Disclaimer: All stories, songs, plots, characters, places, poems, etc. that you recognize in this story from any of J.R.R. Tolkien's works belong strictly to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own any of them.
He gazed out toward the horizon, where dark, seawater mingled with the graying sky. Since the time when he was a child, he had heard tales of the Grey Havens, of its sorrowful beauty, but in his lifetime, he had only seen it once. He stepped out into the water, ignoring the wetness that filled his boots, and the lower half of his leggings. For what seemed like hours, he simply stood there, watching the hypnotic movement of the waves, watched them crash and twirl, turning the sand black as they covered the beach.
Rarely had he seen the ocean. Sometimes, his older brothers would tell him stories of how vast it was, and that no one could simply stand and view the other side. They said it was deep, filled with thousands and thousands of strange creatures. Of course, they had been nothing but that: stories. His brothers had never seen the ocean. If they had, their hearts would have been torn out from beneath their flesh, and eventually, they would have succumbed to the sea longing.
Sea longing, he mused, creating ripples in the water as he moved his feet. He had asked his family once about it, when he was twelve years old. They had told him that, when Elves saw the sea, or heard the seagulls calling, they desperately wanted to go home."But you are home," he had protested, raising dark brows in confusion. "In Imladris."
"Yes, we are home, Estel," Elrohir had begun, frowning. "We mean Valinor, the Undying Lands. Where the Noldor came from."
"Will you go there someday?" he had asked, eyes perking up at the prospect of visiting new lands. "Will you take me?"
Elrohir, and his twin, Elladan, had exchanged worried glances at this question, as though asking one another, "Who should tell him?" Once again, Elrohir seemed to have been the one chosen to answer. "One day, we may. Unless we decide to remain in these lands. But you can never go to Valinor, Estel . . ." The half-elf chose his words carefully, as though his younger, mortal brother was a delicate piece of glass, and too much knowledge of the subject would shatter him.
"Why can't I?" he demanded, eyes wild with worry and astonishment. "Are you going to abandon me?"
"No, we would never do that!" Elladan protested, suddenly joining the conversation.
"It is not we who would deny you that," Elrohir explained, sighing, troubled gray eyes studying the ground. "The Valar rarely permit mortals to cross into the Undying Lands. The only exception has ever been Tuor, a mortal from the First Age."
And he had never asked again. After that moment, the full realization that he was different had struck a nerve deep inside. He ignored the worried glances of his brothers when he often declined their invitations to journey out into the snow with them, or to have a friendly race. I did not want to be the only one wearing several layers of clothing, or the slowest runner, he admitted ruefully. Whether it was for those missed opportunities, or over his mortality, he could not say. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
He gazed out over the water, using every ounce of his creativity to create a mental picture of the beauty that must be Valinor. He imagined clear, crystal waters, white sands, and vast, sparkling cities that put the grand majesty of Minis Tirith to shame. Most of all, though, he imagined standing their with his family, knowing that he would never be alone again.
The last time he had seen his father had been a horrible time, indeed. The elf had kissed his beloved daughter good-bye, only his eyes betraying his intense sorrow and grief over her loss to mortality. More than anything, though, they screamed, "Why? Why did you choose this? Why are you leaving us?" They had spent hours speaking in private, before returning to the city.
He had spent hours with his foster father as well, but their time together had been extremely strained, tainted by his love for Arwen, and Elrond's loss of his daughter. Finally, all the elves that had accompanied Elrond and his mother-in-law, the Lady Galadriel, to Gondor had departed save for Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and Legolas Thranduilion.
Frodo was allowed to go. He had only recently learned of the news. His foster father, grandmother, and the two hobbits, Frodo and Bilbo, had departed the Grey Havens. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had never been destined to become the King of Gondor, or if he would have given up his right to the Throne, if he had allowed passage to the West. I would give it all up, he thought bitterly, surveying the blue-green water sorrowfully.
All his life, he had been told stories of the Sea Longing, of how the elves were torn apart by the intense desire to sail West. He had heard songs of this sorrow; of how they would be parted from the lands they loved. But what they never sang of in songs, or told in books of lore and myth, was how bitter it was for the mortals left behind, standing on the shore, gazing into the distance. And more than anything, they, like Aragorn Elessar, wanted nothing more than to leave everything behind and join their loved ones on the Grey Ships. Elves were reunited with their families. He, however, would never be, again.
Author's Note: This is a wacky AU That entered my head while I was visiting the beach. I pictured it more as a dream than anything, but you can really imagine it as anything.
Edit: Also, special thanks to Navaer Lalaith for pointing out my mispelling of Elladan's name.