Synopsis: On the eve of Elrond's departure for the Havens, the loremaster is visited by a broken soul, and he journeys into a mind longing with a need for healing only he may deliver. A post-RotK story featuring Elrond and Legolas.

Warning: A warning was asked for and I shall give it. This story contains material that may be construed as erotic in nature. Nothing graphic, but sexuality is implied, even if it is not explicitly described. The pairing will be yours to decide as that is left very much up to interpretation, and I have purposely included a little POV shift just to muck with your mind a little more. Let your mind take you where it will and may you find explanations where your desires reach.

A/N: This story was written in honor of JastaElf, who celebrates her birthday today. She had requested something of a Legolas/Elrond fic, and I happily complied. It is meant to be a story of longing, pent desire and healing, though some may accuse this of being something more. I beg to differ as I purposely made the words ambiguous and open for interpretation.

My apologies in advance if I misunderstand something of Tolkien canon in this story. I tried to stay true to his intent while still bending the tale to my puny interpretation of his world. It occurs on the eve of Elrond's departure for the Havens. For purposes of this story, please know I use my own created word cuivëar interchangeably with the term sea-longing. It has roots in Quenya and translates to "awakening of the sea." This is a continuous theme in my stories and hopefully explains a little of what I have created in my other tales as well. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The characters and places in this story belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. I fully acknowledge I hold no rights to them, and I gain no profit from this endeavor. This story was written for the sheer joy of it, and it is gifted to my readers that they may find pleasure in it too.

Journey on the Wind's Voice
By Ithilien

Elrond leaned on the balustrade looking out over the valley as the sun set with pink and golden light filling the sky. The landscape shone in glowing apricot-colored light, and the warmth eased him as he memorized every nuance of the valley he had watched grow and change for countless years. The spark of sun kissing the horizon encouraged the vivid foliage to blaze brightly as the crisp blue of the sky and the violet shadows all around showed elegant contrast to the light. How very appropriate that one of the last sunsets he would see in this realm would be as rich and lingering as this one was. He smiled, sighing. There was joy in this moment and he breathed it in, relishing it.

Soon he would be parting these shores for the final journey with his destiny. It was time, and Elrond felt it keenly. And though he knew his love for Middle-earth was great, he was ready to part it in his own longing for respite and reprieve. His task all these long years had been wearying, and though it did not show, Elrond knew his stamina for the toils of his duty had been declining. It was time. It was time.

A whisper on the wind turned him, calling him to announce a presence coming near. A lone rider approached, the sound of hoofbeats not yet heard but felt by Elrond all the same. Distress and sorrow were nearing, but nothing of a greater nature other than that of personal agony. The energies there were self-guided, and not intended for harm. Instead, they sought out help, crying like a lost child, defenseless and bereft. Whoever approached was coming to him for aid.

"Erestor," Elrond called out to his friend in the nearby study. "Would you ask one of the household to prepare a room? We have a guest drawing near."

Erestor nodded as he rose to see to the task. He did not ask how it was that Elrond knew such a thing when even the keenest Elven ears had not alerted them yet of the approaching rider. Then again, Erestor was well aware of the heightened senses delivered unto Elrond with the giift of Vilya. To the lord of this realm, the ring had long helped him hone the skills needed to perceive everything entering or leaving the vale, and further, it had given him the ability to know somewhat of their purpose.

Elrond shivered slightly as the shadows of night crept over his place. But it was not the absence of heat that wrought the trembled response to the Elf. It was the healing being sought by the one nearing that sent such a tentative quaking to his body. The approaching rider was anguished and even from this distance, Elrond could tell how he suffered.

His eyes now reached out to the descending path that lined the mountain as it crawled into the valley. He would wait to see who their guest was, though his senses already told him it was one of Elven kind that neared, for no other could feel with such intensity but that of an Elf.

The galloping pace slowed slightly as the footsteps approached the cliffside, and with the keenness of sight, Elrond saw the fair head of a male warrior approach. He was alone, wearing the colors of Lasgalen, and within moments Elrond came to recognize the features and riding posture of the Elven king's son. Despite the slowed steps, the rider drove his horse fast over the narrow paths, and it was only the mark of a skilled horseman that kept Elf and horse from slipping the trail. Legolas Thranduilion was rather rushed to reach Imladris it seemed.

Elrond stepped away from the balcony, compelled to move forward by the outward pull of the rider's heart. He rounded the projecting canopies to reach the stonecut stairs so that he might descend to the courtyard where his guest would be arriving. His timing was well-executed, for no sooner had he appeared that the golden-haired prince arrived.

The rider obviously had not been expecting Lord Elrond to be awaiting him, taking his reins as he halted, for the fair face of the young Elf visibly paled upon seeing the grand Elf himself standing by to attend him.

