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He sits with his back against a large piece of driftwood, his arms wrapped around his knees that are pulled tightly to his chest. A strong, salt-sprinkled sea breeze lifts tendrils of his pale hair from his shoulders, flailing them against his face but he does not notice the sting. Barefoot, his trousers are rolled up to mid-calf, his feet and ankles dusted with the sand of the beach. His shirt, unbuttoned against the heat that persists even into early evening, blows open exposing the smooth expanse of his chest to the wind as it splatters granules of sand against it. Eyes the same color as the pounding surf stare unblinkingly out over the horizon at the swiftly approaching storm. Lightning flashes in the distance as memories flash in his mind's eye.


 


 


****"I AM big enough!" a youthful voice pipes, eagerly pulling on his eldest brother's sleeve.


"No, you are not. You are still too small."


"Then WHEN will I be big enough?" the same voice cries, now petulant and demanding.


"In another few years."


"But when will THAT be?"


A sigh, and a patronizing response. "When your head reaches my belt."


A small elfling eagerly runs to him each day, anxiously measuring himself along the length of his towering oldest brother's thigh, each day tearfully disappointed when his head fails to reach his brother's waist. Eventually, the older brother relents and, unbeknownst to his youngest brother, lowers his belt to his hips so that the small platinum head will just reach the leather strap. He is rewarded with an excited, gap-toothed smile, and small, thin arms clutching his knees tightly.****


 


 


He shifts his position, stretching his muscular legs out before him on the dune, crossing his ankles. His hand grips a fistful of sand, squeezing it out between his fingers, letting the wind take it as he watches the waves break on the rocks of the nearby jetty, white foam flinging high into the air. The wind picks up a bit and he can feel the sea-spray misting his face. A gull cries overhead, drawing his attention for a moment. The white bird gracefully gliding over the water brings another memory unbidden to him.


 


 


****He has his arm around another brother's shoulders, this one an adolescent on the verge of adulthood. Still slim and stringy with the ranginess of youth, he may yet grow to be taller than his older brother, given time.


"Which one?"


"That one…the one in the white gown," the younger brother whispers, his voice still cracking as his body adjusts to the changes so recently wrought in it. He nods at a young elleth as she moves along with her friends, gracefully gliding over the bridge across the way from where the brothers stood, watching.


"She is very pretty."


There is a slight hesitation before his brother agrees. "Yes."


"Do you not like her?"


"Not as she would wish."


He eyes his younger brother, unsure of the meaning of that statement. "Is there someone else you would rather attend the celebration with?"


A tightening of the shoulders and an emotion that might have been embarrassment or might have been fear flickers briefly across his brother's face. He realizes at once where his younger brother's preferences lie, and hugs him close in reassurance.


Pale blue eyes look into his, tears threatening them as relief at his older brother's acceptance washes over his sibling's face.****


 


 


Thunder booms in the distance, roiling black clouds gathering at the horizon. Unmindful of the coming storm, he bends one knee and rests an arm upon it, watching the merging of the thunderheads in the distance. The wind, stronger yet, blows sand and debris across the beach. A sun-bleached stick of driftwood, dislodged from the sand by the wind rolls down the dune coming to rest at his feet. The clouds reach him, a dark foreboding gray.


 


 


****The Elfling has finally grown to surpass his brother's waist, growing tall and as rapidly as a weed. He has filling out to do yet but is at his majority, an adult in his own right. His lopsided smile however, is reminiscent of a gap-toothed grin he had given his brother in days gone by, his happiness at being accepted into the Guardians as transparent as a thin layer of ice on a pond.


"You have done well, brother."


"I have had the best of teachers, brother."


A spontaneous hug, more rare now than when his brothers were younger, extends to include the middle sibling. Breaking away, with great reverence and a pride he could not hope to conceal, he presents his youngest brother with the Grays he will wear for the rest of his days as a Guardian.


 


Later that night, alone in his talan as his two younger brothers continue to celebrate the youngest one's newly elevated status he is overcome with emotion and succumbs to silent tears.****


 


Tears come again unbidden, and he swipes at them angrily. He thought he had shed the last of his tears long ago. The storm is closer now, the wind whipping the waves into whitecaps, crashing on the shore. Lightning cuts the sky in zigzagging scars, the very air around him crackling with the storm's approach. But still he does not move from his resting-place, almost daring the storm to take him.


His finger traces patterns in sand, randomly at first, then becoming more defined…letters…words…


 


****Lord Celeborn has handed him a missive to deliver, and he trots across the bridges of the city tucking it into his haversack as he makes his way home to inform his brothers of his unexpected impending journey.


