Title: Suffer The Call
Characters: Legolas and Éowyn (NO slash)
Timeline: Post-RotK
Summary: The white gulls called, and one day Legolas would be forced to answer. One-shot.
A/N: I've literally this on my computer for about 6 months at least- funny thing is that once I found it again, all I had to do was add the last two sentences and check it over for typos. Meh, Guess I just forgot about it completely! Read on and review…

Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all in it belong to Tolkein.

The rain fell with no remorse, the small patters incessant as the droplets crashed onto the earth, and pooled among the wisps of grass. It was a thing of beauty, even as the dull sky darkened from its pearl blue to a flat, anthracite grey; a grim sky to match a grim day.

A lone figure sloshed beneath the trees, scurrying hurriedly and all the while holding up the rim of a dress with one hand, protecting its pretty colours from the sodden ground. If any had been looking on, the figure would have appeared as a ghost; a restless, once-bride searching for her lost love, but though the ghost searched, the reality was only marginally different.

Éowyn, Lady of Ithilien, paused, resting her hand on one thick trunk as her grey eyes scanned the platforms built atop the branches. There were a great deal of them, spread among the trees, some even jutting from the treetops into the open rain, and she found it almost hopeless to find the one she sought.

She herself had somehow managed to stay dry, a trick she'd learned from her many stays in the Elf-colony of Ithilien, but she had a notion that she would not be remaining so for long. With a sigh she pushed herself off from the trunk, and continued her pursuit. Where is that elf? She thought desperately, expertly avoiding a developing puddle. Legolas had not seemed well that day. In fact, he had seemed very far from it, having barely spoken a word. Even when he had, it was often monosyllabic, and barely more than a murmur- perhaps even less.

She slowed, weaving in and out of the trees as huts became visible among the trees, each safely tucked under the canopy of trees. It never ceased to amaze her, the way such accommodations could sit so high, looking every bit as safe in the trees as they could on the ground. Legolas had only laughed when both her and her husband gasped in awe, craning their necks to drink in the sight. The memory was one of her best, when times for the Lord of the elves were happier, and he was not plagued so.

He'd been only the elf he'd been since she'd met him, back in Rohan; a glint in his eye; mirth in his voice; joy in his laugh, and a smile shaping his lips. Slowly, Legolas Thranduillion became withdrawn and his eyes dulled; what joy he had was gone, and his forced smiles fooled none. He attributed only hidden pain to his friends and kin, and finally Éowyn had concluded to confront the elf: if she could find him.

She stood for a moment, speculating each hut silently as she searched for any sparks of recognition in her mind. No two huts were the same, but even so, the rain tainted her sight and sound of mind, and it wasn't for another few minutes that she was finally able to distinguish his from the others. It sat higher than the others, albeit barely, with intricate carvings carefully set into its door.

A lone platform stretched out from the other side of the trunk, accessible only through the hut, and Éowyn knew it served a place for the archer to sit and think. She'd sat there herself countless times, listening to elven songs as the beautiful race went about their business, at ease in her presence. Hitching her dress higher, she ascended the stairs, congratulating herself for the fact she remained at least respectably dry. Even so, she saw that she left wet footprints on each step, but dismissed it as she reached the hut.

She paused for a moment, hesitating as she reached a hand out to knock. She stood for a moment, with her hand posed to knock in a ridiculous position as her eyes lingeringly traced the door's carvings. Don't be so ridiculous, she chided herself, shaking her head as her knuckles connected with the door thrice. She waited silently for the elf to answer, but instead of opening to reveal the slender, blond figure, the door remained shut. She rapped on the door again, staring curiously at the door as her patience began to wear. Still, the door remained closed, and the only sound was the rain's soft pattering.

"Legolas?" She called through the door. "Legolas, it is Éowyn." No reply, not even a sound; only the rain. Patter, patter, and patter. It was beginning to irritate her.

The elf's lack of response worried the Lady of Ithilien. There were times when the elf would open the door, grinning a greeting long before she'd even raised a hand to knock. She frowned deeply, before leaning forward and pressing her ear to the door. She listened silently for a few moments, but heard nothing. A blush crept onto her face as she realised Legolas may be elsewhere, and she felt fantastically ridiculous. With a soft sigh she made to pull away from the door, but a sound stopped her.

She blinked, disbelief clouding her mind as she once again pressed her ear to the door. No, it was not her imagination. The soft sound of weeping drifted through even the thick wood to reach her ears. She gasped, desperately turning the handle, but when that failed, she lost all sense of sensibility and threw he full force against the door- not once, not twice, but three times. To her surprise, her weight forced the elven door open, and she stumbled inside. She looked hastily around, but found that hers was the only presence in the hut.

The fireplace held no fire, papers and books were scattered about, and the bed in the corner was a mess of sheets, blankets, and the single pillow. She hesitantly reached out to touch the bed, pulling her hand back almost immediately. The bed was cold, it didn't seem as though anyone had slept in it for a while. Surely Legolas had slept at least a little?

But the pale image of the elf earlier that day left her contradicting her thoughts, and the weeping caught her attention again. The platform. She whirled and ran outside, ascending a few steps to the platform, fully exposed to the rain and sky.

She could feel the rain already beginning to seep through her hair, but her thoughts and eyes came to focus on the bundle of shivers huddled on the platform. The form sat with its legs drawn up its chest, hugging them tightly as the face was hidden into its knees, and the lithe, slender form shook with shivers and sobs; wearing only crumpled leggings and light boots. The flaxen hair was all that Éowyn needed to confirm the trembling figure. Legolas. She rushed towards him, slipping slightly on the wet surface as she knelt down in front of him.

"Legolas?" She called softly, trying to coax him from his burrow. Slowly, the elf raised his head, his agonized eyes meeting hers as the tears continued to slip down his cheeks, and his fair face twisted in anguish and misery.

"It never ends." He whimpered, his voice brimming with torment as she held his face in her hands.

Her heart twisted at his words. Of course, how could she have ever forgotten? The sea longing had finally broken the elf, tearing him in two. She could never understand the pain of one inflicted with the sea longing, but she would certainly do her best to comfort Legolas. She gently pulled him close to her, wrapping her arms around his body as he rested the side of his face against her chest and wept openly. She could feel each tremor rack his body, as the shivers rippled through him and against her. She pulled him even closer, holding him to her in a firm embrace, trying with all her might to give what comfort she could.

But Éowyn knew the gulls called, and one day Legolas would be forced to answer.