"Lord Elrond!" he panted as he quickly dismounted. "I did not expect . . . I hastened to get here but . . . Please, allow me to manage this," the Elf said, perceiving that the lord intended to lead the horse away. "I am accustomed to tending Arod. You need not --"

But the younger Elf was halted in his rambling commentary by a cutting smile and a raised hand given in a gesture of calm. "Peace, Legolas. Fret not. Though many have gone ahead of my entourage, much of my household is still on hand, and Arod will be tended. By others, not I." He nodded to indicate the advancing stablehand, to whom he handed the reins while giving the beast a gentle pat.

Legolas looked mortified for the perceived disgrace, but he held his tongue in good favor. "Of course, Lord Elrond. I had only meant I had not expected you to greet me."

"I had heard you coming, and since I was so near I took the liberty of stepping into the courtyard myself," Elrond said, gesturing to Legolas that they should make their way forward to the great house.

"In truth, my lord, I had not expected you to still be here. I had thought you might already be gone," Legolas said in a soft voice that betrayed something of his fear.

"Word of my departure has spread I see," Elrond said with a small smile, choosing for the time to ignore the pain he sensed in the other. A healer's skill was better worked when the patient was willing to reveal his ailment.

"I had been told upon returning to my father's realm a few months ago," Legolas said nodding.

"It seems you took some time before leaving the kingdom of Gondor and the company of my children," the lord replied.

"True, but Gimli and I were also traveling the lands and discovering the mysteries that had only been hinted to us in the time of the quest," Legolas answered.

Elrond however noted a quaver in the young Elf's voice when Legolas spoke and he began to look for outward signs of what might be causing the despairing heart he felt even without the need of touch. Legolas' face looked haggard, his eyes red-rimmed, and there was obviously something misplaced in the Elf's thinning appearance. Elrond wondered if he should push for answers to the outward harms that were becoming clear inwardly to Elrond's mind.

"I imagine your father's realm is invigorated with activity now that the shadow is gone from those lands. I am delighted that you were able to break away from your duties then to see me off. Were you a day or two later in arriving, you would have found me gone. If all is ready, we shall depart in the morning, if not the day after. But tell me, Legolas, why do you ride with such haste if you expected to find me absent," the Elf lord plied.

"I had hoped that I would indeed find you here. And I am very glad that you tarry yet a day," the young Elf said, and Elrond saw a rise in Legolas' breathing, as if he yet exerted himself in ride.

"And why is that?" Elrond asked, concern giving him the impetus to cut to the endnote of this conversation as they entered the balcony overlooking the valley that Elrond had been enjoying moments before.

"I came," the Elf began, then shut his eyes and bowed his head, pausing for a moment before speaking again, "I came for help--" Legolas gasped, then clutched at the balustrade in what seemed to be pain. But something within the Elf helped him hold back the ache. "The healer's in my father's realm did not offer me much of a solution and I came to you. I had not planned my journey. I simply departed. I was desperate. I had hoped--" But the words were cut off as the Elf doubled over.

Elrond was immediately at Legolas' side, a hand reaching out to apply a healing touch. However, the Elf lord immediately flinched, pulling back, surprised at the depth of the agony he found in the Elf before him. It was not the type of feeling he had expected to find. There was no visible sign of injury, but Legolas' face crushed into that of one bearing physical harm. "Legolas," Elrond said, his voice a calm reassurance, "tell me where it hurts you."

"Ai!" Legolas cried, his legs buckling beneath him. As he fell, Elrond grabbed him, slowly lowering the stricken figure to the ground. Legolas whispered, "I cannot hold it back . . ." he began, his voice fading, but then he found strength enough to say, "Help me! Please . . . " before going completely limp in Elrond's arms.


Erestor pulled the bedcovers over the chest of the wan figure then turned to the slight sound of crystal pinging against crystal. He turned to see Elrond place a tray on a table on the opposite side of the room, and his attention went to the contents. A small decanter containing a ruby liquid and two cordial glasses were laid on the silver platter.

"You think to treat the prince with miruvor?" Erestor asked.

"I think it will ease him and his troubles," the Elf lord answered, smiling at the indirect manner of Erestor's query. Old was this friendship and much mirth came with the way they played with words. It was a game between them, the quest to see who could reveal the most information in the least direct way.

Erestor turned to face his old friend. "You know what ails him then?"

Such a hasty response was unbecoming of Erestor and Elrond was startled by the quick turn to these words. "You must be truly worried my friend if you draw so quick to an end of our usual exchange."

Elrond could see apprehension dancing over the brow of the other, and he felt the need for an ease in comfort. Their journey was long-anticipated, but it was not the cause of Erestor's concern. A delay would not disturb their joy if that was all it took. The concern was for Elrond and for once the lord saw how much his aide realized the diminishment of Elrond's soul. The elegantly dressed steward answered. "He is pale and obviously ill, and he is the son of an esteemed lord. I would not see him die, my lord, but I fear his heart may not be the only one breaking should what comes of his journey here effect you as well."

