The Right Colour|
In a world, where everything feels wrong, a light of hope still shines.
There characters belong to Tolkien, not me. My only profit is the fun
playing with them :-). tormenting them
This was wrong. It
took him a moment to realize what was out of place, but he knew it was
there. At a first glance everything seemed normal. The sunlit woods
were peaceful and quiet, except for the singing of birds and the rippling
of a distant brook. No sign of danger, no hint of enemies approaching.
And yet, his heart whispered urgently that something was not right,
that he should not be here, that he should run, run away, and never
look back. And then he knew it. The forest was the wrong colour.
Trees were not supposed
to be green.
He closed his eyes
and opened them again. The trees were still there, their leaves still
green. Fighting a wave of panic, he directed his steed northwest, where
his destination lay. The Ered Nimrais loomed high in the distance, its
high peaks frozen even in summer. But this was wrong too.
Snow was not supposed
to be white.
Fighting his misgivings,
he urged his horse forward, as he wished to reach Minas Tirith before
nightfall. A mirthless laughter escaped his lips. Why the hurry? He
was not afraid of the darkness, was he? But it was not the darkness
that terrified him, but what came with it. The same thing that came
every single night. Stars.
Stars were not supposed
to be golden.
Why would the trees
be green? Why would the snow be white or the stars golden, when they
were all supposed to be blue. Blue, blue, only blue, pure deep blue,
blue like the sky, blue like a cornflower, blue like a sapphire, blue
… like the Sea.
Years ago, the trees
would have brought Legolas Greenleaf solace, peace and contentment.
Years ago, the stars would have made his soul sing, and join its song
with theirs. But now as he looked at the leaves and the stars, at the
birds and the flowers, all that his heart yearned for was for them to
turn blue in front of his eyes and melt into clear water and flow together
to form one deep, vast, endless sea, a sea of angry roar and quiet promises,
a sea that he would sail with his ship to reach his Home, to reach the
only place where he was meant to be.
All the rest had lost
meaning. He did not see green, or red, or yellow anymore; all that was
empty, meaningless, colourless. The one colour that his heart begged
for was blue.
Legolas shook his head
angrily, trying to chase the thoughts away. No, he had turned from that
path a long time ago. This door was closed to him now. He had vowed
to stay in Middle-earth for as long as Aragorn lived. His time with
the Man was limited anyway, and he did not wish to cut it any shorter.
Besides, he wanted to see his friend’s children grow and learn, until
Eldarion would be ready to rule a kingdom. And Gimli… In a dream,
Galadriel had come to him and told him that the Dwarf would be welcomed
in the Undying Lands if he wished to join his Elven friend on this final
journey. But Legolas was uncertain if Gimli would wish to sail so soon,
and even if he did, the Elf was reluctant to ask it of him. His friend
would need to leave home and kin behind, to sail to a strange, elf-infested
place. Gimli prided himself for being a friend to the fair folk, but
Legolas did not believe that living among Elves for the rest of his
life was best for the Dwarf.
Gimli was the reason
he was travelling north. It had been a while since he had last journeyed
to Minas Tirith to visit Aragorn and his family, but now his Dwarven
friend was there as well, and there was no way Legolas would miss the
opportunity to spend time with his friends. After all, they were the
reason he was still fighting the sea-longing. They were his pillar of
strength… for now at least. He had resisted thirty-five years now,
surely he could hold on until the end. Only, time was passing by so
torturously slowly. Not that he wanted it to pass any quicker; his time
with his friends was short enough, but still the burden was not easy
The gates of Minas
Tirith stood high in front of him. If not for his friends, he would
have found little joy in this city. Too much white, too much stone.
Too little blue, too little water. No! He should not desire the Sea
now! The Sea was the end. If he saw it again before the time had come,
he did not know if he would find the strength to resist.
of Ithilien,” he called, in response to the sentry’s challenge.
The Elf cringed at the sound of his own name. How cruel the Valar were
to make leaves green!
