Alright, obviously I didn't make myself very clear when I first posted this, so I'm editing it and adding this note here:
This interpretation of the poem was my initial reaction. I was about twelve at the time, and as we all know, twelve year olds are dreadfully melodramatic. I know what the poem means now, but I always remember that assumption I made when I was a wee lass. This is a sort of tribute to that.
Okay, I've never really done a fic before so do be lenient, I'm just testing the water, so to speak.
Warning: Spoiler
And Please note: I know NOTHING of ships, so please don't get picky if I've got something wrong.
Oh yeah, if you were really silly enough to think that the characters portrayed in this fic were mine, you're sadly mistaken. They're not. They belong to the Estate of Tolkien- or Peter Jackson… or…really whoever can afford the rights- and that's not me…
Legolas Greenleaf long under treeIn joy hast thou lived. Beware of the sea!
If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore
Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more…
Frodo sat on the verge of the cliff, white smoke rings sailing like docile clouds from his curved pipe. Below him, the mighty expanse of sapphire sea lay like sun struck satin, the whisper of the waves hitting the shore replying in soft counterpoint to the rustling of aspens in their copse metres from where the elderly hobbit sat. Sam dangled his hoary feet precariously over the edge of the drop, dropping the occasional well-rounded stone from the edge.
'Well, Mister Frodo sir,' Sam said, his voice clearly hesitant to break the peace. 'The elves, sir, they said they'd be a few days yet-' Frodo remained silent, staring out to sea. 'An' I was wonderin'… Neither of us being spry, beggin' your pardon o' course, but mayhaps we should leave this work to the elves sir… them with their bright eyes'd spot them quicker then two old hobbits…'
'No Sam.' Frodo answered quietly, his eyes distant. 'I am no cripple yet. I wish to see for myself. The last of us to pass from The Grey Havens… I wish to be the first to sight them on the crest of the horizon…' He clasped Sam's hand warmly 'the quest shall then finally be laid to rest. Maybe then I shall have some peace.'
Sam nodded slowly, not understanding in full, but respecting Frodo's wishes. Sam had several years ago left behind his own past, when he boarded the ship from the Grey havens, all ties to the Shire were cut, his children, the ghost of his wife. He started a new life when his feet hit the deck of the ship. He sighed and picked up his pipe, packing it firmly with the vestiges of Pipe weed grown on the island, lighting it with a spark of flint, before losing himself in silent contemplation of the sea.
Friend Legolas! Tighten the starboard sail rope! She's going slack!' Gimli cried, work worn hand gripping the hawser firmly, a grin of pure happiness breaking through his age-whitened beard. He risked a look back at his fair friend, watching with delight as the elf climbed the rigging like he was born to it, sure footed, regardless of the lurch of the ship as it crested the waves. The slight shift in pressure told him that the slack ropes had been mended. He grinned; turning at what he thought was Legolas' approach.
Their friendship had been firm for many a year, Gimli's rule of the glittering caves and Legolas' caretaking of Ithillian nearby hadn't alienated them, regardless of the bigoted hostility of their respective peoples. It had taken many a year, but now the two peoples were united, as they had once been in the past, in the times of Moira's glory. Legolas and Gimli were free to depart middle earth and be the last of the fellowship to follow the ring barer from The Grey Havens. Aragorn, Merry and Pippin were to stay fading away to a mortal death.
As he had predicted, the elf was approaching lightly, his eyes reflecting the blue of the sea and the sky, dancing merrily, and verging as always on a gay laugh.
'Ah, friend Gimli! Is it not good to be out of your musty caves and taste the salt of the sea?' He asked, a wide impish grin lighting his features. Gimli roared with laughter, ignoring the pang that always accosted him at his dear friend's un-aged features. Gimli was no an immortal elf, and would pass from the earth when his time came. The thought felt like betrayal. For he would leave Legolas lamenting alone for however long his ageless days brought him.