Elrond was moved by the expression of concern and he took a moment to ponder it. The lore master was weak. Not openly, but his heart was shorn, and it was hard for him to endure much that required his heart. But looking down on the soul on the bed, he knew too this was one who had shared an equal burden, and if he could, he would try to ease it.

"Do not fear for me, Erestor. Vilya guards over me. It will guide me in this," Elrond said, looking down on the blue gem and suddenly feeling that indeed there was nothing to fear. Let me help you, it seemed to say.

I take it then you know what troubles his health," Erestor said, nodding to the slumbering form.

"Aye," Elrond answered, stepping beside his counsel and running a hand over the furrowed brow of an unconscious Legolas. "He suffers from cuivëar."

"Cuivëar?" Erestor responded, his voice loud and causing the sickened figure to flinch and tug on the bed sheets. Seeing the distress the word caused, Erestor softened his voice. "Cuivëar?" he repeated. "But my lord, this resembles nothing of the cases I have seen pass this way of that disease."

Elrond sat then on the bed and passed a gentle hand over Legolas' chest, willing rest onto the lithe form beneath him. He watched as the hands clutching the coverlet relaxed their grip and the creased brow smoothed as one might see in true rest. He sensed that there had been little rest for the pale Elf in the last many weeks, and he knew a proper recovery would require it.

"I think we have a rather special case before us, Erestor. Not many of Thranduil's realm have heard the sea's keening song," Elrond said as he nodded toward the golden head.

"He is Sindarin," Erestor noted.

"Sindarin and Silvan mixed," Elrond corrected. He saw the understanding in his counselor's face then. "It is not an odd combination, especially in Thranduil's kingdom, for there are many of this bloodline there. It makes for an Elf that has great love for the land, and also for one of great passions."

"And so it does and has. Those are qualities I would use to describe many in that realm, this young one among them," Erestor said, taking in the resting figure with his eyes.

"Fine qualities they are. They were among the things I considered when I chose Legolas to accompany the Ringbearer on his quest. I knew this Elf's heritage made him true to his friendships, and I had hoped a bond might be forged between our Elf and the others of his companions."

"And so it did, my lord, going so far as to include a Dwarf. I would say your suppositions of his character was well met," Erestor said with a smile.

"Aye, so it was," Elrond answered, smiling as well. But his smile dimmed. "However, I did not foresee the burden that would be placed upon Legolas as a result of his journeys."

"You speak of the effect of cuivëar on his bloodline then?" Erestor asked.

"I mean there are reasons the Greenwood Elves do not travel much beyond their own borders. Perhaps it is a means of cloistering his folk from the dangers beyond, but I somehow suspect Thranduil may have considered the results for his people should they wander too near the sea," Elrond said with a raised brow.

"But you know, as do I, that the presence of the sea need not prompt the sea-longing in some," Erestor countered.

"No, it need not, especially for one so young . . . " Elrond placed a tender hand to the brow of the younger creature. He sighed as he looked upon the placid face. "Galadriel knew though. She sent warning to our young Legolas. But by then it was too late, for Legolas' devotion and loyalty were already too far placed to remove him from the Fellowship. Whether Legolas understood the lady's portent or not matters little. His heart had been marked and he would have sacrificed himself regardless of the personal outcome on that journey."

"Do you think he regrets his choice?" Erestor asked.

"That he chose to aid his friends? Never. That he had to do so by following the path to the sea, I think we all agree to that answer being affirmed. I think too he has not learned yet how to live with this illness," Elrond stated, studying the crease marring the young one's brow.

"He awakens," Erestor pointed out, noting the troubled expressions now gracing Legolas' fair face. "You will aid him then?"

"As best I can. But he needs to learn how to resolve this ache on his own, and that is what I truly strive to teach him," Elrond said, stepping away to show Erestor out of the room.

"I have no doubt you will be gentle, my lord," Erestor said with a hint of innuendo teasing in his voice. Old friendships allowed such playfulness.

Elrond merely smiled and bowed his head to the exiting Elf, the comforting old departing as he turned to the troubling new.

The reclined Elf laying on the bed stirred in an agitated sleep. There was no rest for the struggling mind, and rather than coax the prince back into slumber, Elrond decided it best that he start this journey now. Delaying would only make the task harder.

Elrond called out softly. Legolas was fair to look upon, and Elrond could not be help but be moved by the beauty of the young Elf. Dark lashes contrasted with the pale, smooth skin, and as they lightly fluttered to open, sky blue eyes stared into Elrond's grey. A confused expression met the Elf lord's gaze but it quickly changed to one of a blushing shame. The fair-haired Elf gasped then, turning away as he curled into himself. "Gods, no! Forgive me my behavior, Lord Elrond!"

