Author: Casualis (Casualis2000@yahoo.fr)
Pairings: Legolas/Elrond, Legolas/?
Summary: No one defies the sea with impunity.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never.
A/N:
Thanks to the great, marvellous and sweet Dorothy for beta-reading that fic. Without the hours she spent working on my horrible grammar, I am not sure you would have understood anything at all. And as usual, thanks to my muse, Haz, whose work I admire so much and whom I love so much.
*
" The
sea--this truth must be confessed--has no generosity. No display of manly
qualities--courage, hardihood, endurance, faithfulness--has ever been known to
touch its irresponsible consciousness of power."
Joseph Conrad
"I
must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying."
John Masefield, Sea Fever
*
Traders were crossing the Old Path hugging the shore,
where the Anduin flowed into the blue sea. For days they had travelled, taking
little rest, and weariness began to weigh on their shoulders. Their eyes were
fixed on an invisible point in the distance, dark rings enhancing their ghostly
appearance. Their attention was completely on reaching their goal, the white
city of Minas Tirith, and they did not spare a glance to the landscape. It was
not the first time they took this path,
they came to Gondor at least once a year and the Old Path was the shortest way
to the Kingdom. Everything was familiar, the trees, the sand, the dunes and the
sea, which appeared below. But their familiarity had killed any kind of
wonder.
Yet, there was more than one reason to halt and watch. The view was
magnificent. There was no other word. On the left, high chalky cliffs were clearly standing against the sky, the waves of the sea crushing upon
their steep slopes in an explosion of froth. The oldest knew that those cliffs
were the theatre of a merciless fight between the sea and the earth, a fight that the earth could not hope
to win. Little by little, the ocean was gnawing on the earth, sharpening the
front of the cliffs that faced the sea. Sometimes, the earth yielded to the
stubborn and persistent attacks of the waters and part of the cliffs collapsed
into the sea, causing a gush of water to swallow the rocks. People told that
fight was as old as Arda itself and that it would only cease the day when
waters would completely cover the ground or when time came to an end. Some told
that, a very long time ago - so long ago indeed that no one among the human
race was able to remember - where people could see only endless ranges of
immaculate sand, had once been high, proud cliffs. But the sea had defeated
them, then had withdrawn to begin anew its work elsewhere. No one knew if
stories about that eternal struggle between sea and ground were true, but they
saw the sand and the cliffs and they wondered at this work of nature.
But the traders did not care. The sea was the
sea, unchanged for decades. They had seen it so many times the beauty no
longer affected them. They left the wonder to the youth, those sailors
who had not seen it before. There was still a long road to travel before
they reached Gondor, and difficult trades to negotiate.
Yet, all people did not share their lack of enthusiasm. If their unwavering
gazes were fixed on the sandy road spreading out in front of them, others were not able to
avert their eyes from the sea.
This was the case of the figure standing on the shore, face turned toward the
sea, a few feet away from his great and beautiful white boat resting on the
soft sand, its large sails restrained to keep from
flapping in the marine breeze. The beholder did not move, nor
make any gesture. He remained but a faint and motionless figure to those
who might have stared from the edge of the cliff.
People, who might have watched him from far away, would have taken him for one
of those Gondorians who often came to admire the sea, remaining on the shore
for hours and departing before the end of the night. If they had taken a closer
look, they would have seen this was no man.
This was an elf.
Standing straight and tall, he looked like a statue sculpted from the
purest marble. His skin seemed to be made of alabaster, his face fascinating.
His features were well-drawn and angular, like those of all the Firstborn. His
nose was straight and noble, his cheekbones were sharp giving him a determined
look. The line of his jaw was somewhat softer, attenuating the impression of harshness
elicited by the angular features. His pale complexion brought out the dark pink
of his lips that looked like two delicate petals. An accomplished artisan might
have been able to capture the perfection of his features, the strength of his
lithe body, or the silkiness of his braided flaxen hair, but even the most
highly skilled would find it hard to duplicate the fierce expression in those
bottomless eyes, eyes whose colour matched the sea.