'Legolas, old friend, I would wish nothing more- as long as I have the memories of those caves locked in my heart, and my dearest friend by my side, the world will never be dull!' he replied earnestly, smile still creasing the corners of his eyes. Legolas said nothing, but patted Gimli on the shoulder with one slender hand in a gesture of agreement, before leaping lightly onto the prow, laughing happily as the spray of the sea glittered about him, settling like jewels on his hair and face. With a move that never failed to make Gimli's hear quail in vertigo, the elf sat down with little thought to life and limb, his feet hanging off the side of the boat. He sang into the crystal air, the words were elvish, but the air was merry and full of the joy of life. Gimli's dark eyes filled with tears and his heart expanded in his chest with pure elation. In that moment, he was perfectly at peace with the world
'Come Master Frodo!' Sam beckoned, as the two hobbits made their wary way across the expanse of white sand that lead from the cliff to the path that trailed into the aspens, leading ultimately to the hall of elves built in a stunning backdrop of evergreens, and filled with the spirit lifting songs of the elves. Their sturdy legs carried them with surprising swiftness across the sand. 'We must make haste! That storm will be a big' in, mark my words!' He predicted, throwing a look over the seascape to the mounting blue-black clouds. Both hobbits thudded onto the pier, and turned towards the forest, running to the safety of the Elf home.
'Friend Gimli! A storm builds, the very air breaths it's presence!' Legolas warned, his eyes now cautious as he scanned the horizon. 'It is a scant hour away from us. We should haste.' Gimli nodded, and hefted the sea anchor over the side.
'We shall anchor here and wait it out below, old friend. I have been wet in a storm before and it is a distinctly unpleasant experience I would rather avoid repeating, reset the rigging and we shall then share a meal.' Legolas nodded, a look of faint concern clouding his fair features. He climbed nimbly up the mast and began his work as Gimli hurried about removeing anything that could possibly be washed overboard. When both friends had completed their respective jobs, they descended below deck, batting down the hatches firmly. The wind had already begun to pick up
'What is it? What ails you Master Elrond?' Gandalf asked, taking another drag of his pipe and blowing the smoke out without embellishment. Lord Elrond's face was clouded, his clear elven eyes bespoke of a deep concern.
'I do not know, Mithrandir, but this storm… it is natural, yet… there is a portent, a fell feeling. It makes my heart feel leaden, old friend, a dark premonition I have not felt in many a year. I do not like the signs, Gandalf. I do not like them at all.'
Frodo listened; his own elderly eyes also reflected worry. He could not feel this ill of which Elrond spoke, however, all the elves seemed uneasy. Frodo had not seen such a stir, and his own heart quailed in expectation. Overhead, the storm broke.
'What worries you, friend Legolas?' Gimli asked, looking up from the thick, hearty stew he was consuming to Legolas' premonition clouded face. 'What darkens your face so?'
'I do not know, dear friend. Darkness hangs over this storm and brings a fell message to my heart, yet the words of it I cannot discern. Ah me! It is like the foul beat of vultures wings, and yet, I see not the birds.' He sank back quietly. Eyes wounded and closed. Gimli fell silent and pushed his half eaten stew away.
A silence shimmered over the hall as the beautiful Galadriel swept, as graceful as a swan, into the room. Unlike the rest of her people, she did not wear the mask of confused nervousness; her face was a mirror of sadness.
'Hail Galadriel.' Gandalf greeted sombrely. The elf Queen nodded in acknowledgement, and seated herself gracefully at the table.
'Dear Galadriel, I see a sadness in your eyes, and I feel you know both the question I was to ask, and the answer…' Elrond said quietly, tone ambiguous. Galadriel nodded, face tragedy.
'That is true, Master Elrond, yet I shall not speak of it. The sea will bring you the answers soon enough, and the sea's mighty heart can bear the sad message better then I can, for I have not the heart to tell.' She lapsed into silence; one porcelain hand cupped in Celeborn's, the only sign of her own need for comfort.
Gimli sat back, eyes half closed, mind wandering as his friend paced the floor. He listened to the thrumming of the sails overhead, the importance of the sound lost on him until the timbers of the deck groaned. His eyes snapped open and he was on his feet.
