To compare death by war to death by water is a tricky thing. Because, although the water means you no ill, at least death by war can be quick. Drowning takes minutes and minutes of sinking and coughing and the pain of your lungs becoming the ocean.
But if this is true, they should have been dead hours ago.
Gimli is flat on his stomach, exhausted from coughing up the entire sea, his body met with the comforting sensation of solid earth beneath it. Ulvinowyn is not far off, laying as a cat on her side, her flank rising slowly with each water-clogged breath, the tall grasses flickering around them both.
Out of all that were swallowed by the sea, the only thing that has drowned is the ship itself.
The grasses rustle from a slight distance, the swishing becoming closer and closer, causing Gimli to open his eyes again and look about for the root of the noise.
He sees two familiar Elven boots hurrying through the plants toward him. He sees them stop, their heels nestled into the sandy earth.
"Not to alarm you," says Legolas, a childlike energy emanating from him as he excitedly glances over his shoulder, "but we are going to have to run."
It is easiest for dwarves to run in the case that they are not running at all. Legolas knows this, which is why Gimli now clings tightly to the back of the deer-sized cat as she does all the escaping for him, followed by Legolas, who does not attempt to explain what they are running from as he gains the understanding that it'll likely be explained very well when they're caught by it.
"Gimli, you have the nerve of a tiger and the foresight of a bat," Legolas remarks as he runs beside them, the three suddenly hounded by the sounds of a blown horn and the galloping of hooves. "Never change our plans on your own ever again."
Although the sentence stings, the tone is light. Gimli sees the stoic expression on the elf's face graced with a sense of fun, understanding that this new adventure, this new unforeseen stone in the boot of their travels, is appreciated more than it is loathed. He laughs and looks ahead again, Ulvinowyn growing faster as the calls behind them grow closer still.
Many things are like this in life. Things are an inconvenience just as much as they are welcome on one's personal path. Even the end, apparently, is welcomed by some.
Aragorn died by personal choice. What a concept that is. Such a strange thought to harness in the eyes of an elf. If not unhappy, if not in danger, if not for a cause other than your own, why would one wish for life to end?
Perhaps he is feeling bitter. Perhaps he first longs to know why or how death was so much more favorable to Aragorn over the company of friends. How he wishes the man were here now, running breathlessly with them away from discoverers of their trespassing, adventuring on their side on this new journey, writing words into this new chapter of life. This year, the year 3141, is such a wondrous and beautiful span of days. Such a timely quest. Legolas would not miss it for the world, but why did his friend decide to?
They reach the bottom of a rocky drop, looking up to see a wall of natural stone. They have nowhere forward to go if not up, and the cat and its dwarf are barely capable of ascending quickly enough. So they stop, taking a long breath as they accept the next call with as much hospitality as they can allow.
"Drop your weapons!" a voice calls behind them. "We have you surrounded."
Legolas almost expects Aragorn's sword to be thrown down beside his quiver.
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Passersby ➵ ONC 2021
Fanfiction➵ With his days anything but numbered, Legolas finds himself the keeper of far too much time. ➵ As his dear friend Aragorn has passed at the age of 210 and all reason to remain in his kingdom has followed, the immortal elf ventures away from his la...