"There is nothing to forgive, Legolas," Elrond answered with light amusement. It was not fair of him to find pleasure in something so troubling to another, but the naivete was endearing. He wondered at this, trying to find the time when such small inadequacies had made him revile in self-loathing. He had aged to a time when small shames no longer bothered him, and there he saw the grace, for when the embarrassment was gone, so too went the causes for it. Yet this was a lesson to be learned another time, and perhaps the outcome of what the two would undertake could impart such self-assurances to the younger Elf. In all he knew it was something that might come of age. He schooled his smile as he turned a caring gaze upon the shrinking prince.

"I am -- I know not what I did, but I am humbly ashamed, whatever my actions, my lord," Legolas cried in a soft voice.

"You did nothing worth shame," the lore master replied in a soothing voice, age speaking to folly.

"You are kind to say such, but I remember nothing of my appearance here," Legolas responded, still refusing to look at the half-elven lord.

"You remember not arriving in Imladris, or you remember not coming to this room?" Elrond queried, concerned by this admission.

"Both," the blond-haired Elf replied, cringing at the proferred answer.

"I see this affliction has taken a serious turn," Elrond said as he placed a gentle hand on Legolas' shoulder in a gesture of consolation. There was great wariness within the young body."You are tormented because you have not learned to accept what has come to you."

Teary eyes turned back to meet him as Legolas said with vehemence, "Accept? How can I accept this?" He said the words with disdain, refusing even to name what it was that hurt him.

"And that is why it sends you into a state of agony. Have the healers in your father's realm not told you this?" Elrond asked, knowing already what answer he might hear.

"They have said I must embrace it. They have said it is a part of me now. But I do not think they understand what it does to me or they would not say this," Legolas answered stiffly, turning away as a shiver emanated from his curled form.

"And you think that I would have greater skills at healing this than they?" Elrond asked, again knowing what he might hear.

Legolas turned and sat up so that he was face to face with the Elf lord. His face was ghost white and he was visibly shaking. The agony was still with him, Elrond could see, even as they spoke, and he sensed it tried the young elf to hold it back. "You are the greatest healer in these lands. If you have no cure for this illness, then my hope is lost."

Elrond dipped his eyes. The news he would deliver to the son of Thranduil would not be easy to give. He took a bracing breath, then returned his eyes to the Elf as he said, "I have no cure, Legolas."

A drawn silence followed only a whisper of the wind.

Legolas turned his head away, and Elrond gave the Elf a private moment to accept the news he gave. He heard the quiet intake of a sob, and allowed another minute to pass before turning again to meet the tear-filled eyes of the handsome face.

Legolas said, "May I . . . May I then travel with you in your journey?"

Elrond tilted his head, perplexed by this response. "You are welcome to travel in my company, Legolas, but I wonder why you would choose such when you would find no joy in it?"

It was Legolas' turn to offer an expression of confusion. "I have no choice. You tell me there is no cure."

Elrond smiled, beginning now to understand the source of the young Elf's anguish. "No cure, this is true. But a choice? That has not been taken from you, Legolas."

"Where does it exist?" the agitated Elf asked. "My father would not have me in this state. I am useless to him and to Greenwood in this aching misery. I fear he would cast me out for fear I might spread my affliction!"

"Cuivëar -- sea-longing -- is not contagious, Legolas," Elrond corrected.

"The mood accompanying it is! I need not infect the others with my torments!" the Elf cried with despair.

The wind called out, the brushing breeze sweeping through the opened balcony doors whispered its empathizing call. The flames of the candles lighting the room dimmed minutely then brightened. The light in the young Elf's eyes did much the same, as if telling the imparting this illness razed upon his soul. Elrond's own heart felt the ache of desire billowing in the fair Elf, but the wind soothed the elder, caressing him like an old love, easing back the strain and willing him to calm and to be calm for the other.

Elrond opened eyes he had not realized had shut. The wind tossed back an errant strand from Legolas' head, and Elrond knew the answers being offered by Vilya's quiet voice. "Perhaps if you told me of what it is for you to be so riled I might understand what it is that you carry," Elrond said, reclining back in an easy pose.

Legolas nodded. "You are Calaquendi. I know. My father said you would not be able to heal me before because you are of the Noldor."

Elrond laughed. "One need not be afflicted of disease to know of the suffering that rides with it. But to this, your father is right. Cuivëar is not the same to my blood."

"Elrohir and Elladan were with me when it happened. Elladan told me I must rely on my friendships to help me through it," Legolas offered. "Your sons have Sindarin blood as well," Legolas hazarded, as if that should be enough

"A small amount, yes, from their grandfather on their mother's side, but there is enough Calaquendi to offset the Moriquendi desires in them. I'm afraid the sea-longing is very different for those afflicted of the various root bloodlines following the Teleri," Elrond explained. "For the Calaquendi, the song of the sea is with us at birth. There is no awakening of our yearning, for it is something we grow accustomed to at the earliest of ages. What surprises me is that Elladan said nothing else of what you might expect."

