Chapter Twenty-one: Across the Western Sea
“Any ordinary man can...surround himself with two thousand books...and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy.” – Augustine Birrell (1850-1933)
Colin tightened the end of the gauze and tucked it neatly beneath its own turning, smoothing a hand over the neat wrapping job on Aragorn’s ankle. “Not too tight then?”
“Feel good, Colin. I am thank you,” the Ranger said softly, resisting his urge to check the bandaging job. His healing skills were not appropriate here, with no familiar herbs and so many strange ideas, and he just had to trust to these things like ‘aspirin’ and ‘don’t think you need a doctor – we’ll wait and see.’ Aragorn took another long sip from his tea and reflected that the people in this London City had raised to perfection the art of the hot beverage. He wondered briefly if they’d heard of lemon meringue pie.
Colin smiled at Aragorn’s contentment, thinking that this man would make an exceptional policeman, and not a bad Irishman at that. He rose and went into the other room, finding Legolas stretched on the bed with a stern expression on his youthful face. Colin hiked himself onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard, and was glad when the Elf shifted to join him, lying back to rest his shoulders and head upon Colin’s chest. There were braids once again in Legolas’ hair, and Colin let his fingers trace over them lightly, trying to suppress his protective feelings as the Elf sighed and let his full weight – what little there was – press back against the man.
“I am shamed,” Legolas admitted. “I could not bear to journey aloft inside the aircraft.”
“It hurt your ears,” Colin said, shrugging. “I’m sorry that we didn’t realize it would be a problem.” He let his fingertips stroke the softly pointed tips, and felt a light shudder run through his companion. “You’ll recover, right?”
“I will recover. I will endure. We must confront Saruman in his place of hiding, to see if there is any hope of returning.”
There wasn’t really anything he could say to that which wouldn’t make the Elf feel patronized, so Colin kept his mouth shut and forced himself to stop touching him so intimately. But Legolas had other ideas, and he caught the Man’s hand and held it over his heart.
“Do you remember the night you watched over me in the place of my imprisonment?”
“Of course.” How could he not? It was the first time he’d ever seen Legolas sleep. He briefly shuddered to remember the cruelly shorn hair and the vacant eyes.
“I thanked you for that kindness?”
“Many times.”
“I must thank you again.”
“I don’t think so.” Colin leaned forward and kissed the crown of the Elf’s golden head. Legolas seemed to have either stopped breathing, or his breath was too shallow to feel. The pale eyelids had slid shut into the deepest level of repose. All the problems of getting these two to America – and ultimately home – seemed to fade into the future and Colin allowed himself to just be grateful for a few additional days. He tipped his cheek against Legolas’ feather-soft hair and let his own eyes drift shut.
When he opened them again he found that hours had passed and the apartment was dark. Aragorn was now lying on the bed as well, curled against Legolas’ side, safe in a mutual embrace. Colin was fleetingly jealous of the Ranger, and yet at the same time he couldn’t think of anyone worthier of the Elf’s trust and love. What he wouldn’t give to go with them, though, regardless of where their adventures took them.
The S.S. Chatham sailed from Southampton bound for Norfolk, Virginia, on a Saturday. A medium-sized freighter with passenger capabilities, she had forty-eight crew and officers aboard and nearly ninety paying guests, most of them Americans. Two of those passengers were from Middle-earth.
Aragorn and Legolas entered the dining room hesitantly, looking for a corner that was out of the way. There was no such thing, and everyone was crammed into the space provided in a loud and companionable group, taking seats at the big tables and exchanging introductions and pleasantries.
“Your presence has been requested at the Captain’s table, your highness,” a Junior Officer told the two as they paused in the doorway, unsure of where to go. “Please allow me,” the man continued, marching off smartly through the throng. They followed, at a loss as to what else to do.
“I told you we should have stayed in our cabin,” Aragorn mumbled under his breath.
“It is so small, and I am so hungry,” Legolas complained, his voice pitched equally low. “How is it that they would know of your impending Kingship?”
They arrived at the table and were greeted warmly by the officers and a couple of particularly honored passengers. The Captain himself rose to make introductions, and when he pronounced them as Prince Le-Golas and his companion, Captain Aragorn, the Ranger elbowed the Elf firmly in the ribs.
“This is Colin’s idea of a joke,” he muttered in Elvish.
“Prince?” a matron questioned, her eyes narrowing as she examined the Archer, whose hair was neatly caught up in a single braid and covered by his collar. “Prince of what realm, your majesty?”
