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Grey Ship, Grey Ship, Can You Hear Them Calling...

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Chapter Two

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The Round Sun Is Falling...

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As the last Haradric delegate was shown from the room and the ornate double doors closed with a heavy wooden thud behind them, Aragorn, King of Gondor, leaned back in his chair and heaved a ragged sigh. His eyes shut for a long moment as one hand went up to rub his throbbing temples. During the dinner he had half hoped Legolas would show up at least to join Faramir and himself in the Council Room, but it was not to be. Although Legolas had made a habit of skipping meals while in Gondor, Aragorn had been highly counting on his friend's supportive presence at this Council.

As he sat in contemplative silence, he realized just how much he had counted on it. Aragorn was used to having Legolas by his side. He had been there during most of his childhood and adult life, during the War of the Ring, and now after. He needed him. He was much more than a friend; more like a brother, but lately also a Lord of Ithilien and vassal of Gondor. A brief look at the Prince, with his calm and stoic exterior despite whatever he might be feeling inside, always seemed to give Aragorn strength. And strength he had needed today, because for some reason, this particular meeting had made the usually composed King of Gondor nervous, although he had not shown it outwardly.

The Alliance with Harad had been anticipated for quite some time now, and he desperately wished for it to work out—Nay, he needed it to work out. Harad was a powerful country, with a strong militant force, one that could easily pose a threat to Gondor without the protective assurance of an alliance.

Faramir had, of course, been there, and although the Lord was also a good friend and loyal lord to the King, it had not been the same. At least someone had been there to represent Ithilien...

Standing, and feeling only slightly less put off, Aragorn crossed the room with the long, sure strides that had so often marked him as nobility even in his days of disguise as a Ranger of the Wilds. Pulling open one door just enough to slip out, he entered into the hallway and automatically turned left into the higher levels.

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By the time Aragorn was headed towards Legolas' quarters, his temper had reached the boiling point. Maybe it was because of the pounding headache thrumming in his ears, or maybe it was because he surely must have questioned at least three dozen guards before finding one that had seen Legolas that day. He certainly had never expected the guard to point him, albeit hesitantly, to Legolas' quarters, for the Prince rarely spent much time there when in Gondor. The elf, much like Arwen, preferred the open air of the upper level battlements or the Queen's gardens to the restricting walls of stone that made the White City.

Reaching the Elven Prince's rooms at last, Aragorn contemplated just opening it. Changing his mind, he raised his fist and pounded on the wood. Waiting a moment for an answer he did not receive, he knocked again, longer this time and with more force. A moment later, the door opened.

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Only minutes later, angry at himself, Legolas, and the world, Aragorn slammed the door in Legolas' face and stormed swiftly back down the hall. He didn't get far before his steps began to falter, and then ceased altogether. Groaning, he whirled and slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.

He realized now, after the fact, of course, that he had overreacted. By the Valar, Legolas was his best friend! No matter what had happened, he had had no right to talk to the elf that way. He was remorseful, but still angry. Legolas rarely, if ever, attended any social meal while in Gondor, which was why the King had made certain to request that he do so tonight. Where had Legolas been? Why hadn't he answered him that question, and what could have possibly so much more important to Legolas that his friend would just ignore his request?

He did try to apologize... A nagging voice in the back of his mind pointed out helpfully, but he pushed it down. In his place, Aragorn would never have done this to Legolas.

But why does it make me so angry? He wondered inwardly. Why did I expect Legolas to be there so much that when he did not come I was literally unraveled? I am the King of Gondor! An entire alliance does not rest wholly on a single vassal's presence at a meeting!

Brushing his over-acted irritation off as the combined result of a lack of rest, nervousness, and a major headache, the King of Gondor continued down the corridor that would lead him to his own rooms, and Arwen, now heavily pregnant with their first child.

As he walked, he could not avoid the distinct pangs of regret. "I'm sorry Legolas..." He muttered aloud with a half-sigh. "I didn't mean to take it that far..."