To
human eyes, he was one of the Firstborn, a race
cherished by Iluvatar, one of the last among the immortal fair folk
lingering on Arda. But Elven eyes would have known better, noticing the
slender, almost thin shape, the intricate design of the braids in his hair, the
green colour of his outfit. They would have known that this was an elf of
royal lines, a Wood Elf, a child of nature.... One who knew the language
of trees and animals. The eyes of the elves were much sharper than those
of men and would have seen that behind the motionless stance and fierce expression
were hidden shadows and memories, hopes and disillusionment. They would have
known without asking that the fair being was about to indulge in the call of
the sea. He was to sail, to cross the ethereal ocean to meet his family
and friends in the fair and far off Valinor.
The elf was standing, his eyes fixed on the dark line of the horizon. He did
not seem to breathe, as if the sea landing at his feet was stealing his
breath and his capacity to act. In some way, this was true. He was not able to
listen to the trees. For the first time in his long life, he was indifferent to
the tall ancient beings. He knew that they were whispering sweet words and
loving farewells to him. Nature had always cherished the Firstborn, and usually
their affection was returned. He knew the trees would be distressed at his
silence, but he did not care. Why should he? The sea was
calling him, and its song was sweeter than theirs, stronger than theirs.
None of what they said would have been as beautiful and bewitching as the call
of the sea. None...
He looked at it, watching in awe each of its movements. The sea was
bewitching. The strong wind was agitating its usually calm surface, creating
trails of froth, long and white, on the rolls of the waves, which were born
somewhere in that vast surface and borrowed its strength from the marine breeze
before crashing on the shore in a continuous rustling. On the horizon, Anar was
rising from his slumber, lighting the sky, his long rays sliding on the dark
mass of the sea, creating shimmering reflections in the water that welcomed his
touch. In the sky were flying gulls that peacefully soared above the water,
quickly going down, as if willing to caress the water with their wings, before
rising again and letting out a cry that melted with the rustling of the waves.
The sight was wondrous. So many colors, sounds and scents intoxicating the senses. All these made that moment unique and unforgettable.
The Firstborn was unable to avert his eyes from the wild beauty displayed
before him. He could only stare at it, his vision and heart filled with the
magnificent glory that was the sea. He eagerly watched the view, trying to
memorize every detail, every nuance taken by that great body of water. He
watched, and it seemed he would never get his fill of this dream vision. Never
had he seen anything more beautiful than this, with its might and its
sensuality. . The very surface seemed agitated by moving shadows,
creating thousands of whirlpools that appeared as many traps. People thought that the sea was a peaceful entity, and at
first sight, this was true, but its stillness was a treacherous impression.
Stillness was alien to the sea. In truth, violence was held within its very
core. Its essence was not calm, but held a hidden power of a tempestuous
nature.
The elf watched and listened, his heart beating wildly in his constricted
chest. He heard its call, stronger than ever. He understood its words and
whatever doubts he might have had disappeared. He knew it. He felt it. And the
strength of its will frightened him.
The sea wanted him…
He watched, fascinated, how long arms born of the marine froth stretched toward
him, but failing to reach him were absorbed by the wet sand that had
turned to a deep brown shade. The white foam left behind would then dry in the
increasing warmth of the sun only to be washed away by a new surge of water.
The sea wanted him. The sea beckoned to him. But he dared not move. Frozen in
his tracks, He feared that if he touched it, he would never be able to leave
this shore, forever lost in his pointless contemplation.
The sea…
A lascivious name on his tongue, a broken sob of his soul, a painful ecstasy of his heart.
The sea…
So often had he dreamt of this moment. But this long-awaited event was also the most feared in his long life. Today should have been the most beautiful day and, in way, it was. But it was also the most defeating. He was going to indulge in the treacherous temptation of the songs that had haunted his dreams during the last years. He was to cross the sea and to meet his love again. But which gave him the greatest pleasure? He simply preferred not to know.
There were questions one should never answer.
Upon his tongue was the salty taste of the sea...a taste mixed with relief and happiness yet mingled with bitterness...bitterness at the realization of his defeat and of his failure.
That
thought almost made him snort. Almost, because no sound passed his closed lips.
Failure...
a strange word he thought he would never use to describe himself.