Legolas was thoroughly at a loss as to what he should say. “Tarawaith,” he finally announced. “It is a land of many great trees, in the Northern climes. I imagine that you would have not heard of it.”
“Ah, like Finland?” questioned her companion – a ruddy-faced American, to judge from his dress and speech.
“You speak English beautifully!” cooed a younger woman, swathed in the latest Paris fashions and proud of it despite the fact that they were making the crossing on a glorified freighter instead of a stately cruise ship.
“I have had excellent tutors,” Legolas said, attempting to sound dismissive.
“I can always spot a military man, Captain,” one of the officers addressed Aragorn. “Did you serve in the Great War, then?”
“I have seen many battles,” Aragorn told him truthfully. “My own war is over not, and I crave its ending.”
Much nodding and mumbled agreement to that comment, and the Ranger allowed himself a smirk. “What will you dine upon, my liege?” he asked Legolas in Elvish. “Is this food fit for the Prince of Mirkwood -- Spider realm and Orc host?”
“Isn’t their tongue beautiful?” the young woman cooed to the man on her left.
“Go fuck an Uruk-hai bitch in heat, if she’ll have you, stinking Man,” Legolas told his companion, smiling as the first course was delivered.
Later that night Legolas could be found at the rail, staring at the stars above the pitch-dark sea, his body easily adjusting to the thrumming motion of the big ship. He’d freed his hair once again, and it was whipping in the wind like a banner, stray strands darting into and out of his vision. Aragorn slid into place at his side and leaned on the railing hesitantly, aware of the surging water rushing past the sides of the ship below them.
“I was sorry to say goodbye to Colin yet again. It seems that man’s heart is meant to be tried many times,” the Ranger said, his voice wrapping softly around the Elvish words.
“It is a generous heart,” Legolas agreed. “I had despaired at moments of finding others so worthy in this place and time. This is a strange land, mellon nin.”
“We are but passing through,” Aragorn agreed, feeling the soft mist of sea spray on his face. “The Sea Longing is not a problem for you here, is it?”
The Elf shrugged. “I am already ruined with longing for distant shores.”
“Not ruined, surely. Honed, like a blade, perhaps.” Aragorn resisted the urge to embrace his companion. There was no way of being sure they were not under scrutiny, and Colin had warned them about the types of men they might encounter traveling on board ship.
“I miss the Dwarf. Can you even imagine such a thing? I miss being able to bait him unto rage with no more than the quirk of a brow or a well-placed sigh. I miss his solid strength and his terrible singing. I even miss his interminable stories and ever-present complaints.”
“Not the snoring, though?”
“No, not that.” Legolas smiled.
“I miss the weight of responsibility. I miss it as though a huge stone has been taken from my shoulders, and I find that I wish the stone were replaced. My steps are too light without it.”
“We will find a way to return to our place, to our companions and your destiny. Galadriel has seen you King of Gondor.”
The Ranger stiffened at these words. He’d never heard that before. He wanted to think that Legolas was telling him tales just to boost his nerve, but the Elf had never lied to him before. “Do you care to explain that in more depth?”
“No. I have said too much already.” Legolas turned his fair face to his friend, made even more beautiful by the light of the stars and the smile which brought brighter twinkle to his eyes. “I have said not enough, and too much all in one.”
“You play my feelings as you would Gimli’s nerve.”
“I would never...well...not if I thought there was any chance of being caught in my game.” He let his fingers brush across Aragorn’s hand as he turned away from the rail, heading back to their tiny cabin. “Come and feel the power of my affection for you in other ways.”
The Ranger grinned as he turned to follow. “Not in the ways I would have you. Your singing in the confined space of this vessel would cause utter chaos!”
“I can be quiet.”
“Ha! You cannot.”
“Test me.”
“Indeed. I plan to.”
Colin tightened the end of the gauze and tucked it neatly beneath its own turning, smoothing a hand over the neat wrapping job on Aragorn’s ankle. “Not too tight then?”
“Feel good, Colin. I am thank you,” the Ranger said softly, resisting his urge to check the bandaging job. His healing skills were not appropriate here, with no familiar herbs and so many strange ideas, and he just had to trust to these things like ‘aspirin’ and ‘don’t think you need a doctor – we’ll wait and see.’ Aragorn took another long sip from his tea and reflected that the people in this London City had raised to perfection the art of the hot beverage. He wondered briefly if they’d heard of lemon meringue pie.