“There is no need
to wake the King, I assure you,” said Legolas, as he stood in the
hall. “Show me to a room for the night, and I shall see him on the
The boy shifted nervously
from one foot to the other and then back. “His Majesty insisted that
he is informed as soon as you arrive, my lord,” he mumbled. “And
so did Lord Gimli.”
“This is because
he did not expect me to arrive in the middle of the night,” the Elf
said impatiently and glanced at the young servant. The boy’s surcoat
was dark brown, embroidered with the White Tree of Gondor. Apparently
trees were not always green, but the colour was still wrong.
The boy seemed to hesitate,
torn between orders and common sense, but at the end nodded. “Very
well, my lord. May I take your cloak?”
“I can take care
of my own cloak. Once I have seen my room.” The Elf’s patience
was wearing thin. The wave of sea-longing that had assaulted him on
his way had exhausted him and he wished for a quiet room and some time
to rest and compose himself before meeting his friends. The ache the
longing caused was always there, but at times it could be stronger or
weaker, and what he had recently felt had been hard to endure. It would
do his friends no good to see him like that.
Unfortunately, he had
not expected that he would have to argue with crowds of servants, insisting
to take him to Aragorn right away. The boy had not been the first, but
he dearly hoped he would be the last.
“A room has been
prepared for you,” the boy said, startled by Legolas’s tone of voice.
“This is good to
know,” the Elf replied. And would be even better to see.
Finally, the boy took
the hint and led him down the corridor. “This is your room,” he
said at last, stopping in front of a dark, oaken door. “Here, take
this candle. There are more inside, but unlit. Would you need refreshments,
or a bath prepared for you?”
“Food is not necessary.
As for the bath, a basin of warm water will do.” Legolas thanked the
boy and stepped inside.
The room was dark,
and he slowly walked to the window to light the tall candles with the
one the servant had given him. A drop of red wax fell on his hand, but
he did not feel the heat. Legolas turned back, ready to collapse on
the bed, and gasped.
Was this a joke? The
bed sheets were deep azure. Of course, whoever had prepared the bed
could not have known what the colour meant to him, but still this was
The little flames of
the candles danced, rising high and trying to reach the wooden ceiling,
but still unable to leave their nests, like little birds, who had not
yet learned how to fly and could only uselessly flap their wings. Light
and shadow played a game of tag across the room, across the walls, across
the blue bed sheets. They seemed to be moving, rising, falling, coming,
going, like waves. Legolas watched in awe as the bed seemed to transform
into clear water, into an ocean so deep and inviting. The Elf wanted
to fall into it, to sink, to drown, to forget.
Legolas took a hesitant
step forward, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. The boy
must have come back with the basin. But before he could call an invitation
to come in, the door burst open.
“Elf!” Gimli bellowed
as he stormed into the room. “How dare you! For two years you never
deigned to come visit me, and now that I have come all the way
to Gondor, you arrive and do not even find it necessary to tell me you
are here!” The Dwarf wrapped his arms around his hapless friend and
nearly lifted him into the air. “How have you been, laddie?”
Legolas laughed as
he disentangled himself from the fierce embrace. “Forgive me, my friend.
I was planning to see you first thing in the morning. I was merely tired
from the ride and wanted to-”
“Aye, I can see that,”
Gimli interrupted, throwing his friend a sidelong glance. “Though
I doubt it was the ride that exhausted you so.” The Elf had no reply
to that and Gimli frowned. “As you wish then. Go to sleep. I shall
see you tomorrow.” The Dwarf walked to the door and opened it, but
before he stepped outside, he looked back one last time. “But do not
think you can hide anything from me, lad. Or from the Man for that matter.”
As his friend closed
the door behind him, Legolas sighed and sank into the soft bed. Thankfully,
the Dwarf’s unexpected appearance had shattered the magic and the
sheets no longer looked like water. But whether he would still find
any peace in this bed, yet remained to be seen.
