Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) Title: Tell This Mortal (#1071) Author: Chathollinn Chapters: 6 Archive: Tolkien Category: Palantir Section Description: How Legolas left Middle-earth. The sea-longing explored. The story also addresses why Thranduil stayed. Light and very dark touches and deaths of OFCs - well - one instance is debatable. Several chapters that I will post 1 or 2 at a time serial style. Chapters average 800 words. I would love your comments. Published: 05 Jul 2004 Updated: 06 Jul 2004 Warnings: some angst Type: Drama Characters: Legolas; Gimli; Thranduil; OCs Chapter 1 - Part 1 - Sea Fair Part 1 – Sea Fair I am a sail maker from Erith Anduin. The sea, and my little town of Sea Fair are all I ever knew. When I was thirty years old the blest king died, in spring. That autumn, the Elf came down the river with his grey ship and his need, destroying me with the past and leaving me to face an unimaginable end that is coming swiftly now; perhaps tomorrow. But before all that happened, came the Dwarf. Sea Fair sits far down in the delta where the river meets the sea. Just now we are fishing town, grown up from being a village. We owe that to the blest king, who defeated the Enemy long before I was born and freed the coasts from the Corsairs. Because of that, we will be a mighty port city some day, they say. Sea Fair the Great. “I am glad I shall not live to see it,” said old one-handed Berendil, as we sat in his tavern a few doors down from my shop. He had been a sailor until a shipboard accident crushed his hand – a mast tore loose and fell on him during a storm at sea. That he made it to Nesta the healer is a miracle; he says the salt water that nearly downed him kept the blood poison down. She cut off the mangled flesh, cauterized the stump, and waited to see if he would develop the proud flesh and die. He recovered and thereafter used his one hand to pour ale and wine, a service I found most useful. Just now I was sampling a glass of last year’s vintage of Dorwinion Red – one thing we do not lack at Sea Fair is water transportation, and another is trade. The tavern’s shutters were open wide. However all eyes were on a long, narrow scroll affixed to the wall over the bar, stretching all the way from one end of the room to the other. It was a calendar of sorts, and we were waiting for a golden ray of sun to touch the right place on the scroll. It came. All of us raised our cups and turned toward the westward-facing windows. Out over the deeps, past Sea Fair’s stilt houses and walkways of planks that wound all about the oldtown quarter, past the docks and the rocking, moored fleet, the evening grew old and glorious as the sun set beneath the waves. We watched in silence, our breaths caught in our throats. The only sounds were the plashing of water against the pilings and the cry of the gulls. When we could see Her no more, a sailor spoke, trying to charm some girl: “You will never see a more beautiful sunset than tonight’s in Sea Fair,” he said. This homage broke the spell, and the din of conversation rose again. Several folks laughed at the sailor’s sentiment; we had all said the same words many times over. “You do not like cities?” I asked Berendil, and at that moment a familiar figure pounded through the open door – my head apprentice. We called him “Nath” that is old talk for “Web” for he came from a long line of great weavers, and with his strong, lanky limbs, he was a very spider among the ships’ riggings. No one dared call him “Ungol” of course. Tradition held this to be insulting and an invitation to bad luck, and sailing folk are superstitious. “Mistress!” Nath cried, breathless from running. “You must come at once. We have a – customer. THE customer –“ “I am done for the day,” I interrupted, “and I wish to finish my wine. You handle the customer.” Nath stood up straight and raised his chin. “No, Mistress,” he said in front of everybody, and I sighed. I would have to send him to the master of boys and…. “He asked for you by name, and he said, ‘I am looking for the best sail maker in Middle-earth.’” Every shopkeeper and merchant in the place who kept apprentices chuckled. “Oh, very well,” I grumbled, drinking the remaining wine in one swallow. “He had better still be there. Who is this knowledgeable customer, please?” “He said, ‘Gimli.’ ” Chapter 2 - Part 2 – Aerlinn and Gimli Part 2 – Aerlinn and Gimli Old. He was so old, I thought he might stop breathing. I could not see how he managed to move, much less walk without a cane. Old tales say Dwarves become fat as they age. Not this one. He once had been stout and sturdy; you could see it still in the width of his shoulders and the way he stood. But now he was gaunt. About his body hung brown leather garments – tunic, breeches, purse – and boots that looked as if they could walk to the ends of Middle-earth and still stomp rocks. He was a wealth of minerals, with copper-colored eyes deeper than any mine, a long, corded beard as grey as iron, and thin hair on his head like mithril. His skin was translucent in places and splotched in others. His magnificent, craggy face was as wrinkled as a dried apple. In stature he was about a foot shorter than I. “You are a Dwarf?” I said, but I could not help myself. He was not of my race! For the first time I realized that it was no story. A hundred years ago, and for ages before, many of these beings shared our world. He ignored my rudeness. “I am looking for the sail maker Aerlinn,” he said. “I sent this lad here to fetch him.” “I am Aerlinn,” I replied. “I thought you knew of me.” Most sea folk did. Merchants named their ships "Sea-song" in my honor and captains drank my health every night. Families strove to place their daughters and sons with me, for I took only two apprentices every five years. But now I am boasting and not being honest, and time is too short for lies. ‘Aerlinn’ was only a name I had adopted for my craft. My family came long ago from the far northern woods, near where the Old Forest Road meets the Running River. The folk of Gondor thought our traditional name outlandish. Well – that is not the only reason I did not use it. The Dwarf bowed low, his hips creaking like a ship under sail. “Ask your pardon, pretty lady. Three months ago I sent you an order for sails. My friend was building a ship and needed the best. I am here to claim those sails.” I remembered the order. It had come by riding messenger, one who makes a living off of honesty and horsemanship. They usually are of Rohan. The order came with detailed descriptions and a piece of gold. I had assumed the sender was some strangely-named prince of Dol Amroth. Never in my wildest dreams did “Dwarf” occur to me but then, I had never seen one of course. I said, “Your sails are ready. I made them to your description and used my own judgment, just as you said. Designed by me for weight, shape and size, selected from the best of my woven goods, cut and colored by my head apprentice, and sewed by me and my second apprentice. Do you know much about ships and sails, Master Dwarf, ah, Old Father?” “Call me ‘Gimli.' As for ships, I know as much as I wish. Soon I shall know more. So do not think to part me from too much of my gold. No, I forgot - the gold does not matter." If the old tales were true, this was an astounding remark indeed. "Show me the sails," he said, all business, "and I'll deliver them to my friend.” So I led him to my shop, where I would give my second apprentice the surprise of her life and where I would receive my own. Chapter 3 - Part 3 – Gwael Reviad - The Sail Maker’s Shop Part 3 – Gwael Reviad - The Sail Maker’s Shop The view of the boardwalk from my shop is good. We have a large front window. On either side is a pole with hooks, for displaying our small wares. From one pole we hung that vital instrument of sail sewing, the sailor’s palm; both the seaming and roping varieties. We did not make them on site; my original apprentice’s family made them to my specifications back on their farm, where leather is readily available. We also had a line of shipboard toolkits containing triangular sail needles, sail twine, beeswax, rounded-back sheath knives with wedge-ground blades, steel sailhooks, two sizes of fids, and oaken seam rubbers. Sailors loved them. The pole at the other end showed merchandise smaller than our sails but equal in quality and reputation. Sailors’ ditty bags were my test of every prospective apprentice. I took the youngsters on for a week, gave them the materials, tools, and instructions, and let them do what they could. At the end of the week I always knew who was a true sail maker. My present second apprentice had been – there is no other word for it – amazing. They say she has pure Numenorean blood. She could take a lanyard and splice it into a cringle as if by magic, and her ability to size the cringle itself, so that subsequent shrinkage will hold the inserted thimble in place, was nothing short of otherworldly. But these are mere details and technique. All my apprentices made ditty bags if they were not making sails, and sea faring folk as far away as Mithlond used bags that bore my trademark, two gulls flying above a ship – ت. Whenever the shop was open we secured the tool kits and