He enters the talan, the smell of sandalwood oil hitting him as soon as the door opens. The front room is empty, although dirtied cups and plates that are left sitting on the small wooden table beneath the window speak of his brothers' presence. Calling out, he strides into the bedroom, freezing in shock, his legendary self-control slipping away like water through his fingers as he finds his brothers in the throes of passion, entwined in each other's arms. Their voices cry out their feelings for one another, backs arching, silver seed spurting between them. He stands transfixed, unable to move until they finally realize his presence and turn wide eyes upon him.


Backing away, no amount of pleading from either of his brothers would call him back. He left on his mission without speaking a word to either of them.****


 


He rubs a weary hand over his face, feeling again the sorrow that broke his heart so long ago. So many wasted years…his stubbornness had kept him apart from his brothers. It took an act of war to make him relent…it took the threat of losing them both to the Halls to melt his stone-cold heart.


But melt it had. As war loomed closer, as a Fellowship, a harbinger of the encroaching evil entered the Wood he so loved, he swallowed his pride, his indignation, his disapproval, and sought them out. For several nights he tossed sleeplessly, obsessing over what words to say, how to tell them how much they still meant to him…how wrong he had been to have turned his back on them.


As it turned out, words had been unnecessary. It took only his figure standing framed in their doorway before they rushed him as if they were once again Elflings, and he just returned home from patrol.


 




****They were on the fields of Pelennor and although neither of his brothers were in his unit he had, as always, managed to keep track of their positions.


Gigantic creatures ridden by tattooed devils plodded heavily over the land, crushing allies and enemies alike, indiscriminate in their killing. Hordes of Orc, malformed and malevolent, and seemingly unending in their numbers, swarmed all around them. Slicing and hacking, he paused for just a moment seeking out his brothers' positions.


Cornered between the stomping feet of a trio of Oliphaunt and a band of Orc, he spotted his brothers valiantly fighting against numbers too great for them to overcome.


Throwing himself into the fray, his only thought was to reach his brothers' sides. Blood spurts, flesh tears, slash, parry, stab, slash…in a fury he barrels his way through, reaching them relatively unscathed. Together they fight side by side, a platinum rage in a flowing sea of crimson blood and brown dust.****


 


 


The rain begins, sluicing away the sand that has coated his hair and skin. Uplifting his face, he allows the rain to wash away the tears that stained it. The sounds of the storm are deafening blocking out the noise of the waves hitting the beach, but in his mind he can hear the water clearly.


 


 


 


****The water is softly lapping at the sides of the ship as it bobs gently next to the dock in Havens. Elven voices are lifted in song, hopeful and joyous as they board the ship for the voyage West along the Straight Road. They are going home.


He stares hard at his brothers, wishing to engrave upon his mind their faces, although he knows they are already indelibly engraved upon his heart for all time.


They have heard the sea-song, the call of Ulmo to sail. He has not. For years they fought against it, wishing to remain with him as they had always, but at last, at last they could fight it no more.


Soon, they say, soon he would be called home as well. Soon they would stand shoulder to shoulder on the sands of Aman, together again until the Rending of the World. Soon. Soon.


He hugs them to his breast, and they are once again Elflings in his arms, sweetness and light. They cling to him, their tears soaking his tunic as his soaks theirs until at last the call comes for them to leave him. Leave him. Alone.****


 


The rain pummels his skin as he covers his face with both hands, breaking down, weeping openly. Ages have past, the world is new and there seems no place for him in it. Still, as much as he wishes to leave, he cannot. The forest still anchors him here, keeps him tethered to a world that he has grown to hate, and yet cannot bear to leave.


Again and again he comes to the shore, begging Ulmo to call him home, and again and again he hears nothing but the pounding of the waves on the sand, and his own grief-stricken cries.


 


 


****It will not be long now. I feel myself wane a little more each day. Soon I will be merely an empty husk of my former self, a mere shell that will break apart and scatter like the sands in the wind. I have reached the end of my endurance and can bear no more. I am weary of this world and will fade, my soul borne on the nightwind to the Halls where I will wait, yet again.****


 


 


He somehow again finds the strength to stand, climbing to the top of the dune to take one last look West across the churning sea.


Turning his back to leave, he pauses, a sound catching his ear that is out of place in the thunder and roar of the swells.


Listening hard, he turns back, his eyes wide with disbelief and surprise. Straining, he hears it again, becoming louder, more distinct. Within moments it drowns out all other sound, filling his ears, his mind, and his heart.


The first smile that has graced his lips in more than an Age shines in the growing darkness as he takes off, his body electrified by more than the storm, racing down the beach, the song growing stronger within him with each passing moment.


He has a ship to build.


 


THE END


 


 


 


 


 


 


 

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