"In truth, my lord, I think he thought I might do well on my own. I fared well through the ordeal, and there was much else that was occurring at the time. Though the sea-longing haunted me, so long as I was distracted, it did not hinder me," Legolas explained.

"I see," Elrond said, nodding. "And since then?"

"Gimli and I have spent the better part of the time traveling. While we were together, I could hear the sea's call, but again, I was distracted by his companionship." Legolas sighed. "The Dwarf can be very challenging."

Elrond laughed. "No doubt he would say the same of you."

Legolas too laughed, and again Elrond noted the beauty the Elf bore when his misery was not so clearly painted on his features. "When did things change?"

The lights dimmed yet again as sorrow returned to the shuddering figure. Momentarily the pain eased, but it returned with this remembrance. "When I returned to my father's home. It seemed the song became stronger there," Legolas answered as his face drifted again to a saddened expression.

"And how did you react?"

Blue eyes looked ahead. The thoughts behind them were unreadable. "I did not. I merely found myself one day wandering the forest with no memory of how I got there," Legolas whispered.

"But there must have been something before. You did not just arrive home and begin meandering as a somnambulant, did you?" Elrond plied.

A blush flushed the light skin of the Elf before him. Legolas dipped his eyes as he whispered, "Nay, that did not happen."

Elrond let a moment pass before he pushed for the truth. "You tried to hide your illness from your father, did you not, Legolas?"

The young Elf shot a quick glance at the Elf lord before darting his eyes away again. It was answer enough.

"How long was it before the symptoms began to show?" he asked. His voice did not accuse.

The wind carried his voice. "A month, I think," Legolas whispered.

Elrond nodded, perceiving the weight that was pressing upon the young Elf's heart.

"And when the illness finally revealed itself, what happened then?" Elrond asked.

"My father was terribly saddened. He . . . he did not wish to see me suffer," Legolas answered with as much sadness as Elrond perceived there had been for Thranduil.

"And so you tried to ease his sorrow by hiding it still," Elrond finished.

Legolas shook his head, negating this comment. "I assure you, my lord, I had no intentions of hiding it."

"Yet you had learned how to hold it back, and that does not come without a strong will," Elrond corrected. "Legolas, would it ease your mind if I told you I know what it is to feel the madness of desire? To feel a longing so great I might simply be crushed by its power?"

"You?" Legolas asked.

Elrond looked down on the sapphire stone on his hand. He took a cleansing breath and began to tell his mind. "Long has Vilya been in my possession. The very air does it represent, and that is a mighty power. But like the One Ring, Vilya is not quietly kept. It knows that its use is best made when it is worn and there were many years when I could not openly wear it for fear of Sauron's corruption. And there was my torment. Vilya was not satisfied being stymied and hidden. It desired the freedoms of open rule without realizing what might come of it were borne on the tides of that darkness. It was not easy, Legolas, and the agony of it nearly crushed me inwardly. But I contained it and kept it through the slow restraint you must learn through your acceptance. And when I wielded it in the Ending Days, when Sauron was sent asunder, wind whipped over these lands, and you can be certain that Vilya was unchained."

Long was there silence between the two then.

"I do not think it is the illness that draws these attacks to you. More I think it is your unwillingness to accept the illness that compels them," Elrond said at last.

Legolas shook his head. "Forgive me, Lord Elrond, but you speak riddles to me."

Elrond smiled. "Like Vilya, you must wield the power of the sea in your soul if you are to have peace. I tell you the truth. Your illness is like that of one being held by a tether. The more you pull against it, the tighter it constrains. However, should you relax to it, the binding will loosen."

"You tell me I should give in to my sea-longing?" Legolas asked in an incredulous voice.

"In the same way that I relinquish to Vilya," Elrond answered.

Legolas backed away, his eyes going wide, "Forgive me Lord Elrond, but I do not see how the two interconnect. What you bear is a thing. It is not your heart. I cannot do what you ask!"

"They very much are the same, Legolas, and I do not doubt the weight of your longing is much the same as Vilya's voice had been to me. You must release it," Elrond said with utmost patience.

"It will possess me. It will drive my will where I do not wish it to go!" Legolas cried, trying to push his way out of the bed.

Elrond came around to the other side of the bed and put a hand to the Elf's shoulder thus denying an easy escape. "It may seem that way to you now, but it is only so because you would hinder its access to your mind. The longing grows greater because of this deprivation."

"No, I cannot!"

"Legolas," Elrond sighed, "Holding the affliction back is what makes you ill, not the longing itself. You must learn to relinquish to it or it will kill you."

"You say I have choice though. I do not understand how if I face death or a destiny I would not choose. That is not much of a choice," Legolas said in an angry tongue.

"Relinquish to it," Elrond added.

"You mean surrender my soul to it!" the Elf cried.