'Legolas! We must hurry! The sails are not furled! If we do not furl them in time, they shall drive us down into the sea, or rip up the mast! The wind is too much!!!' He roared, cursing his own lack of observation, and climbing the ladder as fast as his dwarven legs could go. He threw open the hatch and was confronted with a deluge. Water soaked him in an instant. He hurled himself through the hole and onto the deck, the mad lurch of the ship almost taking his legs from under him. Legolas' pale hands gripped his shoulders and steadied him.
'You move the boom and I shall furl the sails!' The elf shouted over the howling winds and the screeching timbers, his blonde hair was already plastered to his face. Gimli nodded firmly, patting the elf reassuringly on the shoulder, and ran to the boom, throwing one glance at the straining anchor, the metal groaned at the pressure. He squinted into the grey rain, faintly making out his fair friend up precariously on the mast. Gimli strained his knotted muscles and began to shift the boom, all the time watching his friend's nimble progress. But something happened as Legolas loosened the rope on the end of the sail cross. Something neither had thought to consider. The frail anchor chain strained and, with one protesting scream, snapped. The ship, still with half it's sail up, lurched forward. Gimli was thrown violently backwards to the deck. Legolas, although sure footed, could not balance with such a violent shake, and was hurled off the sail cross. Gimli cried out in horror as his friend tumbled and hit the port side barricade and was thrown overboard. The dwarf sprung to his feet and dashed, ignoring his own peril, to where Legolas had been thrown. The elf struggled in the water, eyes wide and terrified, and as the ship swept past, Gimli watched in numb shock as his old friend was pulled violently under, the look of fear burnt cruelly into the dwarf's mind, the hand that raised in supplication, and the cloud of hair as it vanished below the leaden ocean.
'There it is!!!' Frodo exclaimed, leaping to his feet. A fortnight had passed since the fell mood of the storm, and the two hobbits had grown increasingly apprehensive, as there was no sign of their friends. The date passed when they were due to arrive, and a sick fear began to gnaw at both hobbits, so it was with jubilation that Frodo pointed at the spec of a ship on the horizon.
'Shall we tell the elves sir? Shall we?' Sam asked, his eyes gleaming with pleasure, a film of happy tears shone in the sunlight. Frodo watched the ship with an irrepressible grin on his old features.
'Let us wait, Sam, until it draws closer… It shall still take several hours to arrive.' They watched silently for a while, as the ship drew nearer. As it approached Sam's face fell.
'Master Frodo… the ship, it seems… broken like. It limps in the water like a lame donkey…' Frodo squinted and bit his lip. Sam was right. By the looks of it, the sail was half furled, and it handled awkwardly.
'Maybe we should call the elves, Sam, something speaks ill here…' With that, the pair of Hobbits made their way slowly down the cliff and onto the beach. The soft sand was warm, and neither really hurried. There was plenty of time yet.
Both Hobbits watched the approach of the ship constantly now, both eyes clouded with concern. It wasn't until Frodo tripped that they were brought back to the immediate.
'Are you all right Mister Frodo sir? Lucky thing this is sand, you didn't hurt yourself, but you did get a little wet... we strayed to the shoreline it seems. Should have been keepin' our eyes where we were going. Never mind. I'll help you up. Nasty piece of driftwood snaring your ankles like… What's the matter Master Frodo?' Sam stopped his narrative at Frodo's expression. He looked as though he had seen a ghost. His face was dead white, his eyes were round as stricken, and his mouth stretched soundlessly.
'Sam! Oh Sam! Look! Oh cruel fate! This is no driftwood!' Frodo wailed, throwing himself on the sand. Sam watched his master, his stomach turning to ice. Deliberately, he turned to look at what had tripped his master.
For years after, he wished he never had.
His clothing was viciously battered, and his lips blue. And one slender hand rested in his limp and tangled hair. His face had a horrific ashen hue, and he wore an expression that tore Sam's heart, a look of fear and panic, of sadness and hopelessness. But the worst of all were his eyes. They were open, staring blankly ahead, seeing nothing. It was obvious to all there be no need to check for life. Legolas was dead.