ditty bags with wire, for they were worth their weight in silver and would have walked off otherwise. But the sun had set and I saw that my second apprentice had already put the shutters in place, preparing to close up. Gimli could view our small wares another time. I opened the door for him and showed him into the darkening shop. “Meet Stitch,” I said proudly. “She makes the best ditty bags in the world, and sews Rhûn canvas as if it were silk. Light us a candle or two, Stitch. Then fetch the special order. This is Master Gimli.” Stitch, whose mouth had been open since the Dwarf walked through the door, lit the candles, bowed – not to me, I noticed with amusement - and went to the storeroom. I seated myself at the customers’ table and gestured for him to sit as well. He struggled to hoist himself onto the chair and once there his boots dangled. I hoped the cushion was easy on his bony old rump. “You said your friend was building a ship. I know all the folk at all the shipyards. Indeed I tested your sails on a rig at the Meren-sûl. Is your friend with them?” “He is not. He has already built the ship himself, with the help of some dozens of friends, in Ithilien. He will arrive with it tomorrow.” “?! Ithilien !? But, but … your friend must be mad. Why would he not come to Sea Fair? We are, after all, near the sea. And we are known for our shipwrights.” “As for that, my friend knows a shipwright that puts Mortals to shame,” Gimli replied, “and he himself is descended from a tribe of mariners taught by the Valar themselves. But he stayed in Ithilien as long as he possibly could, for his remaining friends and kin are mostly in that part of the world.” “You say, Valar? Mortals?” My voice went as thin as his, for astonishment. “Your friend is – immortal?” “My friend is an Elf.” Here I toppled over backward in my chair. I crashed to the floor, hit my head sharply, and everything went black for a while. Chapter 4 - Part 4 – Make No Jest about It Part 4 – Make No Jest about It I opened my eyes to an unknown landscape of peaks and valleys. I had just enough wits to wonder where my bedroom ceiling was, and then the landscape resolved itself into Nesta’s face. She was peering at me as healers do. “Follow my finger with your eyes,” she ordered. I did so as she waved her hand slowly, back and forth. Suddenly she moved her hand away altogether and I followed that too. It was a mistake. I grew dizzy, and the next thing I knew, I turned my head to one side and emptied the contents of my stomach onto the floor. “Drinking wine again?” Nesta said with no sympathy. “Well you will feel better without it. No wonder you fell.” Then everything came back to me. I remembered yesterday’s peaceful sunset and the loud interruption of Nath. I recalled going to meet my Dwarvish customer, so ancient and strange, and the excitement that gripped me when Gimli said, “My friend is an Elf.” That is, to be honest, it not excitement that I had felt. It was disbelief; it was apprehension. It was fear. No longer shaky or sick, but with a pounding heart, I jumped from my bed. I had to know if it were true. “Where is Master Gimli?” “Waiting for you downstairs. While you have laid up in bed, your shop has been busy. Your customer’s ship from Ithilien arrived early this morning and is now at the quays. Nath has been there all morning, helping to rig the sails. They are beautiful as usual, and so is the ship.” “Please tell Gimli I am coming,” I said. When Nesta was gone I cleaned away my mess and washed myself. Opening my shutters, I let in the warm, close air and saw storm clouds gathering seaward. Being as superstitious as any of the sea folk, I threw on some of my brightest clothes as a talisman. They made me feel better at once Sky blue is for good luck I assured my misgivings silently, and that is when the air in the chamber changed from storm-warm to cold as a crypt. I gasped; my exhaled breath came out smoking. A frigid kind of fog seemed to wrap tendrils around me like an embrace and then I felt fingers indeed, creeping over my shoulders. “Aiiii, what is it?” I shrieked, tearing around like a mad woman. “Mistress?” It was Stitch, coming up the stairs at a run. We collided just outside my door, and for the second time in a few hours I went tumbling, all the way to the landing. Stitch watched from above; the Dwarf gazed up at me from the bottom of the stairs. “You are, ah,well this morning?” said he. I straightened up hastily. I allowed that I was well, and that I was pleased to see him. “I stepped on a mouse,” I explained. “Fetch the cat, Stitch.” Stitch stared at me open-mouthed. We had no cat. Putting