"Ah, Legolas, you have yet to understand. There is nothing but you that holds your soul to anything, be it Middle-earth or a loved one. The choice belongs to you still, and I think if you would try and release the desperate hold against it you would realize how much power over this illness you truly have."

"Give up?"

"Give in."

"But I do not know how," Legolas sadly admitted.

At last. There was the crush of it, and Elrond steeled his heart for the impact of what was yet to come. Yet Vilya would not let him linger. A brushing hand touched his face though no body truly touched his, but it encouraged him, assuring him he had it within him to do this great task. I will carry you. I will bring you home. Have no fears for I am strong, the wisp of voice said in his mind. "And that is where I might help," Elrond said in a soothing voice that matched that within his head. "I would take you and show you how to ease back the ache."

"But if I let go now . . . Lord Elrond, I am frightened of what may come! Why did not someone tell me?" Legolas said, more to himself than to the other.

"I am sure Elladan would have told you so had he realized how dire it might become for you. Alas, he does not know the full of this affliction for one of the bloodlines you carry," Elrond answered.

"But the Noldor . . . you hear the call at all times?" Legolas asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, as do you now. You must have hope, Legolas, for we have learned to live with it. You will as well," Elrond replied.

"Then there is a way to stave it back," the young Elf said, enthusiasm cresting his lips in a smile.

Again Elrond placed a gentle hand to Legolas' shoulder. "For a time, Legolas. Only for a time. You are still of Moriquendi. You have not seen Aman and the Light, and that will always press at you so long as you remain in these lands. But should you give in and embrace the longing, you might be able to let it settle back into the quiet song that had only haunted you when you made your travels with Gimli. Vilya grants me the power to help you now. But I cannot remain your protector, and you will have to face it on your own when I part." Elrond said.

Legolas looked as if to deflate by this news. "It frightens me. What if I wander again? I felt as if I had lost a part of myself when I awoke before. The world was almost an ugly place to me then. Regaining my love took a great deal from me. At the time I felt it better to give into the call. I do not like feeling that, Lord Elrond. I would almost rather part than feel the sundering tear on my heart again."

Elrond touched the Elf then and he saw the purity of the feelings Legolas described. The emotional ties the Elf had to Middle-earth were great. "You are very young to be rendered this illness. Were you older, you might not receive the calling with less ambivalence. But I think your lineage is yet to blame for what you feel. The Silvan in you makes it hard for you to part the lands you have loved." Then he looked long into Legolas' eyes before he said, "Yet do not fear, Legolas, for I will lead you through your journey back to a path of calm. However, do know that I cannot shelter you from this forever. The stay I offer you is a temporary one. Once I part, it will be up to you to adhere to what you will learn through me. Most important, you must not try to refrain the illness, for it will only make it worse. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Legolas said, nodding slowly, as if truly trying to accept this.

"Then we will begin," Elrond said.

"Here? Now?" Legolas asked with sudden dismay.

"Have you a better time?" the lord asked with a smile as he rounded to the table that held the two glassed and the small decanter. He poured the scarlet liquid into the crystal bowls before looking up again.

Legolas shook his head in answer, the earlier shame returned in this response, but there was also wide-eyed fear visible that had not been there before.

"Relax, Legolas," Elrond said as he handed the Elf a glass. "I will not hurt you."

Legolas nodded as he took the offered liquid. His fingers trembled as he lifted the cordial to his lips and drank.

Elrond did the same, and when the liquid was drained of their cups, he took the empty crystals and set them aside before he laid a soothing hand to the furrowed brow of Legolas. He plied healing comfort to the younger Elf and Legolas sighed, obviously eased by the gentling touch as he relaxed into the soothing whispers of comfort Elrond laid upon him. Legolas' neck arched, the weight of his head suddenly too heavy, and his muscles loosed their tenuous hold giving him power no more to sit upright. Elrond wrapped a bracing hand to the Elf's shoulders and gently eased Legolas down onto the bed. Golden hair cascaded about the untroubled face. Eyes half-lidded gazed out unseeing at the balcony door as another sigh moved past the parted lips of the reclining Elf.

"Good, Legolas, " Elrond commended. And though he knew the Elf was barely aware of the words, he felt it important all the same to point out the correct steps in the procedure that the young one might know. "You have opened your mind. And now I will enter your thoughts, and together we will see that this ailment is treated."

Legolas then twisted, his brow creasing as comprehension flitted across his face. He began to moan but Elrond hushed him with a caressing hand against his cheek. Again, the Elf eased back, falling away limply to the probe Elrond pressed into his mind.

The journey began with sound as Elrond felt his body merging with the fair Elf beneath him. "Let me help you," said a voice resonating within his ears, and he recognized the voice as his own. He felt his own arms, cradling the prince and himself. The duality was strange, but not unpleasant, and Elrond was practiced in seeing both inward and outward simultaneously. And he sensed too that Vilya wanted him to visit upon the longing in this way. It would be renewing to see the perspective of another. Perhaps Elrond too might find healing in the comfort the ring wished to bestow upon his patient. It became a task of the wind that carried him now, and as he had advised Legolas, so too did he give in to the healing nature that took them both.

