Passersby ➵ ONC 2021

➵ northland

The sea becomes the boat.

A fire lights itself in Legolas' excited gaze, as it would be put out by water if it were anywhere else. The wind whips against him, his long white hair thrust back behind him, the tendrils of his own braids coming undone. As the rain pelts itself against all their faces, the catlike eyes belonging to lady Ulvinowyn squint shut for a second longer every time they blink. Her paws, wet with the rain, continually slip off the steering wheel, and with every great tip over every great wave, Gimli clutches harder to the ridges of the floor, fearing the concept of being thrown off of it; fearing, presumably, the whispers of dying.

"How much longer, do you think?" asks the cat, and the elf does not provide an answer.

"Just keep sailing directly against the waves," he reminds her, completely exhilarated as he befriends the terrible weather. "Then it'll be far more difficult to tip."

The cat's paws slip one more time, and it curses at the slick surface before becoming a woman again. She grips the wheel with her hands in tight, strained fists, her dark skin turning the slightest shade lighter as it's stretched so roughly over her knuckles.

"How are you faring, Gimli?" Legolas says to the waves. Gimli does not answer. He glares at the two at the front of the boat, his own body strewn desperately across the floor. There's thunder, and it's the loudest it has possibly ever been.

"Oh, don't be so serious. Never once did you fear war, and yet you find yourself petrified by some waves?" The elf gives a laugh, beckoning him over with a motion of his arm.

"It is not so terrible as it seems," Ulvinowyn remarks, staring straight ahead although she can see close to nothing. "Unlike opponents in war, the water does not intend to harm us. Our fate is in the wheel. Come taunt it, Gimli. Come laugh at the storm with us."

Her words take greater effect, and the dwarf finds himself deciding to be brave on only the woman's behalf. Stepping up to the front, he finds solace in the thin elvish fingers that grip supportively around his arm, holding him up against the wind lest he should waver.

"Legolas, what do your elf-eyes see?" inquires Ulvinowyn, and Legolas is reminded of Aragorn as the verbatim phrase passes through him. He pretends it does not affect him one bit, but he thinks back to Ulvinowyn's tale of water spirits and wonders if the man himself is here in these thrashing waves. He almost hopes that the sea itself is so angry because it is trying to throw a shell on board and has no other way of getting it there. If a shell were to land in the ship, perhaps the storm would cease.

"I see a large rock to the South," he relays in attempt to sound unaffected, but Gimli sees the quick flash of remembrance in his eyes. "Clear ahead. We must be in somewhat shallow waters, as I may be eyeing land in the North. Look to your right."

"'They're taking the hobbits to Isengard,'" Gimli references, his voice low, understanding, his teeth still clenched against his own fear of the storm. He knows the echo of the face Legolas has just seen. "I remember, too."

"Look to your right," Legolas says again, rougher this time, and it's so close to a whisper that it's a miracle it can be heard over the thunder and waves surrounding them. His eyes are guarded as they meet Gimli's, and they shift away. They will not be sidetracked by grief. Not when there's a storm to tame.

Gimli follows the order, turning his body North to find what looks like the close shore of a long strip of earth, the land farther in lined with hills and many, many mountains. He points in its direction as if neither of the others have seen it just as well.

"Land," he says, and the other two nod and dismiss it, turning back toward the view of the West.

"Yes," Ulvinowyn replies. "You act as if it's the first time you've seen it."

"It's not that, my lady. We must stop!" Gimli urges, motioning extremely in its direction. "We will be safe on land! Turn right!"

"No, Gimli," Legolas replies, already beginning to regret pulling him up front. "If we turn parallel to the waves, we are risking being capsized. Is that not what you've been fearing this entire time?"

"You said the water was shallow, did you not?" Gimli demands, and the elf does not have the time nor energy to explain what shallow means in terms of the ocean, or additionally that waves as high as these do not simply occur where your toes can touch.

"I would not bet the ship on it!" he replies, but his friend has already brushed Ulvinowyn to the side and taken hold of the wheel, turning it and the boat sharply to the right.

"Gimli!" shouts Legolas, but he is not listened to. The boat begins to rock feverishly back and forth. Ulvinowyn cannot get his impulsive little hands away. And so the dwarf leads them all to a fate that he has shied away from all along. How paradoxical that, by heading for land to escape the storm, he simultaneously gives himself to it.

With a few last attempts and one final crashing wave, the ship has been turned beneath the water. It bobs and dips, eaten by each and every crashing current, and it does not come up again.

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