the odd experience away for future contemplation, I asked Gimli if he wished to go to the quays. “I do,” he replied. So we went outside, heading west on the boardwalk toward Berendil’s tavern and the quays beyond. Every eye noted our passing. We would be the talk of the waterfront from the shipyards to the ropewalk. “You will want to meet my friend, of course, and he wishes to meet the sail maker,” Gimli continued. “But I must tell you something. This Elf means more to me than my own clan.” “They say opposites attract. How strong the forges of friendship –“ “So if you do not wish for death at my hands, do not trouble him.” I stopped walking; I could not believe my ears. He stopped too, as soft and yielding as any stone. He looked me over appraisingly, judging my character and maybe finding it no better than it should be. To be sure, I thought, this day holds surprises. I found my voice. “Well – Master Gimli, I do not doubt you were once a fearsome warrior. But you need not threaten. I would never –“ “I make no jest about it. I will kill you. He is troubled. Do not add to his cares.” Just as I was about reply – what, I don’t know - a voice called, “Hoy, Gimli!” I had never heard the voice before in my life, or any other voice like it. Suddenly the name of Gimli meant somewhat more to me. I knew my history very well, and I knew exactly whose voice called, even before Gimli returned the greeting. “Legolas!” he was shouting. “Legolas!” Chapter 5 - Part 5 – The Torment of Unmet Needs Part 5 – The Torment of Unmet Needs Ten years ago, just before Father died and left me the shop, I went down to the sea with my young man. I had known him since childhood and he was a sailor, about to leave for Umbar. We took his boat and sailed to tiny Tol Gwing, that is Spindrift Island in our speech. It was the most perfect Midsummer I can recall. We had sung Remembrance with the other townsfolk at dawn, tossing roses and ashes into the waves, and then the day was ours. For loveliness that day could have been Arda Unmarred: the sea, the sky, the trees and scented air. That night we had the starriest of canopies to swear love under, ablaze with diamond chips and golden whorls. And swear love we did, in a dusky grove near the crashing surf. It was the best day of my life. It bodes ill to experience perfection twice in a lifetime. The quay is a long stone platform built parallel to the beach. Gimli and I had left the boardwalk and were crossing the sand, approaching the quay. Only one ship was moored there. Its very construction was a delight to the eyes. My sails were there and rigged: the long rectangular main sail and atop it, a smaller triangular sail. The main sail had broad, deep blue stripes alternating with white, and the top sail was all blue save for a single white star. The dye came all the way from Harad. The customer wanted the best of materials. And they were. I was proud to see my sails on such a pleasing ship. Even the name, and the script it was writ in, was beautiful: “Elwing.” Gimli and I used the short ladder to climb aboard. He was there, my Elven customer whose name I already knew well. He stood with his back to us, one sandaled foot on a railing. For a moment I thought he was limned in pale light, but lighting is uncertain just before a storm. I could not discern what kept him from the common courtesy of saying hello. Then I noticed a pair of gulls flying overhead, the most ordinary sight imaginable. He was watching the gulls. When they were gone he turned to us, and I looked upon what could not be: a tall, slender youth of about twenty or so, with three-thousand-year-old eyes. Thus I lost interest in ships, gulls, Gimli, and all else. Oh, I continued to hear, feel, and sense the life of the waterfront whirling about me. Nath shouted to the men of Meren-Sûl. A gust of wind blew my hair and bellied the sails. My tongue tasted salt. Thunder rumbled, Gimli grumbled, and at the still center of my focus was this face, this face, this unbelievable face. No wonder the old tales call them Fair Folk. I was looking at the most beautiful face I had ever seen or ever would, man or woman, and in this face was that pair of extraordinary eyes. Sea Fair’s town square has a pretty fountain of white stone. The bottom of the pool is painted blue-grey. The Elf’s eyes were as clear as the water in that fountain and they were full of a pain so profound that I found myself looking his body over for bleeding wounds. Noticing my attention, he put the expression away as if he had taken out a winter shirt by error and replaced it with a summer shirt. He seemed past being merry, but