Almost every day the
King would have his meals in the great hall, at the head of one of the
long tables. A good leader needed to know his men, Aragorn often said.
And he needed to know them not only as councilors, captains, healers,
servants or soldiers, but also know them as people. And what better
way to learn more about them than a conversation over a shared meal?
This morning, however,
he had asked the servants to bring breakfast to a small round table
on the balcony of his private chambers. None of his men was present,
except for Gimli and Legolas and the royal family, and soon the Queen
excused herself and left with the children, leaving the three friends
Legolas broke a loaf
of hot white bread, fresh from the oven. He inhaled the savory scent,
trying to distract himself as a maid carried away the Queen’s now
empty plate. Arwen had barely eaten anything and it was obvious that
she had left early on purpose to give her husband and his old friends
a private moment. But it was this private moment that the Elf feared.
“Well, Legolas, I
suppose I should invite Gimli more often,” Aragorn said as he reached
across the table to grab a crimson apple. “This has to be the only
way to make you come here.” The King’s tone was light, but his grey
eyes were narrowed as scrutinized his friend.
Legolas slowly spread
butter on his bread, trying to feign nonchalance. It was true. In the
past years he found it hard to hide just how thin and fragile the string
that tied him to Middle-earth was. As a result, he found himself avoiding
his friends, which, in retrospect, made no sense. He was enduring this
torture only to be with his friends a while longer, and at the same
time he had been deliberately running away from them.
eyes widened. “Aragorn, surely you do not mean to tell me that you
have not seen the lad in the last two years!”
“Oh, I have seen
him, no thanks to Legolas,” the King replied. “I have visited Ithilien
several times and met him there, but not a single time has he come to
The butter melted on
the warm bread, turning a pale yellow. Both of his friends were looking
at him now and Gimli’s words from the night before came unbidden to
his thoughts. But don’t think you can hide anything from me, lad.
Or from the Man for that matter. How much did they know?
“I confess,” he
replied smoothly, locking eyes with Aragorn. “This was a part of my
cunning plan against you, my friend.”
Aragorn leaned back
in his chair and interlaced his fingers. “I am listening.”
“I wished to get
you out of the palace. You have been spending too much time inside.
And I thought that if I did not come to visit you-”
“Then I would have
no choice but come visit you myself,” Aragorn finished. “Believe
me, my friend, if I could spend more time outside the city walls, I
would, but sometimes decisions are made for us and we cannot choose
where to go and where to stay.” The King frowned slightly and looked
behind Legolas. The Elf turned around to see a servant waiting in the
doorway. “What is it?”
“Your Majesty, a
messenger arrived,” the boy said and handed Aragorn two letters. Legolas
could not make out the sigils on the wax from that angle, but could
see that one of the letters was sealed with red wax, and the other with
lilac. The Elf stifled a gasp. To the best of his knowledge, only one
person in Middle-earth would use lilac wax to seal a letter.
But why would Éowyn
send a letter to Aragorn now? Legolas had seen the Lady only the day
before. If she had any news for the King, Legolas would have carried
it perfectly well. And why would she, and not Faramir write the
letter? A sudden apprehension gripped him and he stared at Aragorn expectantly.
“Please bring the
letters to my study,” the King said. “I shall read them after breakfast.”
“No!” Legolas nearly
cried and felt himself blush as all eyes turned to him. Truth be told,
he had no idea what worried him so. “I think… I think you should
read them now.”
“Very well,” said
Aragorn, still somewhat perplexed by his friend’s reaction. Legolas
was hoping his friend would start with Éowyn’s letter, as it was
the one that had unsettled him, but the man took the other one first.
Before he broke the seal, the Elf managed to catch a glimpse of a swan
on the red wax.
As Aragorn read the
letter, his face lost all colour. As he finished, he lowered the parchment
into his lap and for a moment stared at the distance.
“What news of Dol
Amroth?” Legolas asked anxiously. “What does Prince Imrahil write?”
Aragorn slowly shook
his head. “The letter is from Elphir.”