Colin smiled at Aragorn’s contentment, thinking that this man would make an exceptional policeman, and not a bad Irishman at that. He rose and went into the other room, finding Legolas stretched on the bed with a stern expression on his youthful face. Colin hiked himself onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard, and was glad when the Elf shifted to join him, lying back to rest his shoulders and head upon Colin’s chest. There were braids once again in Legolas’ hair, and Colin let his fingers trace over them lightly, trying to suppress his protective feelings as the Elf sighed and let his full weight – what little there was – press back against the man.
“I am shamed,” Legolas admitted. “I could not bear to journey aloft inside the aircraft.”
“It hurt your ears,” Colin said, shrugging. “I’m sorry that we didn’t realize it would be a problem.” He let his fingertips stroke the softly pointed tips, and felt a light shudder run through his companion. “You’ll recover, right?”
“I will recover. I will endure. We must confront Saruman in his place of hiding, to see if there is any hope of returning.”
There wasn’t really anything he could say to that which wouldn’t make the Elf feel patronized, so Colin kept his mouth shut and forced himself to stop touching him so intimately. But Legolas had other ideas, and he caught the Man’s hand and held it over his heart.
“Do you remember the night you watched over me in the place of my imprisonment?”
“Of course.” How could he not? It was the first time he’d ever seen Legolas sleep. He briefly shuddered to remember the cruelly shorn hair and the vacant eyes.
“I thanked you for that kindness?”
“Many times.”
“I must thank you again.”
“I don’t think so.” Colin leaned forward and kissed the crown of the Elf’s golden head. Legolas seemed to have either stopped breathing, or his breath was too shallow to feel. The pale eyelids had slid shut into the deepest level of repose. All the problems of getting these two to America – and ultimately home – seemed to fade into the future and Colin allowed himself to just be grateful for a few additional days. He tipped his cheek against Legolas’ feather-soft hair and let his own eyes drift shut.
When he opened them again he found that hours had passed and the apartment was dark. Aragorn was now lying on the bed as well, curled against Legolas’ side, safe in a mutual embrace. Colin was fleetingly jealous of the Ranger, and yet at the same time he couldn’t think of anyone worthier of the Elf’s trust and love. What he wouldn’t give to go with them, though, regardless of where their adventures took them.
The S.S. Chatham sailed from Southampton bound for Norfolk, Virginia, on a Saturday. A medium-sized freighter with passenger capabilities, she had forty-eight crew and officers aboard and nearly ninety paying guests, most of them Americans. Two of those passengers were from Middle-earth.
Aragorn and Legolas entered the dining room hesitantly, looking for a corner that was out of the way. There was no such thing, and everyone was crammed into the space provided in a loud and companionable group, taking seats at the big tables and exchanging introductions and pleasantries.
“Your presence has been requested at the Captain’s table, your highness,” a Junior Officer told the two as they paused in the doorway, unsure of where to go. “Please allow me,” the man continued, marching off smartly through the throng. They followed, at a loss as to what else to do.
“I told you we should have stayed in our cabin,” Aragorn mumbled under his breath.
“It is so small, and I am so hungry,” Legolas complained, his voice pitched equally low. “How is it that they would know of your impending Kingship?”
They arrived at the table and were greeted warmly by the officers and a couple of particularly honored passengers. The Captain himself rose to make introductions, and when he pronounced them as Prince Le-Golas and his companion, Captain Aragorn, the Ranger elbowed the Elf firmly in the ribs.
“This is Colin’s idea of a joke,” he muttered in Elvish.
“Prince?” a matron questioned, her eyes narrowing as she examined the Archer, whose hair was neatly caught up in a single braid and covered by his collar. “Prince of what realm, your majesty?”
Legolas was thoroughly at a loss as to what he should say. “Tarawaith,” he finally announced. “It is a land of many great trees, in the Northern climes. I imagine that you would have not heard of it.”
“Ah, like Finland?” questioned her companion – a ruddy-faced American, to judge from his dress and speech.
“You speak English beautifully!” cooed a younger woman, swathed in the latest Paris fashions and proud of it despite the fact that they were making the crossing on a glorified freighter instead of a stately cruise ship.
“I have had excellent tutors,” Legolas said, attempting to sound dismissive.
“I can always spot a military man, Captain,” one of the officers addressed Aragorn. “Did you serve in the Great War, then?”
“I have seen many battles,” Aragorn told him truthfully. “My own war is over not, and I crave its ending.”
