It was a feeling beyond his physical senses. It was a lightness and a freedom that had called his people beyond the shores of Middle-Earth. It was the completing chord of Ilúvatar's Harmony, intrinsic to the Song of the Ainur, at one with the deep rhythm of Creation.
It was the Song of the Sea.
The gulls cried, and he looked north and saw them, white and black that flashed around him in a whirl of beating wings. But far stronger than their cries was the Song, the Song of the Sea that swelled within him. He felt's its rhythm in the pulse of his heart, the beat of his blood and he knew he was lost.
And it was good. He was free, and how he longed to fly on the wings of the gull, on the breath of the salt wind, to Tol Eressëa, and Aman awaited him, where neither hurt nor shadow nor grief could ever touch those blessed shores.
The spray strung his eyes as they lashed the ship in silver billows in a great thunder, and the wind and the waves and the gulls mingled together into one wild harmony.
Then Legolas turned, and saw to the North the red fire, and behind him the Fleet of the Pelargir. The battle was not won, the Shadow was not conquered. Still Aragorn stood upon the decks and looked with hopeless eyes to the flames where Minas Tirith burned.
He must stay here till all was conquered. But the Sea pounded in his heart even as it pounded upon the ships, the salt-wind whistled through his blood even as it whistled through the sails, the gull cry echoed in his ears.
It called him. And one day, he would answer.