Failure. Defeat. These were words unfamiliar to him, until now. It may seem
pretentious yet it was true. He was an Elven warrior, a beloved Prince
and a respected Lord. He never considered the possibility that he could
fail…such thoughts would have led to disaster. He had fought so many
battles, faced many foes, helped defeat Sauron and destroy the unique ring. He
had helped restore the beauty of Ithilien and build a strong and affluent
colony. And now, he found he was defeated by himself...by the insidious
seduction of the sea and his own weakness, his own inability to resist the call
of the sea.
Men would say that the sea was a demanding lover. Sailors even called it
a jealous woman. He had first heard those words a long time ago, and he
had laughed, mocking the superstition and the childishness of the human
race. Now, standing here at the edge of the sea, he realized it was he who had
been childish that day so very long ago, laughing at the roomful of men as they
talked of the sea. He had laughed at something he had never known,
or even experienced. But now he knew the charms the ethereal entity could
exert on one willing to listen to its voice.
Thinking back, he remembered so well the first day he had heard of the
sea. Such a subject was not frequent in his realm of Mirkwood, where the call
of the sea was considered a curse, causing all who heard to quickly leave their
forest home, forsaking those they loved. He had been in the vale of Imladris
when he asked his lover about the sea. They had been lying upon the vast bed,
its sheets damp and crumpled from their frolicking. The window curtains had
been opened, revealing a part of the starry sky. Ithil's light had been falling
upon them, making his beloved's velvety alabaster skin glow, enhancing the deep
contrast between its paleness and the raven hair falling on the pillow. They
faced each other, long legs tangled, fingers twinned, their breathing calm and
their hearts content. Breaking the harmonious silence, he had asked his dark
beauty if he had ever seen the sea, which was so often described in the scrolls
and the books in his library. He had noticed how the bottomless gray eyes he
loved so much had taken a thoughtful and saddened shade when he had heard the
question, and he regretted having asked it for fear of awakening painful
memories. However, his love smiled and stretched a hand to caress
his blond hair, taking a few seconds to ponder the question. Then,
with simplicity and honesty which always characterized the Lord of Imladris, he
spoke of the sea...of its beauty and its song. He spoke with such longing
that the younger elf felt the pain of jealousy spreading to his heart.
That
had been many years ago, indeed many centuries ago. He had been young and
carefree, with a song on his lips and his love for the raven-haired Lord in his
heart. That night, he had understood for the first time that one day he would
lose his love to the sea...the sea he had never seen. Hate had grown
toward that unknown entity, and he swore the sea would never have him. He
would sail whenever he decided, not the sea. Thinking back, he realized
he had been arrogant that day, but did not know it at the time.
But
fate had decided otherwise...
He had
joined the Quest, knowing that the day the dark power of Sauron was destroyed,
his lover would leave these shores, leaving him on Arda. How ironic....
He had
refused to heed Galadriel's words when she warned him of what awaited him if he
heard the cry of the gulls. But he had not listened, thinking his contempt for
the sea would prevent him from being lured by its falsity and trap. He
faced his destiny, wondering why the one he loved was willing to leave him
behind. He wanted to understand what the sea had that he had not. He wanted to
know what it could offer that he could not give. He thought that the gulls
could cry, the waves could crash upon the sand, and it would have no effect on
him. He was strong, and could not be forced to do that which he refused.
No one could force him to sail when he had decided otherwise.
But
then, on the dangerous path of the quest, he had heard it, and his world
crumbled into a thousand tiny pieces.
On
that fateful day so long ago, a nimble bird had risen into the clear blue sky,
his long white wings expanded, enabling him to glide on the wind. A gull.
As he watched, it seemed as if time stood still. He saw it open its beak,
emitting a shrill cry...a cry that had awakened many sensations in his mind,
heart, and soul. Confusion and happiness, pleasure and pain, hate and love. He
pushed these feeling aside and stood on the shore, challenging the sea to take
him away. The only answer to his unspoken question had been the marine
breeze caressing his fair face, as if to mesmerize. Unbeknownst to him, he had
been given the first kiss of the sea...and it would mean the end of him.