would be polite. “I am Legolas of the northern Greenwood, lately of Ithilien,” he said. “Welcome and thank you, Aerlinn, for the sails.” “They will last you through many voyages,” I said. The pain came back into his eyes and he gave me a strange look. But all he said was, “Allow me to show you the ship. Gimli, will you come?” “No. Soon I will see as much of the ship as I care to, and now my bones are calling for a rest. If you will spare Aerlinn for a moment, she can take me to that tavern over there and say a good word to the ale master.” “Gladly,” I replied, and we left the ship. I lost no time. “What ails him?” “He wants, that is he needs two things. The gaining of one precludes the other forever, and he has delayed the choice for as long as he can. It is driving him mad.” “Well, what does he need? Quickly!” We were off the quay now and walking on the sand. “He needs to make this sea voyage, and to not make it. He needs, the way those who love wine too much need their wine. You have guessed that he and I were companions of the Ringbearer? Then you have heard how, at the end, Frodo was not able to cast the ring away; he needed it. That is how Legolas needs.” “He does not want to go?” “No. Believe me, he desires to stay in his Greenwood, near his father, although that will not make him happy. But it makes no difference what he desires. His need overrides all. He has been resisting it for a hundred and twenty years, ever since the first time he heard that curséd gull. While Aragorn and Arwen lived they gave him some comfort, but now they are gone and his ability to resist is done. When Legolas goes, he will leave a piece of his heart behind for every gust of wind that fills the sails. Do not say I said so, but he is so sick with grief that he may die of it on the voyage.” Gimli’s words fascinated me. I burned to ask where they were going, and why Legolas must choose this way or that, if neither staying nor sailing would bring him peace. But we had reached the signpost before the tavern. Overhead, lightning flashed in the sky. Thunder followed at once. Many strangers come through Sea Fair: merchants, messengers, sailors, traders, and all sorts of footloose wanderers called by the sea. To help them find the right destination, or avoid the wrong ones, Mayor Harald had a signpost built. It directed folks to the quays, piers, shipyards, town square, and the road out of town. Harald gave the work to his wife’s brother, who did a proper job of it. Gimli even now was reading the signs with interest and with ease, for Harald’s brother-by-marriage had been no taller than a Dwarf. Suddenly I realized that I towered over everything near me. Just then I heard a shout; it was Legolas. “Aerlinn! Move away! Move away now!” He was fairly bellowing. The sky darkened markedly. I grasped Gimli’s hand and dragged him to the tavern door. We tumbled through. An instant later the most gigantic sound split the air, so powerful that the tavern walls shuddered. It was like a mountain exploding. I screamed, for indeed I smelled smoke. I thought an earthquake had struck. But it was lightning striking the signpost, splitting it lengthwise, and scarring the splintered remains with black scars. It would have been I, save for Legolas. “How did he know?” I gasped. “Go ask him, girl, if you dare go back to the ship. He may tell you. For myself, I will wait here by the window. I will have some ale and try not to remember that soon I will be out on those wild waves. Give Legolas thanks that his foresight saved your life, and remember: do not add to his cares.” “Not for the world,” I said shakily. I sped back across the beach to Legolas and his grey ship. My fate grew nearer. Chapter 6 - Part 6 – How Legolas Gained His Ship Craft Part 6 – How Legolas Gained His Ship Craft Leaving Gimli at the tavern, I dashed around the people who stood – at a respectful distance – near the blackened signpost. When I was aboard the Elwing again I thanked Legolas for his timely warning. “That lightning strike was maybe the closest I have been to death! How did you know? Gimli said you might tell me. Or if you wish, show me the ship first. We can talk later at the tavern while it rains.” “I will show you the ship, but there is no hurry. It will not rain for an hour,” he said with the same assurance he had announced his name. We viewed the ship. I am neither shipwright nor sailor, but I thought it odd there was no sign of charts. Well, Elves must steer by the stars. I saw no sign of oars either; it was a sailing vessel only. Such ships are common around Sea Fair - lesser merchants use them - but they are usually not