The White Shores

The Call

Legolas sat stiffly, his back aching. Gimli was supposed to return an hour ago, before the day faded into darkness. He was still not back, and even Legolas' elf eyes could not catch glimpse of any dwarf. He thought he heard the distant crash of a dwarf, but it must have been a deer or some other such animal since no Gimli came roaring out of the trees.

The moon had hung overhead for two more hours before he heard the groan of his companion and the loud crash of metal on metal. Gimli came panting up the hill, gasping and cursing in one breath.

"Dwarves are not made for the steep paths of the Mirkwood elves," he muttered, then let out a foul curse that Legolas smiled to hear.

"I am sorry for the inconvenience," Legolas did not keep the jest from his voice, "But you were beginning to appear rather useless on my journey."

"Of course I'm useless on a journey to the Mirkwood elves, Legolas," Gimli grunted, but he swung himself over the log next to Legolas and gazed out at the wood before them. "Do you think your father will welcome your company?"

Legolas had tried avoiding the topic as long as possible, but it seemed that his father would stay away from his thoughts no longer.

"My father hates me - if it is not hate, it is intense dislike," he said quietly, "I would not expect a warm greeting, my friend."

"Then why are we traveling into his realm?" Gimli grumbled, "And into his throne room itself?"

Legolas' grin returned. Only the dwarf could turn a sad tale into a chance to complain.

"We need his help," Legolas reminded him, "They are the only elves left to answer the call."

"I still think the call thing is a load of Warg dung," Gimli removed his helmet, his face sweaty and red, and lit his pipe. "Explain it to me again."

"It does not get more believable the more you hear it," Legolas sighed, but he repeated what he had said many times. "When an elf is about to perform dark, forbidden magic, they send out a pulse into this world, that only other elves can feel. This is in case another Orc is about to be... created. I felt it, for the first time in a long time. So we are traveling to the last known elves to find out which one is responsible for such treachery against the light."

"And the tale we use to cover up our purpose?" Gimli asked gruffly.

"I will use no tale," Legolas looked at him, apalled, "I will tell my father only the truth, as all elves should."

"Bloody elves," Gimli moaned, but he said no more before he lay down to sleep. A few minutes later, Gimli's snores filled the grove, but Legolas sat awake, thinking only of the tasks ahead. Only the sounds of the wind and a few night life creatures could keep him company in these strange, early hours. The stars glittered brilliantly above, and in his bones Legolas could feel the call homewards, as he always had. These woods were as familiar to him as his bow and arrow - the years he had spent lazily wandering in it with Tauriel were etched into his mind. 

Then another crept into his thoughts - a deep secret that Legolas had sworn never to share, and never to think of. He had trouble with that promise this night, though, as Aragorn's beautiful face drifted up out of his dreams to lovingly smile at Legolas, and gently kiss him.