Now, this was unexpected.
Why would Elphir send a letter to the King, using his father’s official
“Imrahil is dead,”
Aragorn finished his thought. “I have to travel west for the burial
and to crown Elphir as a Prince of Dol Amroth.”
Legolas fell silent,
remembering the first time he had met Imrahil. It had been on the Pelennor
Fields, and the Man had easily attracted his attention with his nearly
Elven features, his courage, his instant trust in the King. Later, the
Prince had become a chief commander and a member of the Great Council
of Gondor, and Legolas had had many chances to meet him and to learn
to respect him.
Lost in grief and memories,
the Elf did not notice that Aragorn had opened the second letter. “It
is as I thought,” the King murmured. “The messenger has passed through
Ithilien first, so Faramir already knows of the news. He was too disturbed,
and this is why Éowyn writes in his stead. They will leave Ithilien
as soon as they are prepared and will come here, so that we can all
Travel together? There
could be only one reason for the Steward’s family to take the unnecessary
detour, and Legolas knew it was not the company for the road. Naturally,
it was possible to ride to Dol Amroth, but the King and his entourage
would take another road. The faster road… Legolas held his breath.
“Arwen will want
to come, and I will take Eldarion with us, but the girls will stay here.
They are too young for a funeral,” the King continued thoughtfully.
“Gimli, you are welcome to join us, or stay here with Legolas until
I return. The journey may take long.”
The Dwarf considered
his options. “I would pay the Prince my last respects,” he
finally said. “I trust the Elf will still be here when I return, or
if not, I will have to travel to Ithilien myself.”
Legolas could not believe
his ears. Aragorn had not even considered extending the invitation to
him! Apparently the king knew more than the Elf might have wished, and
wanted to spare him the trouble of refusing. Perhaps the Man feared
that Legolas would feel uncomfortable to refuse, and did not wish to
make him feel pressured. And there was no way Legolas could come, was
there? Not only would they journey by ship down the Anduin, but their
trip would take them all the way to the Bay of Belfalas, to the Sea.
“I will come,”
Legolas said suddenly, surprising himself, not sure if it was mere stubbornness
that made him speak. He raised his head to meet his friends’ shocked
looks, a challenge in his eyes.
King began uncertainly. “No one asks this of you. We all know what
such a journey would cost you. Surely Elphir and Lothíriel will understand.”
So he knows.
The Elf shook his head. “I can make this journey. And Imrahil deserves
it.” He never said that this was not the entire reason he wanted to
go, but he knew that his friends would not have liked the truth. And
the truth was that he wished to see the Sea. He needed it. The green
of the trees, the white of the stones that covered the city, the dark
purple of the grapes on the table – these colours were exhausting
him. They were all dull, empty. It was blue he desired, blue that he
He could only hope
that once he saw the Sea, he would be strong enough to look back.
Many great men had
attended the burial. Faramir had traveled to say his last goodbye to
his uncle, and Aragorn himself had come to pay his respects and to grant
Imrahil’s son the title of Prince of Dol Amroth. The King of
Rohan had come to honour the memory of his great friend and father-in-law,
and his grieving Queen had accompanied him. Lothíriel had spent more
time with her brother than with her husband, perhaps reliving past memories.
This had left Éomer more time to talk to his own sister, whom he now
rarely had the chance to see.
Legolas carefully observed
everyone around him, their reunions, their conversations, their shared
sorrow, hoping to find the distraction he was looking for. He could
not. The long days on the river had been a torture, but nothing could
be compared to what he had felt the day he had set his eyes upon the
How could something
feel so sweet and so painful at the same time? It awoke a longing in
his soul and Legolas knew that there, beyond this immense mass of blue,
was his home, was where he belonged. Not here. Not anymore. Middle-earth
held no place for him any longer. The trees, the birds, the flowers,
the stars, they could bring him no joy and no peace. They had lost their
charm and appeal long ago.