so large as thirty-six by twelve. “And they crew four at least, and stay close to the coasts, at that. And all this decking!” “The size and the decking are for the comfort of the Dwarf,” said Legolas. “He fears the sea, and he is very old for his kind. We call it ‘ingem’ which means years-sick. Do not mention it but he is so sick with years that he may die during the voyage. A strange fate for a Dwarf. We must leave on the next tide after the storm breaks, which I think will be dawn tomorrow.” “There is a tide shortly after dawn,” I said. “You have started your provisioning?” I saw a keg or two in a corner, along with a few leather pouches and a small basket of apples. “We have finished provisioning.” Small crew, slim provisions, - your maiden voyage will be short, I thought. I longed to ask his destination. Most customers discussed their plans freely, but when they did not, I did not ask. Also, I had Gimli’s warning in mind. I meant to say nothing that might trouble the Elf. Next I saw a leaf-carved chest, large enough to hold the Dwarf and more. “This contains my most prized possessions,” Legolas said, smiling for once. He took out a beautifully crafted longbow. “The bow of Galadriel from the Ring War,” he said. I know good work when I see it, and this was of the highest craftsmanship. Finally I had a look down below and over the sides. “I see you constructed the hull shell-first.” “Of course. The planks are fitted together with a thousand tenons and mortices, or more. We pegged it well. When we launched it into the Anduin, the water swelled the wood to as tight as it can fit.” “You display a high level of ship craft for one who has lived mostly in the forest. Where did you come by this skill?” “I saw Cirdan when I went ‘Inner.’“ I looked at him blankly. “It is the Unseen world of the Elves, our dreams. Visions, you would call them. We see them when we take repose. When we go on the Olórë Mallë.” “That does not explain as much as you might think,” I said. He smiled again. “Gimli has been after me to tell more of Elvish lore. If you like, I can try to show you the Path of Dreams. I did so with Aragorn once. Will you take my hand?” To be told Elvish lore by the Elven companion of the Ringbearer! Of course I took his hand, and I may say that his attempt to show me the Path of Dreams was successful. He remained standing. But I sensed in him a letting go or a relaxing. I had heard of the strange sleep of the Elves and watched his eyes carefully. They stayed open, but the round black centers seemed to lengthen. As for me, I tingled with warmth. The storm’s breezes felt soothing. Then my head went very strange, as if I had drunk a glass of good wine after tasting the summer mushrooms. My thoughts seemed to be swirling in a vortex – and suddenly I was in another place. And another body. A far western harbor was my home. I was old; ancient. I was an Elf, and my name was Cirdan. I knew everything there was to know about ships and seas. Ulmo Lord of Waters was my friend, and Ossë, my teacher. I was a teacher myself, and here was my pupil. We worked together at my shipyard for a long-year, or more. He was a Sindar, who are descended from my people the Teleri, and his name was Legolas. As we built ship after ship, I saw that the calad was about me; that is the light that comes from us when we most closely approach the fulfillment of our beings. Healers show it when they heal, sometimes. For me, it was laying my hands on the wood for ships. The scene changed and I was no longer at the harbor; I was in an ocean of trees. So this is a forest, I thought, looking up through dappled light and hearing birdsong like no gull’s call. I was no Elf, but rather a Mortal girl of sixteen and strangely, I was also Aerlinn of Sea Fair. I wore someone’s borrowed clothes: a short shirt and a kind of wrapped, divided skirt. Before me stood Legolas as he must have been in his early youth. He bore a longbow on his back, an elegant quiver of arrows, and two white-handled longknives. He leaned toward me. I heard his voice inside my head: Do not love me. I am not lucky in love. Every woman who has loved me, or whom I have loved, is dead. Once again the scene changed and now I was Legolas, standing on the deck of the Elwing. Mostly I watched the gulls but when I sensed the storm’s danger to Gimli and the sail maker, I gave warning. Ossë allowed me to take the storm’s measure, to see its course and its passing tomorrow morning. Then Legolas loosed my hand. With a feeling like turning a child’s somersault, I came …. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) on Sun Nov 15, 2026 12:52 am