Elrond sensed that Legolas could barely register the room. It all was fading from the younger Elf's control. Outwardly, his eyes were glassy and his face was slack. Inwardly, he moaned with the overwhelming loss of control as the torpor took control of him. But Elrond held him tightly, and he knew the younger Elf was comforted by his presence.

His own tender voice spoke to him, and he tried to look up into the face of the sweet utterances, but the world was hazy, and Elrond saw it was hard for Legolas to grasp the meaning. "All is well. Do not be afraid. I will bring you back safely. Relax. There will be no harm done in relaxing. Float away and enjoy this journey. Let your body go. Relax, relax. I will bring you home." And as if that was all he needed to fall under the spell of what ailed him, Legolas and Elrond simultaneously fell back, their heads lolling over bodies slackened. Elrond was Legolas and he saw as Legolas saw. His eyes glazed over as visions of the sea-longing possessed him.

He was floating on a cushion of air. He felt a tender hand cradling his head as he found his body falling back into a cloud. He was flying, floating effortlessly, his body buoyed without known reason on a breeze all about him. Was this Vilya? A hand stroked his hair, fanning it out about him, touching his skin like the gentle breath of the wind. His eyes could see the other before him, smiling serenely down on him, whispering kisses to his face while he also saw only sky and sea all about him. He was helpless to the feelings of this place, trapped between reality and fantasy. He cried out one last time at the loss.

A voice whispered to him, and though he could no longer see the face that bore it, he knew it belonged to the other. Himself perhaps? They were one. "Hush. Hush. Fear not. You are beautiful in this way. Let your mind take you where it will. I will help you. Let it golet it go" the voice drifted away.

He could not speak, could not acknowledge he had heard. All he could do was react.

Slowly he gave in, releasing the tension that gripped his body in this onset. He allowed himself the freedom to relax as he felt all his anxieties slip away as the forgetfulness of the longing took control of him. His mind opened to the experience as his eyes closed to the world, and he knew his face showed his serenity as he lapsed into the mood that took him. "You are sheer enticement," he heard whispered into his ear as a tongue curled around the lip of the pointed tip. Was it the sea that kissed him such? The lusting wind? They were present in the caressing touches. A thrilling shiver took him, and he breathed huskily in response to the unseen lovers.

Fingers stroked his muscled form. He felt his body lifted, slowly, gently, like the breezy wind racing past him. In his mind, the wind touched his skin, grazing lightly over his body. It was warm, like the gentle touch of the sun, tantalizing in its caress. He felt limp, unable to do anything more that allow the other to take control of his body. In his torn mind, he knew deft fingers drew down the lengths his arms, his chest, his lanky limbs and he found pleasure in the sensation of the other stroking his body firmly, seductively, and he felt his body respond to the sensations. A shivered moan voiced itself in response to the touch and he realized it was his own. His heart involuntarily pounded harder to the pressure of hardened fingers grazing his flesh. Stirring air glanced off his growing exposure and his jumbled thoughts read it as if it was a cooling breeze touching his soul. He was naked and unconstrained and he reveled in the unashamed ease of that condition.

In his mind, the sun shone upon him, warming his face and his chest to its heated passions. Hot breath licked his torso and neck and face. He brought his hand up in an involuntary move and was surprised to realize he had touched a physical body. Smooth and well-muscled, sinews defined, he felt excited and aroused at the unexpected pleasure in it. The hardness of the others body stirred his desires. His heart pulsed in quickening response as his brain registered the pleasure in touching the perfect plains before him. His vision mocked him, however, depriving him of the beauty his hands beheld. He coddled his mind to aid him in fulfilling the image, but again he could not control what the impressions stirred in him, and he fell back into the fantasy of his senses.

He wanted to taste the other's lips on his own. The desire to feel the other's tongue whispering on the flicker of his own grew strong in him, and he gained the power to pull the other's body further down to meet his. Parted lips found their way blindly to the cheeks, the eyes, and the jaw, exploring their way onward until the mouth of a lover met his. Like falling into a pool of radiant liquid, the kiss was wet and alluring. His mind drifted again as he felt his body stir to the touch of pressing lips. He moaned softly to the gentle pleasures of that feeling, allowing his body to enjoy what was taking course, his thoughts drifting away.

All about him was the sand and the shore and the sea. The great tides of water rose and fell in pounding rhythms before him. The sound was deafening and soothing, lulling and penetrating, and every fiber of his being wished to launch itself into that magnificent expanse. Within himself, he felt his need arise, desire overwhelming his body like the swell of the waves. Heat rose in him as the pounding of his heart echoed the thrumming of the water on the shoreline. He wanted, he needed this fulfillment, breath warming to a pant as his lover's hands ran over his body.