Anar had
now completely risen, the burning sphere shining
brightly in the sky, making the sea transparent to the sharp Elven sight. The
wind had calmed and the deep waters seemed to have quietened. He could make out
a vast coral reef where colored shoals of fish were swimming, hiding themselves
from the predators that sought to hunt them. The picture was beautiful. The
long rays of the sun seemed to stroke languidly at the waves, warming them. It
looked as if the sea was leaning into the caress in a sensual response. A warm
sensation spread in the heart of the Firstborn.
The
sea was seduction, charm, grace, and bewitchment. To say that he was
indifferent to this seduction would have been a lie. There was naught in the
blue depths that did not appeal to him, enthral him or call to him. It
seemed the voice never ceased to resound, murmuring restlessly from within the
tumbling waves. It seemed as if he could hear his name among the
whispered words of the ethereal being.
Legolas…
Briefly,
he closed his eyes against the disarray of his senses in the soft
darkness. Recalling a memory, he answered the whisper of the sea,
uttering the name of his beloved, his voice carried softly to blend with that
of the wind.
Elrond…
He wondered briefly if his lover had felt its call with the same
intensity. Had he been so blind that he had
not seen the suffering in the dark-haired Lord's gray eyes? He did not know.
His heart tightened in his chest when he thought of the day his beloved had
left Arda, asking one last time if he would join him. And he had refused,
wanting to keep the promise he had made to his mortal friends, to sail when
he had felt the desire to do so, willing to choose his own fate in spite
of the sea.
The sea… It had been then a mere murmur in his head, calling him softly
when his mind had been devoid of any thoughts. It had been so easy to ignore
it, to go on as if nothing had changed. Yet, things had changed: his lover had
left and the sea had come. The latter filling the void his beloved had left in
his heart.
Time had passed quickly at first, day after day, in a symphony clearly
orchestrated. Not a day had passed without it being filled with duties,
councils and meetings. There had been so many things to build, so many things
to achieve. In the beginning of Elessar's rule, Ithilien had been a mere dream,
a mere vision, which he had been charged with making into reality. The task had
been great and challenging but he had never complained. Ruling the growing
colony had taught him many things and helped him to remain in contact with
Arda. Rebuilding Ithilien had been everything he had wished for. It provided a
new challenge in his life that had recently been shattered by his beloved's
departure.
Then
one day, there had been nothing left to build. The challenge of the new
beginning was now spent, and his life had become habit. With this habit
came the full realization of his loneliness, of the loss of his lover.
His heart ached as it had never ached before. His bed had never felt so vast
and empty, the sheets cold and lonely, the stars less comforting. Where once
they had been sparkling in the darkened sky, their light now seemed to avoid
him, as if he had lost the cherished blessing of Ithil. He had spent
numerous nights awake, thinking of the passion he had shared with his
lord. He could have taken another lover ; he was a beautiful elf, desired
by many, but others had held little interest for him. He only desired
one...one who was so far away, out of his reach.
So
many times he had closed his eyes, avoiding the harsh reality of his growing
despair, and imagined that he had been back in Elrond's rooms, back in his warm
embrace. Here, he was far from the cold emptiness of his own chambers. He
had imagined his beloved's hand giving him pleasure, touching him, making him
shiver in unspent passion. With his eyes closed, he imagined his lover's face,
his dark beauty and piercing eyes, his glorious body. As he recalled the
memories, he could almost feel his beloved's gaze, his eyes glazed with the
mist of desire, framed by long, thick eyelashes, which gave his pupils so much
depth. He could almost feel warm breath caressing his cheek, could almost
smell his dark beauty's scent, made of pine and running rivers.
Almost. As his orgasm claimed him, he opened his eyes, and the reality
caught up with him. It was his own hand on his heated flesh, the northern
breeze on his cheek, his own imagination bringing forth images of the
past. It was then that he closed his eyes and wept, his sobs muffled in
the softness of his pillow.
Time
passed, slowly. Night was replaced by day in an unending cycle, each day
exactly like the previous, each night a reminder of the one before.
Nights spent imagining what it would be like to be held by his lover in fair
Valinor. He wanted his lover, needed him. He felt himself locked in
a tower of solitude, his loneliness slowly, lazily, seeping into his distressed
mind.
