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Legolas stood at the edge of the city wall, gazing into the distance.
The wind blew in from the Pelennor Fields, carrying the smoke of victory and the breath of new green growth.
The sun was sinking slowly behind the Amon Dîn hills, staining the sky a lovely deep violet and fiery gold.
The darkness in the east had dispersed, and Middle-earth had come into a peace it had not known for a long time. And yet a quiet mist lay over Legolas's heart, and he could not shake it off.
The scent of the sea drifted in on the evening breeze. To him it was a call, remote and strange, yet achingly familiar.
He ought to have set out at once, bidden farewell to the lands of Middle-earth and sailed for that far shore from which none return.
But the kingdoms of Men, the comrades he had fought beside, and above all the man who now wore a crown: these had all become invisible threads, holding him fast.
Footsteps sounded behind him, unhurried, with the faint tap of a staff on stone.
Legolas did not turn. He knew who it was.
"A feast without the singing of Elves, and even the sweetest mead tastes a little flat."
Gandalf's voice was gentle and clear, his white robe stirring in the evening wind.
He came to stand beside the Elven prince, and in the glow of the sunset he seemed to shine faintly of his own accord.
"Aragorn and Arwen are looking for you."
"I only needed a moment's quiet, Mithrandir."
Legolas gazed at the silver of the great river Anduin, far off like a ribbon of satin, his eyes still following the last of the day's light.
"The celebrations belong to Men, to Hobbits, and to all the peoples who have won this peace. And I... I am listening to the cry of the gulls."
"That sound has been ringing in your heart for a long time now, has it not? Legolas, you are not the first Elf to feel the call of the sea, and you will certainly not be the last."
The Elven prince at last turned his face. In his eyes was a gleam like starlight, and a trace of bewilderment.
"Then have you come to dissuade me too? Like Gimli, who says he will dig me an underground palace and keep me here with countless jewels and oaths?"
"No, my dear friend, I have not come to ask you to stay. Persuading an Elf to give up the longing for the Far Shore would be like persuading a river not to run to the sea."
Gandalf smiled kindly.
"I have known long wandering and long duty, and I know well that everyone, Elf, Man, even Wizard, has a road they must walk alone."
"I only wished to share a few words with a friend before his departure, words that may be of some use."
Legolas fell silent.
Even standing here, he could hear it all drifting over from the feast behind him: Gimli's booming shouts, Arwen's singing, clear as a spring, and... the voice of his dearest friend, Aragorn.
They had all tried to make him stay, with friendship, with duty, with the argument that Middle-earth still needed its guardians.
Gimli had even said he would build a "dwarf-style ship" and sail with him to the Elves' far shore.
"Then what would you say to me, wise one?"
Gandalf rested a hand on the cold stone balustrade and looked up at the star-strewn sky.
"First, remember this: whether you sail to the shores of Valinor, or choose to linger among the forests of Middle-earth for a few more centuries, the footprints you have left on this land, the friendships you have forged and the deeds you have done will never be worn away."
"Aragorn's kingdom has a share of your strength in it, and Frodo's journey had your protection. The memory of this fellowship will become legend, sung for a thousand years. Even if you 'depart', your shadow will be woven into the long memory of this land."
"Second..."
Gandalf's tone grew graver, carrying a force like that of an oath.
"For as long as Elessar's line sits on the throne of Gondor, for as long as the fellowship of the Nine Walkers is sung in song, Minas Tirith, Edoras, the Lonely Mountain, and even the feasting tables of the Shire will remember you."
"I have already agreed it with Aragorn: the chronicles of Gondor will record that beside the king there is always a place kept for his Elven companion, far travelled."
"That is no mere courtesy, Legolas. It is the promise of Men to their comrade in arms, an Elven prince who is honoured and beloved."
Legolas sighed.
He remembered the way Aragorn had looked at him at the coronation, with the joy of a Man and the deep sorrow of an Elf mingled together.
There had been understanding in it, and reluctance, and a tenderness he dared not look into.
He remembered Arwen, his kinswoman, and the fierce love and sacrifice with which she had chosen a mortal fate.
He remembered how she had taken his hand and said, "May starlight always light your road", with nothing but blessing in her eyes.
And his own heart?
That deep, pure devotion to his friend, which could not be spoken and could never be, was one of the very reasons he longed to sail.
"Aragorn..."
Legolas's voice grew soft.
"He has found his destiny, his kingdom, his eternal home. My existence... may in the end become the receding figure of an old friend, glimpsed in the long span of his reign. Hundreds of years from now, when my little boat finally reaches the Grey Havens, or even further shores, he will long since..."
"You underestimate the weight of friendship over time, Legolas, and you underestimate the depth of the human heart and his loyalty to you!"
Gandalf's voice rose sharply. One hand pressed down on the Elven prince's shoulder, his gaze blazing.
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar... he may grow old, and come to the end of his fate, but hear me: his regard for you is no less than what he feels for anyone. The mark you have left on his life will not be worn away by years or by the crown. Like the starlight of Lórien, though day and night follow each other, the stars remain the same."
"The immortality of Elves is not a blessing. Sometimes it is also the shackle of memory. But Men, precisely because their lives are short, hold what they treasure like concentrated wine, which grows richer the longer it is kept."
"Aragorn cannot give you an eternal promise. But what he does give, a friendship sworn by the name of the High King and the honour of the Dúnedain, will last his whole life and be passed on to his descendants."
"Is the tale of Isildur not still told three thousand years on? Did the love of Beren and Lúthien not cross the divide of race and of death?"
"Go on your far voyage, Legolas. Go and see whether the forests of the east still ring with song, and whether unnamed stars still guide the way. And then, on some spring or autumn day, come back, even if only for a brief visit."
Legolas closed his eyes and listened to the music of the feast carried on the wind, and the laughter and singing of the people.
Further off, he heard the flowing of the great river Anduin, the breathing of the young trees, and the pulse of the land of Middle-earth that he had loved for thousands of years.
"I think... perhaps... you are always right, Mithrandir."
"However far you sail, Legolas, Middle-earth will always be a shore you can look back to."
Gandalf let go, his tone softening, the smile returning to his face.
"Whether you stay or go, let it be for the sake of your own heart, and not for what others may think."
The white-robed Wizard held out a hand, palm upward, in a gesture of invitation.
"Now come back with me, Legolas. Gimli has sworn to drink every last Elf under the table, and Merry and Pippin are pinching the honey cakes fresh from the oven."
"Your parting should not begin in solitude. It should end in the blessing of your dearest friends."
Legolas looked at the hand that had once held a staff against the Dark, and had also gently set off fireworks.
The mist in his heart had not wholly cleared, and the call of the sea still sounded in his ears, but warmth was quietly seeping in.
"Yes, Mithrandir. Let us go back."
The Elf nodded slightly, and the clear light returned to his eyes.
"Before the last voyage, let us first enjoy this night, so full of friendship."
They turned and walked towards the brightly lit hall.
At the last moment before stepping into the light, Legolas looked back once more at the east, now sunk in darkness.
Yes. This would always be a place he could return to.