His life in Middle-earth
now was like a tasteless meal. Like a grey scenery. Like an odorless
flower. Like a soundless song. He felt numb. His senses refused to work
here. He was frozen, asleep, dead inside. And only sailing beyond the
sea could ever wake him up again.
The funeral had passed
several days ago and they would soon need to leave and travel back.
Only that Legolas was not sure if he would be able to return anymore.
For how could he go back to the green and the yellow, to the red and
the white, when he had seen the Blue, the only colour that made him
feel alive… the only colour that made him feel anything at all.
In a desperate effort
to regain control over himself, Legolas tore his gaze from the fierce
waves and turned it backwards, towards the forest. The sudden change
from blue to green was so painful, that it tore his heart apart. Legolas
felt as if in a mere second he had lost everything. And then, a gull
cried. The call tugged at his soul desperately and in front of his eyes
the forest appeared to transform. The green turned to blue, and the
trees seemed to melt down into water.
The Elf blinked and
the forest turned green once again. He winced at the pain the view caused
and the sense of loss it brought along. Suddenly aware of a hand on
his shoulder, Legolas turned right to meet Aragorn’s worried gaze.
“I have been calling
you for a while,” the Man explained, his voice anxious. “You looked…
lost.” Aragorn pressed his eyes tightly shut, and when he opened them,
his gaze was pained. “I am sorry, Legolas. You should have never come
“Why would you
be sorry?” The Elf snapped. “What could you have done, except for
tying me up and keeping me away against my wishes? Coming here was my
choice, not yours.”
The King did
not seem taken aback by the cold answer. “I did not mean Dol Amroth.
You should have never come this close to the Sea. You should have never
come with me along the Paths of the Dead.”
Legolas sighed and
sat down on the grass. The Man sat next to him, watching him expectantly.
“This was my choice as well,” Legolas said softly, all of his
irritation gone. “I had figured out Galadriel’s warning before the
end. I knew what I was walking into, and I made my choice with this
knowledge.” He grasped his friend’s forearm seeing the guilt on
the King’s face. “You could not have stopped me. There is nothing
you could have said or done that would have made me stay back. Not back
then and certainly not now.”
Aragorn gazed at the
Elf thoughtfully. “Did you know what the cry of the gulls would do
to you? Did you know things would be like… like this?”
let his hand play with a blade of grass. “I had some guesses, but
I never imagined it would be like this. Still, I have no regrets,”
he hastened to add, seeing the look in his friend’s eyes. “If I
could go back and do everything anew, I would have changed nothing.
I would not have borne the thought of you and Gimli walking the Paths
and facing all those nameless horrors without me by your side.”
“You came because
of me thirty-five years ago,” Aragorn said sadly, “and now you are
staying in Middle-earth and enduring all this because of me. The choices
might have been yours, but I find it hard not to feel at fault.”
Surprising even himself,
Legolas laughed. “Your only fault, Aragorn, is being a friend worth
The King raised an
eyebrow. “Is that so? Then, perhaps I should change if I want to make
The Elf scratched his
cheek in thought. “Yes, I suppose. If you become an indecent man and
a dissatisfactory friend, I might reconsider my decision to stay.”
“Good idea.” Aragorn
laughed. “I will do my best.” His eyes suddenly turned serious.
“Do you wish to tell me about it? You have never talked about the
longing before, and have never told me how it makes you feel.”
Legolas stared at the
Man incredulously. “Honestly, Aragorn! Is that your idea of
‘being a dissatisfactory friend’?”
The King looked down.
“Maybe I do not wish to make you leave,” he admitted softly.