- - - -

Heart heavy with an emotion that he could only guess at, Legolas sank back onto the bed, letting his head drop forward to rest in his hands. He shook his head groggily, trying to clear his vision of the grey haze of weariness, so familiar now. He could not go back to sleep. It was only a matter of luck that he had dozed off earlier without being assaulted by visions of the sea, but he would not try again. He could not. His body was well enough off with the two hours he had just had, and the guilt eating at his heart could not be pushed aside.

"I'm sorry Aragorn..." He whispered to the night as he looked up, back at the door that had closed behind his friend minutes before, "I didn't mean to let you down..."

As a shuddering sigh raked through his body, he unconsciously pulled closer the shell of pride and nobility that sheltered his heart. All he knew was that he couldn't give in. To the pain, the weariness, and the guilt. But especially the longing. The constant tug at his heart towards the sea, the ring of the waves that would try to overwhelm him as soon as he opened himself or let down his guard.

He had long, long known, that this was coming. He had been warned. By himself, by his father, who had warned his son that his friendship with mortals would destroy him, and yes, even by the Lady Galadriel. This was his fate. As it was the fate of Aragorn to become King Elessar Telcontar, and as it was the fate of the elves to leave Middle Earth.

He had first known there at the Havens of Umbar right before the Battle of the Pellenor Fields, as a flock of gulls had wheeled overhead— as the breakers had roared on the shore, crashing onto the sands, and as the spray of their moisture had first touched his face, that he would never again know true peace. He would never be free of the net that had then captured his heart. He had hidden the pain then, because it had not yet consumed him. He had been guided by a higher purpose: To see the Ringbearer's quest through to the end, and to be there at Aragorn's side as his friend continued on his own quest to embrace the destiny he was born to.

And now?

The ring had been destroyed. Frodo, showing off the true resiliency of Hobbits in flying colors, had destroyed that tool of Sauron in the fires of Mordor.

Aragorn had claimed his throne and his destiny. Legolas could still remember how his heart had throbbed with the intensity of the pride and joy within him as Gandalf had placed the silver crown on Aragorn's brow and his best friend had turned to receive the applause of the people of Gondor.

And now there was nothing left for him to look to. No promise made to hold onto, to keep him taking every step. Nothing to hide behind, no wall made of promises and quests to pull up, nothing to guard his heart from the agony.

Only Aragorn.

If the sea were to torment him, second by second for the rest of his life, with a pain beyond Mortal pain, he would stay. For his friend and for his brother, for the love they shared and the promise made, he would stay. Not until Aragorn's last breath left his body would he depart these shores, for he had sworn this, unbeknownst to the King of Gondor. He loved the man far more than anything else in Middle Earth, and if Aragorn asked him to stay even past his death and unto the ending of the world, he would.

But you couldn't even make it to a simple dinner! He mocked himself. What kind of friend is that?

Longingly, he looked down at the bed he sat on. Sleep seemed so inviting, as if the two or three hours he had been unconscious had been but a teasing memory. His body was so weary, and although minor compared to the severe exhaustion that had haunted him continuously for weeks, right now all he wanted to do was give in and let the darkness take him again.

But he could not. He had to make it to the Council Meeting in the morning He had all but lost control over himself, and the nightmares sure to come helped to make sleep unattractive enough to resist. If he fell asleep again, who knew when he would be able to wake up? And so he stood, beginning to pace as he prepared himself for another long night of sleepless guilt and heartache.

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Faramir let a slight frown shift to cover his features as he pulled his door shut behind him. He too, had noted Legolas' absence and wondered at the cause of it. He had also realized how much Aragorn felt it and had done his best to support the king during the difficult meeting with the Haradaic tribal delegates.

Yet also, he was worried about Legolas. Years of working together with the elf, nurturing and coaxing the forests of Ithilien back to life after the shadow that had held them in sway for so long, had bound them close together. So close in fact, that more than once Faramir had caught himself thinking of the elf as his best friend. He knew Legolas did not return this sentiment; only Aragorn ever could, but he did know the elf considered him at least a very close friend. The elf would never, ever have stood Aragorn up without a good reason, and even then it would have been surprising.

He opened his door again, and decisive steps carried him in the same direction his King had taken almost an hour before.