The sea…
He had
felt its insidious caress, its feather touch in his soul and, at first, he had
fought back. But the sea was a stubborn opponent that never released its
prey. Its song had become more vivid with every passing night as he lay
in his room in Ithilien, its notes twirling in a maddening waltz. There were
times he would feel as if he were back on that shore....a shore he had trodden
only once. He could remember vividly the gulls flying in the sky and the
waves crashing upon the sand. It was at these times that he knew the sea
was beckoning to him, and he tried to resist, not willing to listen to what he
had known to be a mere illusion. But insistently, the sea had returned,
calling to him in his dreams, promising many pleasures and less pain, speaking
to him of his loneliness and suffering. Every night it had come back,
luring him more and more. In the end, he had not the strength to fight
any longer. It had been much easier to simply listen...to let it enter
his mind and fill his soul.
Bit by bit, the caress
of the sea had replaced the touch of his beloved. All was fading from
memory...the feel of his lover's hand in his own, the scent of his skin,
the caress of breath, the pleasure of his kisses, the love in his words and the
heat of his body. Everything had faded from memory, leaving
only the sea. It seemed to the flaxen-haired elf that he had been immersed in
an ocean of liquid peace, rocked by the sensual caress of the waves, the smell
of the salty water filling his lungs.
Naught had seemed more right, more pleasant.
And
each morning, when Anar had risen in the sky, he had
cursed himself for his weakness, and for the willing torment he had bestowed
upon himself. Each day he had promised to be stronger, but at night, he would hear the
call of the sea and would cry out his beloved's name, desperate to find an
anchor in his world.
The sea…
The sea
Forever in his heart, forever in his mind, never giving him respite. The
love of the sea was painful, demanding. It asked everything of him, taking
every inch of his former self, forbidding him to think of anyone else.
For a long time, the hopeless battle continued, like a painful dual
between night and day, strength and weakness, promise and need. Time slowed,
becoming more exhausting for him. He knew he had changed. His
inward struggles tired him, taking its toll on his exhausted spirit. He felt
the glances people cast his direction, the murmurs behind his back, but he
cared not. He had no strength left to care. But with the death of Elessar came
deliverance. Nothing bound him to Arda any longer. That place had lost
all interest to him, even the trees brought him no comfort.
In
Ithilien, he had built the ship that was now moored offshore, the ship on which
he would sail. As he built it, he had felt a peace within, a peace not
felt in many years. How he had enjoyed the feel of the smooth wood on his
palm as he built the hull and helm first. Then, with the help of other
elves, fixed the high mast. Skilled maidens had crafted the great sails,
and it had made his heart sing when finally they had been lashed to the
masts. It was at this point he realized everything was ready, and the
great ship waited just off the beach of the Anduin for him and his friend
Gimli... waiting for the day he made his decision to finally set sail.
He
remembered his heart had hammered in his chest like a wild colt on the vast
plains of Gondor as he sailed his great ship the length of the Anduin. So
long had he waited for this moment...so long. His hand had quivered with
impatience on the helm, his face the unreadable mask of the Firstborn, but
his heart was like that of a blushing maiden awaiting her lover.
Now,
there it was, finally. Stretching out before him…
The sea…
He almost could not believe it was in front of him, that he could feel
the sand beneath his feet, that he could pick up a handful of it and let it
drip between his fingers. He felt so well. He felt at home. He would have remained here for
days, listening to the soothing sound of the waves crushing on the bank.
He had lost the fight with himself, but felt relieved nonetheless. Men
said the sea was a cursed mistress. In his heart, he knew they were
right. He had defied the sea, and it had exacted its revenge. The
sea would never let him go. He who fought against its call caught its
full attention. He thought himself strong, but found he was like those high
cliffs gnawed by the waves. No one could resist. It had taken time, but he had
learned his lesson. The sea had taken everything from him.
And for this affliction, he knew only one remedy.
He closed his eyes and called his lover's name once more, as if he could
be heard on the other side.
"Elrond, I come, my love"
The sea would never get the best of him. It may have filled his heart,
filled his dreams and filled his nights, but it would never take his love for
the dark-haired elf.
He shook his head, tearing himself from his reverie and, turning on his
heels, walked toward the great ship resting on the sand.
The end