Legolas smiled for
a moment, but then turned serious once again. “Yes, I have never talked
of it before, and it is hard to explain, even to myself. It is as if
nothing can bring me joy anymore, nothing can make me feel. In the past,
whenever I heard a song, it would make me feel cheerful, or sad, or
nostalgic, depending on the music and the words, but now I hear a song
and I do not feel anything. It cannot move me. In the past, I would
eat a good dish and savor the pleasant taste, and now I feel indifferent
to what I eat. In the past, I would gaze at the forest and find peace,
but now all I long for is the sea. And there is an ever-present knowledge
in my mind that somewhere there, beyond the Sea, is my true home. It
is where I am supposed to be, it is where I will find joy again. A part
of my heart has already sailed and I may never be whole again before
I follow. I try to find my place in Middle-earth, and I try to find
happiness, but everything is wrong.”
“There must be something
right, however small and insignificant,” Aragorn said. “Or else
you would have left long ago. Perhaps you do not realize what it is,
but it is still there.” His hand grasped the Elf’s arm tightly.
Normally the touch would have anchored Legolas to reality, keeping the
pain at bay. But now, so close to the Sea, he could not even feel it.
I am not sure how much longer I can hold on, he wanted to say.
I do not even know if I will be able to turn back now. But he did
not wish to burden his friend with this knowledge yet and kept silent.
“I doubt that I can help you,” Aragorn continued. “But if there
is anything in my power to do to lessen your pain, you must tell me.”
For a brief moment,
a smile split the Elven face. “But you have already done it, my friend,”
he whispered. “You keep doing it every day.”
They would leave on
the morrow. Or, at least, the King and the rest of his party would leave.
As for himself, Legolas was not sure. He did not even know if he would
have the strength to try.
In a hopeless attempt
to remember how to live, Legolas jumped up and grabbed a low hanging
branch of an ancient oak. He nimbly climbed up until he reached the
top, overlooking the bay and the city. Years ago such an act would have
filled his heart with excitement and would have made him feel at home
and complete. Now it made him feel nothing at all.
For a moment, Legolas
contemplated going back down as sitting up here did not make a difference
anyway, but an agitated voice made him stop.
“It is unfair!”
The ten-year-old Prince of Gondor complained. “For once you have agreed
to play with me, and I have no time!”
“What is this homework
of yours that it cannot wait till tomorrow, when we are back on the
ship?” Legolas startled as he recognized Gimli’s voice. His keen
eyes darted through the trees until he spotted the duo.
Eldarion took off his
pack and let a pile of unfletched arrows and feathers fall on the ground.
“Father says I need to learn to fletch arrows, and I need to finish
all these before we leave! But I am so unskilled and it will take ages!”
Gimli smoothed his
beard thoughtfully. “I suppose I could help you. This way we will
Eldarion’s eyes widened.
“I doubt that Father will approve,” the child said.
Gimli winked, “He
does not need to know, does he?”
A mischievous grin
appeared on the boy’s face and the two sat down cross-legged and started
work. Legolas observed the scene with interest. On one hand, he wanted
to chastise Gimli for interfering in Eldarion’s education in such
a way, but on the other, it was nothing major and the child deserved
to have time to play. He even considered jumping down and helping them,
which would have made their work much faster.
“Where did you learn
to fletch arrows, Uncle Gimli?” the child asked with interest. “I
did not know that Dwarves were skilled in archery.”
Gimli laughed. “We
are not. It is Legolas who taught me how to fletch arrows. He said it
might turn out to be useful one day, and he was right. Now I can use
my skill to help young princes escape their homework.” The Dwarf’s
gaze took on a faraway look. “I was slow to learn, but Legolas was
a very patient teacher and I have much improved.”
Indeed, the Elf noticed
with pride, Gimli’s short and thick fingers were surprisingly quick
and nimble as he worked. The Dwarf and the child were so absorbed by
their work, that they never heard Aragorn’s approach. For a moment,
Legolas considered warning them, but then decided to let the scene unfold.
“What have we here?”
The Elf grinned in amusement as Gimli jumped at Aragorn’s words. “Are
you helping my son to cheat with his lessons, Gimli?” The King’s
voice was deceptively calm, and Legolas was sure that he did not wish
to be in the Dwarf’s shoes at that moment.
