~The King of the Sea has an important message and Aerneth decides to forward it .~

oOo

Ulmo, by Kimberly80

Messenger of Círdan

The Mouths of Sirion, First Age 489

She was just locking up the corn storage, after filling her sack for today's work in the bakery, when Aerneth felt Thranduil's thoughts in her head. As usual her heart beat faster in anticipation. She both loved and hated his calls; she loved to see his face but hated the horrible, empty feeling she would get afterwards. And in addition she was always nervous there would be bad news. That he was hurt or in danger.

She brought her sack with her to the river and squatted beside it, waving aside a few fallen leaves from its calm surface. It ran wide and slow down here, and the water was brackish.

When she had established the connection, Thranduil's face formed. He was in his room; she recognised the ceiling with the many glittering crystals he had once put there to resemble stars. When the picture had cleared, Aerneth saw that Thranduil wore his cool, neutral expression that made him look like a statue of smooth glass. Bad news, then.

She suppressed the mixed feelings of worry and annoyance and took on a cool face herself. "Good morning, husband."

"Wife." He nodded curtly.

"To what do I owe the honor?" He normally only called her a few times a year, usually at the holidays – and it was less than a month since the Autumn Hunt feast.

"I wanted to inform you I have moved back to Menegroth with the remaining march-wardens, and after the demise of Beleg Cúthalion I am now made full captain." His face got even stiffer.

Something disastrous must have happened. Last time Thranduil called he had lived in Amon Rûdh and claimed to be successfully defending the Guarded Plain.

"How did he die?" Aerneth had never liked Beleg, but hearing about the demise of an elf was always sad.

"It is a long story."

Aerneth sat down. "I am in no hurry." She was; a whale hunting team was setting out tomorrow and she had promised them lembas, but she instinctively knew he wanted to tell her, and probably needed it too.

Sighing, Thranduil told of the dwarf's betrayal and the orc attack, and how he and Beleg had gone after Túrin when he was captured. "When we finally found him he had been tortured for many days and was confused. Beleg cut him loose, but somehow the sword... somehow it nicked him, and Túrin thought he was attacked by an orc and wrestled Beleg down and... Killed him." His voice wavered ever so slightly. "Queen Melian always said Anglachel was an evil sword. I wish Beleg had taken another."

"What did Túrin do?"

"He... Was shocked at first. For many hours. And then, after he came round, we buried Beleg there. In... In the wastelands. A horrible place for a grave, really." Thranduil seemed to fight hard to uphold his neutral face now. "Afterwards, Túrin took the evil black sword and went with Gwindor, perhaps to Nargothrond, I do not know. He told me not to follow. So I returned home to tell Mablung about... his friend's death. Excuse me." Thranduil disappeared from view. When he returned, his face was smooth again. "At least I have learned my lesson now," he continued. "I will never again follow someone against my better judgement. Túrin was young and foolish, as one might expect from a human, but Beleg knew better. Had he insisted on bringing Túrin back to Doriath, forcing him if needed, none of this would have happened. As Beleg's successor, I will keep our realm safe without taking unnecessary risks. From now on, the march-wardens shall stay inside Melian's Girdle as our king always prefered."

His forced calmness and smooth mask was starting to grate on Aerneth's nerves. Would it hurt him to show his feelings at least once?

"So you will hide there, while Morgoth roams Beleriand freely. I see."

"Say what?" His eyebrows drew together threateningly.

"There is a world outside your precious realm. But I guess if you follow a cowardly king, you would not care."

Red spots of anger appeared on his pale cheeks. Finally he was reacting; the unnatural, hateful mask was gone. Aerneth prefered his fury over that feigned indifference.

"You know what is cowardly?" His voice was low and frosty as the Helcaraxë ice waste. "The dwarf selling his friends' lives to the enemy. Morgoth's orcs ambushing my people in their sleep, and torturing their bound captives for days on end. That was cowardice."

Aerneth did not reply, feeling slightly regretful for her choice of words. She knew Thranduil did not lack courage.