- - - -

Knock, knock. The sound was soft and steady, and Legolas knew who it was right away. He had long ago learned to tell apart the knocks of his friends, as well as strangers, and now unbelievable relief flooded through him as he looked up towards the door from the window he was leaning out of. He felt he would either burst or collapse at any second, and the distraction was so welcome he felt almost like sobbing his relief.

"Faramir!" Legolas smiled brightly as he pulled the door open. "Welcome, my friend—" He pulled the door open, inviting his friend in with a gesture of his hand.

Faramir smiled warmly at the elf, not missing the relief in his face. "How do you fare, Legolas? We missed you at dinner."

Legolas immediately sobered and his eyes fell to the floor.

"Legolas?" Faramir prompted gently, noting his friend's discomfiture as he shut the door.

Legolas sighed softly, looking away as Faramir searched his face.

"You're not well my friend—"Faramir frowned, finishing his scrutiny.

"I am well, Faramir." Legolas brushed him off with a wave of a slender hand.

"I already know you're not, so why do you lie to me? It is truly useless." Faramir returned, gently but firmly. He would not be so easily fooled.

Legolas sighed heavily. "Faramir—"He began, but the man sternly cut him off.

"If you do not at least tell me what is wrong, I will tell Aragorn that you are ill and he will make you tell him."

"Faramir!" Legolas jerked his head up, wide eyed.

"I mean it."

Legolas seemed torn, before waving his hand once more in dismissal and turning back to the window. "I have simply been— weary— of late, it is nothing." He deadpanned, desperately hoping the man wouldn't press him.

Faramir nodded reluctantly, as if to let the matter drop. But he did not.

The Lord of Ithilien was not stupid. But he was an excellent actor. He had had many years to nurture this talent, albeit unknowingly, at the side of his brother Boromir. Many a time it had been left to him to answer to their father for a sly piece of mischief or a prank that had left a member of the staff or a citadel guard in flusters, simply because Boromir would not have been able to resist the urge either to squirm, blush, or just burst out laughing. As children this trait had been invaluable, and had dragged both brothers out of countless near-miss consequences, and it came into play now as well.

He was not going to let this drop. Something was bothering Legolas horribly, and he was going to find out what it was. He had caught the look in his friend's face at his question, and it was then he had known he had struck true.

"Very well, Legolas." Faramir looked away. "Why then, do you not get some rest? We are meeting with the Haradrim again in the morning."

"I know." Legolas began, "Aragorn already told—"Stopping short, Legolas' head suddenly jerked up and he looked back at Faramir.

"The Haradrim?" He questioned sharply.

Faramir frowned. "Yes, the Haradrim. The Haradaic delegates..." His voice trailed off as realization dawned. "Tell me you knew they were here...?"

Legolas shook his head in shock. "That is why he was so angry..." He whispered numbly, as if to himself. "They have arrived already, and I was not there—" He groaned softly as he buried his face in his hands.

"What did Aragorn say to you?" Faramir asked in alarm as he reached out to touch his friend's arm. Legolas jerked away angrily, not at his friend but at himself.

"How could I have forgotten?!" He moaned, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the windowpane, "I let him down! I knew they were coming..."

"Legolas—" Faramir began helplessly, not knowing what he could say to comfort his friend when he didn't even know what ailed him. He hesitated, before placing his hands on Legolas' shoulder, since the elf had his back to the man. "Legolas, I can help you, if you would only tell me what is wrong—"

"No Faramir!" Legolas pulled back violently, startling Faramir. "You cannot help me! No-one can! Not unless you can still the song of the waves or silence the gulls, and not until then— Not until then..."

Faramir watched in open-mouthed shock as Legolas stumbled back a step after this outburst, and then turned and swiftly ran out the room, almost as if he were running from himself. For many long moments, Faramir could not move. He was so stunned at Legolas' reaction to him that his limbs had seemed to freeze in place.