“I meant no disrespect,
Aragorn. All I wished was to help the lad finish quickly,” Gimli answered,
a bit too quickly.
“Uncle Gimli promised
to play with me,” Eldarion chimed in. “If I don’t finish in time
today, who knows if I can make him play with me ever again!”
“And what game is
so important, that you are putting your lessons at stake?” Aragorn
asked, eyebrows raised.
Gimli looked down,
as if unwilling to speak. “We are racing!” Eldarion cried excitedly.
“On horses!” the
young Prince clarified.
The shock on the King’s
face mirrored Legolas’s own. “Gimli, you mean to ride on your
own? And race my son on top of that?”
Eldarion cried. “This is why it is so important! I may never again
be able to make Uncle Gimli do this, and I cannot miss this one chance!”
Legolas’s eyes turned
towards Gimli, who had now turned a deep shade of red. He had to agree
with the boy – it was of utmost importance that he finished his
homework soon and had enough time for the race before the sun was down.
It was once in a lifetime Gimli would agree to such a thing, and Legolas
for one had no wish to miss it.
“You are right, my
son,” Aragorn said, after he had somewhat recovered from the shock.
“You must finish your work in time and have this race at all costs.”
To Legolas’s delight, he dropped to the ground and reached for the
Before the King started
work, he gave Gimli a stern gaze. “If you really wish to help Eldarion,
my friend, you should teach him how to do this fast and well, instead
of only doing the work for him.” True to his word, Aragorn carefully
explained every step to his son as he fletched the arrow, and watched
him do it, offering advice.
“Is there only one
way to fletch arrows?” Eldarion asked suddenly.
“No,” said Aragorn.
“And one is not better than it other. I can show you other ways, but
this is the one I am most used to.”
boy murmured thoughtfully. “You and Uncle Gimli fletch arrows in exactly
the same way.”
“Not strange at all.”
Aragorn laughed. “For we had the same teacher.”
To his shock, Legolas
felt a warm tear slide down his cheek as he watched Aragorn use the
technique he had taught him such a long time ago and show it to his
son. One day Eldarion would teach it to his own son, who, in turn, would
pass it on to the next generation. Legolas had left little legacies
such as this, which would live on in Middle-earth even after he left.
And then, a gull cried.
Legolas closed his
eyes against the assault of longing and heartache. When he slowly opened
them, the world seemed to shake and tilt around him, trees, grass, and
sky turning dark blue and melting into water. The gull cried again,
and then another joined, each cry like a dagger through his heart. And
then, as he looked around, he could see only the Sea. East, south, west
and north, it was only blue, only waves and no shore to crash them.
A vision so terrible, and yet so beautiful.
Was this not what he
had yearned for every day in the past few decades? Was this not the
one thing he wanted? But if so, why did he felt so empty now?
And where were Gimli
and Aragorn? Blinking rapidly, he tried to make out the familiar shapes
amidst the waves, but all that he could see was water. He tried to cry
out, to call for them, but his throat felt tight, as if someone had
wrapped cruel hands around his neck and was pressing firmly, letting
no air come in or out. Come back!
He couldn’t have lost them!
With a start, Legolas
realized that he was not ready to leave his friends. Not yet. Not ever.
Aragorn had been right.
There still was something right and good in this world. Only,
it was not small and insignificant at all. Slowly, Legolas turned around,
giving the vast sea a long look. This was not
what he wanted.
And then, a gull cried.
He did not care. He
had made up his mind. He was staying.
Legolas closed his
eyes, taking a deep breath. As he opened them, the vision began to gradually
fade away, and shapes and colours started appearing in front of his
eyes. And then, they were all there.
The rich copper of
Gimli’s beard, the ink black of Eldarion’s hair, the silver of Aragorn’s
eyes, the deep green of the grass they were sitting on, the red and
white and brown of the feathers they were using for fletching arrows.
And then Legolas knew that each of these was exactly the right colour.
And he would never
give any of this away for a blue sea.
-:- The End -:-