"Beleg and I brought over fifty march-wardens with us to Amon Rûdh. Do you know how many survived?"

She shook her head.

"Twelve. Twelve! Think of their families, their spouses, their sons and daughters – think of all that loss! Just because Beleg and I relocated them to a hard to defend area. It was our fault. My fault. And you speak of cowardice!" He had raised his voice now, and his eyes were flashing. "All those years we fought there, what good did they do? Morgoth still has his armies; his orcs, his balrogs and his dragons. It was for naught! A total waste of lives." He took a deep breath, and another. "If risking others' lives is bravery, then I am rather a coward." He pushed the bowl over and was gone.

Aerneth stared sadly at the empty water. How come Thranduil always brought out the worst in her? And she in him. He would probably not call her again for some time now, and perhaps that was for the better. It would give them time to calm down, and start missing each other, and the next time they would take pains to behave.

At least his decision to stay put in Menegroth meant he was safe for now.

oOo

The Mouths of Sirion, First Age 495

An early spring morning a few years later, was the next time Aerneth had reason to worry about her husband. They were having their annual small boat race, and the Bay of Balar was full of small vessels with brightly coloured sails. The whole town was out there, cheerful and expectant.    

Aerneth had just put the floating goal in its position when suddenly the surface started to bubble and seethe under her dinghy, and a vast being appeared beneath, rising from the deep to a great height. Riding a giant, gnarled blue whale, he was clad entirely in a mail of fishlike scales, with a helmet of foam on his head and a trident in one hand, and on his chin grew a beard of seagrass-like tendrils. He was The King of the Sea, Ulmo himself.

Two smaller shapes flanked the Vala; his Maiar Ossë and Uinen. The former straddled a black-and-white killer whale, and the latter rode in a sled pulled by dolphins. Large waves followed in Ossë's wake, but behind him Uinen calmed the sea with her breath, and the result was a rippling surf making the many boats in the Bay stir restlessly.

On his swan ship, Aerneth's father greeted Ulmo with a hand over his heart. "My Lord... I am honoured."

"Shipwright." The Vala's voice was a deep roar, and a spray of water cascaded from his enormous hand when he placed it on his scaly chest, returning the greeting. "I bear grave tidings."

He explained that he and his Maiar had had visions of the future. Uinen had seen the river Sirion once more tainted by foul creatures pouring down from Angband, turning the ground black and charred in their wake. Ulmo had seen the destruction of the last remaining elvish realms; first Nargothrond, then Doriath, then lastly, Gondolin. Ossë had seen the entire Beleriand gone under and replaced by a wide ocean.

"There is a new lord in Nargothrond, and he is too bold," said Uinen in her motherly voice. "He has counselled the weak king to fight the enemy, sending warriors north, and spanning the river Narog with a bridge to ease their passage. But Morgoth will retaliate, and his dragon will walk over the bridge into the city, and it shall burn."

"And in Gondolin an evil seed grows in their midst, one who shall betray them all to ruin," boomed Ulmo. "Thou shalt warn them, Shipwright. They must leave ere it is too late, and come to thee. From this shore a new star shall arise and save the children of Ilúvatar."

"I will, My Lord." Círdan bowed, his face pale. "I shall send messengers to warn Turgon, Orodreth and Thingol, and I shall invite them here. However... There is one thing I would ask you, My Lord. Some years back I built seven ships, which sailed west to find a way into Aman, where they would beg your brethren for aid against the Dark Lord. My wife was upon one of those ships. Pray, tell me... did they get there?"

The Vala's large, ocean green eyes grew distant a moment, and then he turned them back to Círdan. "Nay, Shipwright. They all perished. All save one, a Gondolindrim, whom I brought to the shore far north of here."

Círdan hung his head. "Thank you, My Lord. I feared this might be the case."

Aerneth's breath hitched and she sat heavily down in her little boat. Then it was as she too had feared. Her mother was dead, drowned, just like her mother-in-law. Ossë's waves had taken them, though she could not hate him for it, it was his nature after all.