He had known Legolas for three years now. Never—Ever, had the elf raised his voice at anyone, or let slip the calm, complacent mask he so often used to hide pain, sorrow, and hurt. The man had first seen this powerfully in effect when the Prince had traveled to the havens to see his father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, one last time before the Elven King left for Valinor. Legolas had returned to Ithilien, his face an emotionless mask. He had not spoken a word to anyone, even Faramir, but had only nodded slightly and offered a strained smile when Faramir had spoken to him. That was on his way to his own quarters, for Faramir had been visiting the Elven Colony at the time. Legolas had closed the door of his quarters, and had not opened it again for three days. By that time Faramir had already left, and neither of them had ever spoken of it again.

Now he had been given an unexpected glimpse, however brief, at Legolas' heart and soul, and it hurt. It hurt that he had never seen his friend so deep. It hurt that his friend was in pain and he could do nothing to help him. And it hurt that he did not even know what was wrong.

But that, he swore to himself, was going to change. He was going to find out what was ailing his friend, and he knew just where to look.

- - - -

The heavy door creaked softly as it was pushed open just enough for Faramir to enter. With the torch in his hand, he shut the door and took it around the room, lighting the candles mounted on the walls as he went. When he had finished his task, he surveyed the room in quiet satisfaction. Row upon row, shelf upon shelf of books lined the walls of the Citadel vaults, now illuminated in an almost other-worldly fashion by the flickering candlelight.

The generations of the kings were here in this room, contained in every weather-stained parchment and long-forgotten manuscript. Thousands of years worth of knowledge were contained within, and they had been enriched even further during King Elessar's reign, for his adopted Elven father, Lord Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell, had given his son all of the books in the Libraries of Imladris upon his departure to Valinor.

It was these, written by the elves, that were Faramir's object of interest, and without further ado, he dropped the torch he carried into an empty bracket by the door and began his search.

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Author's Notes and Commentaries:

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Oh my golly goodness!!! I can hardly believe all the reviews I already received, for only one chapter! That is just... wow.... ! I'm dumbfounded!

Ahem—Okee-doke then— I'm afraid I won't be able to handle individual reviews—Not like anyone wants to know anyways, but I currently have eight separate LotR fanfiction's going, a fantasy novel, several RP's, four websites, an art portfolio, a monthly newsletter and a comic strip, PLUS I'm training a new horse, so hopefully you can understand that I'm a little busy, but I'll try my best! Usually I never update this fast, but all those reviews just got me so motivated I had to type up this second chapter to live up to you guys! Thank you so much! I love you!!! So this hyper-quick update is for all of you! You guys got me so happy, in fact, that the day after I checked back I wrote most of the next chapter and finished it on my laptop at McDonalds yesterday! So, you see? Reviews really do work!

As to FAQ's, yes, I plan on continuing this story—and because of the interest so many have shown, much faster then I had originally planned. It was going to be short at first, but I have a lot planned out for it already so it will be longer than expected. Also, if Aragorn did seem a little off key to you, hopefully it will all be explained! Aragorn is one of my favorite characters, right up alongside Legolas and Faramir, and I would never make him the bad-guy! So rest easy! He just has a lot going on, with the alliance and ruling Gondor and Arwen being pregnant and all, so give the guy a break! Lol! He's getting it bad enough from me...

One of you pointed out a spelling mistake to me—Thank you so much! I really appreciate that! I also found one, but not the one you pointed out, and if there's anything I hate more than slash stories it's gotta be spelling mistakes! When this story is complete I'll probably end up re-uploading any chapters with mess-ups like that, so I would really appreciate it if anyone sees any more, to let me know! I'll give you skittles...?

Oh yeah—One last thing: I feel a little embarrassed asking this, but could anyone give me some tips on text tags? Italics, bold, underline, ect.? I've tried normal HTML, which I use a lot, but it doesn't want to work for me for some weird reason...

For those of you that are interested, I'll also be posting several more stories ASAP, all of course, centered on everyone's favorite Elf and Ranger! I have a wealth of incomplete stories and chapters on my other, non-net computer, so as soon as I have the means to transfer them I'll have them posted!

Okay, now that was almost as long as the chapter, so if you made it all the way down to here you deserve a Purple Heart!

Thanks a ton!

-Skande

(-Skittles and Elevators!)