killing… it was for freedom. It was not in vain... But the price had been steep.

And there on the great black ship right before him, staring at him, stood Aragorn. He was not alone. Halbarad held a powerful arm across his shoulder, steadying him, soothing him, much like Elrohir had done with Legolas. Aragorn took a step forward. Halbarad squeezed his shoulder and then released him, standing vigil just one step behind. Aragorn stood completely still, as if he was not even breathing. Wayward strands of his ruffled, dark hair hung into his face, but he seemed not to notice, did nothing to brush them away. He lowered his eyes, nearly closing them, his lids hiding the liquid fear and despair that was still showing, and his broad shoulders rose and fell and hitched with a sigh as visible relief washed over him. Like a white crested wave of the sea, thought Legolas, as he gazed at Aragorn blearily, realizing that for him there would be no such remedy.

I will go with you to the end, he remembered his own words, and there was nothing apart from death that could pull him away from this promise, not the cry of the gull, not the sea, its foaming waves, the spray of saltwater on his face, not the pain in his heart, for there was a feeling so great in that same place, that would withstand the draw of the waves, no matter how furious the storm raged… There stood his friend… a great man with a heart that overwhelmed him… the heir of Isildur, valiant and bold, a boy grown into a mighty Lord, and yet so humble and sincere, that he wore the naked fear and relief on the rim of his sleeves.

Legolas felt something insistently pull at the seam of his tunic. The gulls crooned above him and circled, demanding his attention, his heart. The man who would be a great King still stared at him, but the tug on his tunic now came more forceful. His eyes snapped downwards, catching Gimli's anxious face frowning up at him.

"Come lad," the dwarf croaked, "there are a man and a boy just here who wish to express their gratitude." Legolas blinked down at the dwarf, his mind processing his sluggish thoughts, slowly returning onto firm deck.

Gimli harrumphed to free his throat, "You have quite scared the wits out of them, you know?"

As Legolas still did not respond, Gimli continued more exigently, his voice gaining in volume. "They thought you would drown… And as Elrond's sons dragged you out…" he paused, swallowing, before continuing in a strangely coarse tone, "… it looked like you might still die in the aftermath, from shock or from water in your lungs. They do not know what elves are made of…" he pulled again at the tunic as he dropped his eyes and his voice, "The way you jerked and choked… it was not an easy sight to behold."

Legolas regarded Gimli, deep in thought; this dwarf who, even upon a floating ship, stood square and firm like a boulder, anchoring him with his gruff practicality and rumbling voice. Legolas sighed, long and heavy. Gimli eyed him critically through narrowed eyes, considering, and then shoved him along until they stood before the two humans Legolas had saved from certain death in the deep waters of the Anduin. As the dwarf and the elf approached, their bodies tensed like those of cornered animals. The man came to stand slightly before the boy in a protective stance of defence. For a moment, his eyes narrowed in doubt, but then he lowered his head. There was guilt in the gesture, and respect also. His dark gaze was fearsome, yet alert. Converse emotions visibly battled inside him. Legolas did not know if he was still terrified by the wisps of shadows, by their gleaming eyes, their cold hisses as they rushed past over the water, assailing the remaining ships. If it was the fear of retribution, or even the elf's mere presence having that effect on him. The man parted his lips to say something while the boy stared, stunned and bewildered.

"We are… forevermore… in your debt!" the man finally spoke in broken Westron, "We pledge… our lives to you!"

Legolas stared back at them, still hearing the cry of a gull in the distance. He noticed their increasing disquiet with the stretching silence and how they glanced at him uncertainly. Gimli shifted impatiently beside him, elbowing him not so gently.

The dwarf's voice rumbled, "By Mahal... forever is a very long time for you, they need not come up to it – tell them, laddie…" he looked up at the elf, frowning, and then he continued himself, now speaking sternly to the two humans, filling the strained silence, "If you travel with us up the river, lending your skill with the ship, consider your debt to be paid… it will be your own choice to join in the fight to free Minas Tirith. – Do you agree, master elf?"

Legolas felt another elbow from Gimli jammed into his hip. This time it was rather forceful and jolted him to stagger slightly sidewards. He became very aware of the irritation of the dwarf and the wide, bewildered eyes of the men before him.

"O– Of course!" he stammered, somewhat embarrassed, the tips of his ears flushing, "My friend here said it," – he tried to remember what Gimli had said, since the waves had washed over Gimli's words, jumbling them somewhat up in his head. … he had been talking about forever, and that they would sail, and needed skills with the ship, and they would free Minas Tirith…

– Yes, they would help Aragorn reclaim the throne and vanquish the Dark Lord! Legolas smiled at them, relieved. And to see the shadow lift from their eyes brought warmth to his heart. The corners of their lips tugged upwards, and the men appeared visibly eased.

"Are you with us?" Legolas asked, with sudden, regained enthusiasm at the thought of the fellowship, his dear friends, his promise to support Aragorn to claim his right as ruler and bring peace and hope to Middle-earth. And he clasped their shoulders as they nodded their alliance.

Gimli sighed, "Good lad," he patted Legolas' arm, "you almost scared them under deck with your strange manners," he mumbled, "I am glad you are back with us."

Finally, as he seemed reassured by Legolas' recovery, his face split in a broad, warm grin, and he lifted his axe, "Let us sail to kill orcs. Come on! To Minas Tirith!"