Tears started to trickle down her cheeks. Nana was gone. Now she knew that for sure. It was a relief in a way; it had been awful not knowing, keeping up a tiny spark of hope all these years.

Still weeping, Aerneth pondered over the rest of Ulmo's tidings. Doriath would be destroyed. Would she lose her husband as well now? They had seen it in Galadriel's mirror many years back, seen the ruin of both Nargothrond and Doriath. When only the Falas fell, Aerneth had somehow started to believe the other visions would not come to pass.

How could she warn Thranduil? Since their fight a few years back, he had not called her. But she had to make him leave Doriath, she had to make him understand.

She must go there. Return to Menegroth and not leave without him.

With a pang of pain she remembered the last time she and Thranduil met in person, when she had said those horrible, dreadful things to him. Accusing him of driving his mother to her death.

We are bad for each other, he had said. But after such a long time, maybe they had learned? Maybe it would be different now? There was no helping it. She had to try. She could not lose him too.

When the Vala and his Maiar had left, Círdan cancelled the sailing race and instantly began preparations for sending the messengers. Two Noldor elves volunteered to make the journey, Gelmir, and Arminas. Aerneth knew them well, and the latter had even tried to woo her some four decades ago when they were still living in Eglarest. He and his friend were from Dorthonion originally, survivors of the Battle of Sudden Flames, and had been staying with Círdan's people ever since. Now they longed to return into the world and perhaps find surviving kin in Gondolin.

Círdan decided the best route would be to ship the messengers up the coast, via the firth of Drengist into Hithlum, and put them ashore so they could continue on foot across the mountains to where Gondolin was thought to be. And after they had warned Turgon, they would turn south to Nargothrond and Doriath.

"I am going with them," Aerneth told her father.

"Why? I have many apt sailors who can take them into Hithlum." His eyes narrowed. "You mean to follow them ashore?"

"I do."

He nodded slowly. "Your husband. You want to warn him."

"I have to go, Ada. If he reaches out to me through the water before I leave the ship, I might stay onboard and follow it back, but if not... I need to go to Doriath."

"I understand." His face looked grim, but he did not object. Perhaps he knew she would not listen anyway. "Be careful." In his eyes she saw the deep sadness and pain he felt after the loss of his wife, and his worry he might lose his daughter too.

She nodded, too full of emotions to speak.

oOo

The journey to Hithlum took several weeks, and being confined aboard a ship with an ellon who apparently still had feelings for her proved extremely awkward. How could he have committed his heart with so little encouragement? He ought to at least have been cured after Aerneth got married, but apparently this was not the case. She felt a pang of guilt every time she noticed his longing gaze on her.

To avoid him, Aerneth stayed in her cabin as much as possible, staring out the porthole and brooding over the dark future predicted. Beleriand gone, replaced by the ocean! No more elvish realms, and Morgoth taking over. Could things really get that bleak? Now she wished she had appealed to Ulmo to call the other Valar here. She was beginning to believe only they could defeat the Dark Lord.

She thought a lot about Thranduil too. She pictured the look on his face when he saw her again, and planned out in detail what she would say to persuade him. The problem with planning conversations ahead, however, was that they never went accordingly, and she was terrified it would end in disaster just like last time. What if things went even further? She had lost control over her water powers, and it had frightened her to the extent that she had not dared use them since – apart from the communication part, of course.

Other times, she imagined the opposite. That it would go well. She pictured Thranduil's gaze turning soft as he pulled her into his arms, mumbling against her neck how much he loved her. That he forgave her for cheating on him and for her cruel words. It was a bittersweet daydream which always left her with damp eyes and a lump in her throat. She knew it would not happen.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

Another little derivation from the Silmarillion: Ulmo only told Círdan to warn Orodreth in Nargothrond – so in canon, the messengers went to search for Gondolin on their own accord. Doriath was not mentioned at all. However, I find it more logical to warn all three realms, and it fits my story better. :)

Image Credits:

Ulmo by Kimberly80 on DeviantArt, source: https://www.deviantart.com/kimberly80