(Quick) Author's Note:
Hello! This is my first story (ever, actually) to be published on here. There is a minor appearance of an OC (Caladhiel!), and I hope to write more stories exploring her. But! I was excited to publish something, so I wrote a little thing around Legolas, from his POV. All you really need to know about Caladhiel is that 1: they're supposed to be married at this point, although it's not incredibly important; and 2: she's amazing.
Anyway, review if you want! Hope you enjoy :)
-Cel9
The first time I touched the Sea, I did so with trepidation.
It was beautiful; too beautiful to understand, with its sparkling, undulating waves, clear blue and tantalizing, but most of all, irresistible. A strange thought, to one who has been raised in the woods, who has grown to love the grounded roots of the forest and not the wild freeness of the Sea. I was afraid to reach out, afraid the longing deep in my soul would consume me, as if I would be given over to its strange and glittering beauty with one fell stroke. I reached out a trembling hand.
It was cold. Shocking, beautiful cold.
Sea foam rolled onto my fingers, giving them the barest of tastes, before receding, away from me, pulled by the tide and I found myself wanting, grasping at the ebbing waves. My other hand dug into the wet sand, clutching handfuls of it, grains embedding themselves in my nails, as if it would anchor me to the shores I so desperately want to love.
Caladhiel was nearby, somewhere behind, standing vigil. She remains convinced she wouldn't be affected by the Sea; why, I'm not sure. Perhaps it is her idea that she has been called to stay. Perhaps it's her innate stubbornness; she simply refuses to hear the call.
Either way, I am jealous.
It was only worse from there; the second time I stepped into the surf; the third, waded knee deep; the fourth, to my waist; until now, where I stand up to my shoulders, facing the horizon, enveloped in cool water, letting the waves shift and sway me with every gentle movement, a slow lulling that reminds me of what my Amme used to do to put me to sleep.
Salt stings my lips, the back of my throat.
The Sea longing is just that, a longing; an irresistible, undeniable restlessness that stirs the soul, an urge to leave, when all I want is to stay with those I love. Valar, it tugs at my very being, steals my breath and holds my gaze, and almost-love, and it tempts me, oh, it tempts me; water for a man dying of thirst.
Come, it says, a cool whisper that rushes past and rushes back. Be at peace. Come to me, Thranduilion, and you will find what you seek.
I do not seek anything I do not already have, I want to say back. I have found my love.
Still, I run my hand over the surface of the water, letting little waves wash over my palm, soak my sleeve. Love perhaps; but not peace, not anymore. Sea breeze brushes past my face and I close my eyes and welcome the forbidden touch, the gentle caress of salt and wind and water. The gulls cry their harsh song in the distance, and water laps at my neck. I could stay forever, a dangerous thought, even as the sun kisses the horizon, streaking pinks and golds in the sky, a beautiful forward to the stars that will be mirrored in the Sea.
Come.
I wrench my eyes away and force myself to turn back.
Caladhiel still stands on the beach, hair and dress tossed by the wind, and she simply gazes into the West, as if looking hard enough will let her see those on the other side.
I climb out of the Sea, shaking with the effort, and hide the trembling of my hands by wringing out my tunic. Caladhiel gives me a small, small smile as she hands me a dry one, her hands gentle as she pulls the wet one off.
She is so gentle. Patient with me, too patient, coming on these little excursions of mine. I do not deserve it.
"Hush," she says, almost a chastisement. "I do it for you, not out of obligation."
I forget, sometimes, that she can read my thoughts.
She straightens the tunic, pulls on the sleeves so they sit evenly on my shoulders, and lets her hands linger there. The warmth seeps into my skin, as the breeze skips across the back of my neck. I shiver.
"Come," she says, and puts a hand on my back to lead me to the forest. "There will be a fire, and a warm bed back home."
Fire. The forest. Though they no longer give me completeness, I appreciate the gesture.
She steps ahead of me, catching my hand, and I follow, but not before I cast one last glance at the Sea, at its crashing waves and wheeling gulls overhead, the dull sparkle as the sun dips below the horizon. I drink it in, a dying man clawing at his last chance of life, and I wonder why I do not just go, leave these forsaken shores and find my peace.
"Legolas."
She has never spoken my name so gently.
Her grip on my hand remains firm, quiet fingers pressing into mine, and I am reminded why I stay; the feeling of cool sheets and a warm body next to mine, the little boy lying in a crib, and yes, the forest I love so much, even if it no longer gives me the solace I seek.
"No oath do I hold you to, Thranduilion," she breathes, and I am thankful she does not say meleth nin, for that itself is an oath I must hold to. "But let me give you what peace I can, for a little while."
The breeze is cold, the sun is no longer in the sky, and the stars begin to make their appearance. Far in the woods, I hear the beginnings of the song to Elbereth, a sweet melody.
"Aye," I say quietly, and turn my back to the Sea with all the strength I have left, and some of her own.
As we walk back to the forest, the gulls cry behind me, a desperate, beautiful cry.