Sam sank to the ground, his own eyes filled with horrified tears, and his fingers dug at the sand. Helpless, hiccuping sobs escaped, as his grief beat at him like a hammer hitting an anvil. Nearby, he was vaguely aware of Frodo's stricken wails, but he could not be of help to his dear old friend, his own grief gaped and stung like an open wound.
Neither could clearly recall afterwards how long they sat there, battered by their grief. All they recalled was the aching horror of finding the sea's gristly message.
The sun was high when Gandalf came to find them, curious at why they had not returned, seeing Legolas and Gimli's ship was a scant hour away. The old wizard found the two curled up like children, sobbing with heart rendering woe. Gandalf bent to Frodo's prone form, frown of concern wrinkling between his eyebrows. But the tingle of something else intruded, and he turned and espied Legolas' dead form sprawled on the sand. The wizard shut his eyes silently against the pain that scraped his heart.
'Ah, another merry thing passes from the earth.' He said, his voice trembling. He gently roused the hobbits with soft words, helping them both to stand on trembling legs with red-rimmed eyes. As if taking a child, the wizard picked the elf up carefully, and shut his blank, staring eyes.
'Come, my small friends. This is a sad message indeed, and a burden that we must bare to the others.' With the crisp blue air thick and heavy around them, they bore the sea's message to the pier where all the elves waited to greet Gimli's ship.
Gimli stepped limply from the deck of his ship, his eyes haunted. He had not the words to tell the assembled why he appeared alone. The silence was deafening him and he wanted to shout and tear his hair. He struggled to look up at the assembled, an explanation ready. It died on his lips. Elrond, Celeborn and Galadriel stood to one side, but it was not their sad faces that drew him. Thuranduil. His white face was streaked with new tears, his eyes looked at Gimli with pity so sharp it rendered his soul. The dwarf opened his mouth to speak, but Galadriel hushed him with a single finger raised to her fair lips. The elves shifted. Gandalf was flanked by the two hobbits, both looked cast in woe. But no one mattered. Gimli's eyes beheld his friend, lying limply in Gandalf's arms. The scream of grief the dwarf let loose was nothing compared to the wrench in his heart. He lurched forward, his calloused hands touching his old friend's dead, cold skin. With a pitiful wail he wheeled and turned to the sea.
'Oh Sea! Cruel, merciless sea! Why do you seek to torture me? Why take that merry life from me? Better you take mine! You've reft my heart, oh soulless sea! I curse you!' He screamed at the uncaring waves, hurling his axe into the fathoms. Thuranduil put his hands on the dwarf's shoulders, a gesture that stung his memory painfully.
'Come Gimli, son of Gloin. It is unseemly to bare your soul to the sea's mirth. The grief is too fresh. Come.' He took the sobbing dwarf and led him towards Valinor- a haven that no longer glittered in his mind.
For the turning of the seasons after, Gimli was broken. One would find him standing on the cliff, staring out with haunted eyes, or huddled where Legolas' body had been found, beard wet with tears. Sometimes he'd vanish for days into the forest, not coming back until hunger compelled him. Soon however, he sickened too much for even that. It was neither sickness caused by outside ill, not sickness of the mind. Despite constant care of the elves and the skilled healing hands of Elrond, he just began to waste away, like something ate away at him from inside.
It was almost a year since he had learned of his friend's demise when he lay stricken in bed. With hungry eyes he watched Frodo and Sam as they sat together, sharing their sadness at his own passing. He addressed them in a frail voice.
'Little ones… Treasure what you have. Love is precious. The love of a wife is tainted with lust. The love of a child tainted with pride, the love of family tainted with blood ties. The love of a friend… the love of a true friend is…' He paused, a flood of memories bringing tears to his eyes. This surprised him. He thought he had cried himself dry. 'The love of a friend is the best gift the world has….' He took Frodo's age wizened hand. 'Treasure it, little ones… because when it is gone…' He left the sentence hanging.
Later that night he died. A faint smile tinged his face for the first time in a year.
They buried him in a copse of Ash, beside the grave of Legolas. The stately trees flourished almost unnaturally, winter never touched the heart of this copse. Even after death, their friendship remained beautiful.
End