His feet moved forward in his visions, his toes submerging into the wet sand as the complication of the dream melted into his reality. He felt his body entangling with the other, knees coiling around the muscled torso, legs splayed as desire called up in his rising need. Cool sheets tangled with his feet like the sea grasses grazing his legs as they entered the azure waters. He felt hands pushing him down, the pressure of the other body straddling his form as the heaviness of the water prodded him to move with its motion. His feet came out from beneath him, and momentarily he was weightless with the lift of calming waters, his back arching as he was buoyed above the sandy ocean floor. A body, the wind, the water pressed firmly into him, hips slowly moving in a rhythm of their own make and he found himself pushing into it, creating more pleasure in the intimate feeling.

A moan of excitement penetrated the air, a voice mixed with the sighing winds, his own or the other's he was unsure. This was pleasure, pure and true, unbounded by reality and he was surprised at how much his desire, his yearning matched the deep emotions he felt with the sea's calling. He reached his mind, longing for the companionship of the other in this intoxicating place. And as if knowing this he heard the soft echo of the other's voice, assuring him this was right, "You are beautiful. You are enticement come to life." It only added to his ecstasy as he felt naked skin come into contact with his own. His fingers brushed the peak of an aroused nipple and his mouth opened hungrily to suckle the salty fragrance of the other. He could feel it etching into his sea-addled mind, this lusty desire calling the agony of his loins to be touched. He wanted it. It was primal, his yearning, excited by something deep within him. He ached for this body, this warmth, this crystalline hardness confused by the beauty of azure waters and impassioned longing. The desire consumed him as more whimpering moans and panted breathing melted into the dream and his ache grew stronger with the sound of them.

He knew he could stand for little more. Gasping for breath, he ached with desire just as his soul ached to answer the call of the sea. Blindly he fought to gain control, helpless to everything bombarding him as he sought out entrance to his lover. There was little left to contain him, and he felt his hooded eyes fluttering in their unseeing gaze, as passion controlled his frenzied cries. "I want" he managed to say, expressing this much at least of his yearning before finding himself helpless again in the arms of the other.

His eyes rolled back in rapacious longing. He cried a soft sigh as the waves crashed about him, pushing him with such power and force of that he was propelled upward to the immersion of that strength, his back arching, his hips thrusting firmly into the other as he tried to fulfill those desires. He felt a shifting above him, and a pressure slowly lowering upon him, engulfing him inch by slow inch into the confining tight pleasures of that most private of places in this rapturous lover. His body trembled, at the treasured sensation, bending with a will all its own to meet the heightening of his pleasures. Strong hands pushed him down, forcing him to be patient to the fading of pain the other took in their mutual pleasures. But he was peaking in his desires, now barely contained, and it was all he could do to keep from moving.

Heat rose within him, distracting his thoughts to everything but the rhythm of the waves. Cloying, pounding, yearning, he moved on, becoming part of the pelting power, energized by the infinity of his strokes on the body above. And in one final cresting force, the magnitude of his presence within the teary sea plunged in with an abandon that sent shuddering spasms up his spine. His back arched to the ecstatic tremble of the motion. A renting cry of pleasure swept his voice from his throat and all the world that were water and sand and sun came together in the giddy joy of his lover's body entwined with his. His song was met by the trembling moan of another, equally as passionate in its release as it coasted on the air. And then he tumbled down, down, down helpless to do anything but plummet inward to the soft sands, warm from the sun's gaze. He cooled lightly in the lapping gestures of the softening water running up his legs. His body trembled to the weight of his exertions. He collapsed into the soft comfort of the body entwined with his.

He felt weak, spent by the thunderous maelstrom his body had been. A caressing hand yet touched him, and he heard then the presence of the sea's call and the gull's cry. And with it, the wind whispered to his soul, enticing him with its wicked enthusiasm and carrying the voice to him. The sea kissed him, and he sighed. She was a lover who would never be satisfied, but he saw now that she might be placated if her beauty was admired and cherished. "Yes, I see," he whispered, and he knew she would not leave him, but neither would he want her to part. "I would take you as mine," he said and his soul was wed to her as he embraced the desire that wrapped tender arms about him. His panting breath slowed as his head fell into the nape of the other's neck. He dozed for a short while realizing in the lull that his journey had ended where it had started. He smelled the lightly perfumed fragrance of sweat, as he appreciated the light sheen glistening on the surface of his body, as if the sea was perfuming him.

He opened his eyes, sighing for the joy of this release.

The Elven lord met his eyes and smiled, gently brushing a stray hair away from his face. Legolas smiled in answer, understanding the imparting message left to him in the study of this experience. Soon enough would he be parting these shores for his final journey. But it was not yet time. His desires in this world were too great still, and his tasks had yet to be done. There was still time left. Still time yet to explore, to discover, and he was free to move about like the wind.