Much nodding and mumbled agreement to that comment, and the Ranger allowed himself a smirk. “What will you dine upon, my liege?” he asked Legolas in Elvish. “Is this food fit for the Prince of Mirkwood -- Spider realm and Orc host?”
“Isn’t their tongue beautiful?” the young woman cooed to the man on her left.
“Go fuck an Uruk-hai bitch in heat, if she’ll have you, stinking Man,” Legolas told his companion, smiling as the first course was delivered.
Later that night Legolas could be found at the rail, staring at the stars above the pitch-dark sea, his body easily adjusting to the thrumming motion of the big ship. He’d freed his hair once again, and it was whipping in the wind like a banner, stray strands darting into and out of his vision. Aragorn slid into place at his side and leaned on the railing hesitantly, aware of the surging water rushing past the sides of the ship below them.
“I was sorry to say goodbye to Colin yet again. It seems that man’s heart is meant to be tried many times,” the Ranger said, his voice wrapping softly around the Elvish words.
“It is a generous heart,” Legolas agreed. “I had despaired at moments of finding others so worthy in this place and time. This is a strange land, mellon nin.”
“We are but passing through,” Aragorn agreed, feeling the soft mist of sea spray on his face. “The Sea Longing is not a problem for you here, is it?”
The Elf shrugged. “I am already ruined with longing for distant shores.”
“Not ruined, surely. Honed, like a blade, perhaps.” Aragorn resisted the urge to embrace his companion. There was no way of being sure they were not under scrutiny, and Colin had warned them about the types of men they might encounter traveling on board ship.
“I miss the Dwarf. Can you even imagine such a thing? I miss being able to bait him unto rage with no more than the quirk of a brow or a well-placed sigh. I miss his solid strength and his terrible singing. I even miss his interminable stories and ever-present complaints.”
“Not the snoring, though?”
“No, not that.” Legolas smiled.
“I miss the weight of responsibility. I miss it as though a huge stone has been taken from my shoulders, and I find that I wish the stone were replaced. My steps are too light without it.”
“We will find a way to return to our place, to our companions and your destiny. Galadriel has seen you King of Gondor.”
The Ranger stiffened at these words. He’d never heard that before. He wanted to think that Legolas was telling him tales just to boost his nerve, but the Elf had never lied to him before. “Do you care to explain that in more depth?”
“No. I have said too much already.” Legolas turned his fair face to his friend, made even more beautiful by the light of the stars and the smile which brought brighter twinkle to his eyes. “I have said not enough, and too much all in one.”
“You play my feelings as you would Gimli’s nerve.”
“I would never...well...not if I thought there was any chance of being caught in my game.” He let his fingers brush across Aragorn’s hand as he turned away from the rail, heading back to their tiny cabin. “Come and feel the power of my affection for you in other ways.”
The Ranger grinned as he turned to follow. “Not in the ways I would have you. Your singing in the confined space of this vessel would cause utter chaos!”
“I can be quiet.”
“Ha! You cannot.”
“Test me.”
“Indeed. I plan to.”
Subtitles
- Chapter One: The Leap
- Chapter Two: Landing on your Feet
- Chapter Three: All the wild Things
- Chapter Four: Funny Paper Heroes
- Chapter Five: Caught
- Chapter Six: Blitz
- Chapter Seven: Hitting the Road
- Chapter Eight: Being Wrong
- Chapter Nine: Assumptions
- Chapter Ten: Coffee and Hot Cross Buns
- Chapter Eleven: Fate of the Brave
- Chapter Twelve: The Forest for the Brave
- Chapter Thirteen: Arrow in the Dark
- Chapter Fourteen: Little Brown Birds
- Chapter Fifteen: Popcorn and Prize-winning Pumpkins
- Chapter Sixteen: The Distance Breeched
- Chapter Seventeen: A Song to Light the Dark
- Chapter Eighteen: The Meaning of Fellowship
- Chapter Nineteen: Meanings Behind Words.
- Chapter Twenty: If Elves were meant to fly
- Chapter Twenty-one: Across the Western Sea
- Chapter Twenty-two: Atcheson Topeka and the Santa Fe
- Chapter Twenty-three: Strange Feathers
- Chapter Twenty-four: A Bitter Fruit
- Chapter Twenty-five: Looking for the Exit
- Chapter Twenty-six: Tainted
- Chapter Twenty-seven: The Killing Blow
- Chapter 28: Epilogue