A/N: Written for Marigold’s challenge 14 from this starter: write a story that takes place at least in part on or in a body of water.

Thank you to Slightly Tookish for the beta. :)

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"Not safe for ever. There are many things in the deep waters; and seas and lands may change." – Gandalf, "The Council of Elrond", FOTR

Icebay of Forochel – 1292 S.R

Isengar heard the sound of the sea before he first lay eyes on it. It crept subtly into the range of his hearing like the whispering of the chill wind in the pine trees, a haunting sound with its ceaseless rhythm, utterly calm and yet strangely compelling. As excitement flared inside him, he spurred his pony onwards, hoping to have his curiosity satisfied before darkness fell, for in northern lands the days were short and the sun was already low in the western sky.

The terrain was difficult and rugged, and it was some time before they reached the brow of a barren hilltop, the sound of water louder now. There, as they rode over the crest, Isengar stopped, with a low cry of wonder, and shielded his eyes from the sun to better see the dazzling sight he was met with. The ocean, all around him, stretching into the distance until it touched the sky… a sight unlike anything he had ever imagined in all his dreams of finding it, for in the far distance the water seemed almost to stand still, and yet below him, in a rocky inlet at the base of the hill, it rose and fell as though driven by a restless might, one wave after another crashing upon the shore.

Isengar was full of awe and a little frightened by what he had found, but he gazed at the sea for a long time, committing the sight to memory as though fearing it might vanish if he turned away even for a moment. The setting sun made its slow and steady decline into the sea, red and gold glinting across the rippled surface, and Isengar watched in silence, his mouth falling open in delight and astonishment as the ocean changed colour a thousand times before his eyes.

After a time, Bell whinnied nervously, and Isengar tore his eyes away from the sea to look around them. He noticed the lengthening shadows of the sparse trees, realising that he would need to find shelter before the sun set, and dug his heels into the pony’s sides. Down they rode towards the shoreline, Bell’s hooves slipping at times on the stones, and Isengar gazed about him, fascinated by everything he saw – the dark waters swirling and crashing against the rocks, ice lingering wherever the sea spray fell, the clattering of stones being dragged inexorably into the sea as the tide receded, and gulls crying as they circled in the sky, searching for food.

There were cliffs in the distance, jutting out into the water, and Isengar rode along the shore towards them, hoping to find some shelter from the wind there, for it was bitterly cold now the sun had set, taking with it what little warmth it had offered them in daylight. Isengar huddled in his furs and glanced up solemnly at an eagle flying overhead, feeling suddenly rather small and lonely, caught between a vast, desolate wilderness and neverending waters. He had always dreamed of venturing to other lands, but it was rather overwhelming now to think that he and Bell might be the only beings to have set foot here in an age. He spurred his pony on a little faster, hoping that his luck would hold and he might find some dry wood to start a fire – or he might never make it home to tell of the wonders of the sea.

At the base of the cliffs at last, Isengar saw in the gloom the darker shape of a small cave and dismounted, eager to explore it. It was dry, and large enough to settle in for the night, and he set himself down inside gladly, opening his pack and removing his pipe and a little weed, his water-bottle and his precious tinderbox, safely wrapped in its waterproof covering. Tempted though he was to light his pipe and smoke for a while before looking for firewood, he knew that it would be far pleasanter to light his pipe beside a crackling fire, with the flames to warm his toes and keep poor old Bell comfortable too.

He got up, his aching limbs protesting, and left the cave. Bell was nosing about in tufts of grass springing from cracks in the rocks and seemed contented enough for now, so Isengar decided at least to venture to the water’s edge and perhaps dip his toes in the water before he went about any more serious matters.

He thought twice about it as he saw mist in the darkness floating on the water and felt the icy chill in the air, but to his surprise as he neared the water’s edge, he found that the shore around him was littered with driftwood. It was so splintered and sun-bleached that Isengar, picking up a few smaller pieces, took several moments to realise what it was, and then dropped his load with a cry of dismay, recognising bones amongst the debris. He shivered, suddenly hating the place, and turned away from these last remnants of a long-forgotten shipwreck, knowing all the same that he would need them to stay alive.

He stooped to gather some of the wood nearest him, muttering his thanks and condolences to any restless souls that might still wander in the mist, and returned quickly to his cave. Before long, with a merry fire blazing at the entrance, it began to feel a little more homely, and he hung up his clothes beside the fire and watched them dance in the wind as he smoked contemplatively for a while, his back resting against the cliff.

After a little bread and cured meat he felt much more like himself, and arranged his furs in the hole --his smial, he thought whimsically – deciding that tonight would be one of the more comfortable he had enjoyed for a long while. A smile tugged at his lips for the first time in hours, and he chuckled at himself for his superstitious fright in thinking the sea might be haunted.

As he sang softly to himself, it came to his attention rather gradually as a dull flickering in the corner of his eye, that something in the shallow waters was reflecting the firelight. He swallowed, uncomfortably reminded of all that had found its watery grave here, and drew his legs up beside him, telling himself firmly that there was no need to investigate until the morning.

Moments later, he sighed and stood up, for curiosity had a way of overcoming fear in his family, and he cursed his great-great uncle Bandobras under his breath as he peered into the dark. The gleam of the stars picked out a path where the firelight could not reach, and he found his way unsteadily across rocks slick with ice to where the glimmering object lay.

Isengar noticed with surprise that the sea had receded somewhat since he had last ventured to the water's edge, as he found the object lying half-immersed in the inky waters where it had earlier been hidden from view. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before – round as a ball, and smooth, he realised with a sharp intake of breath: utterly smooth, like glass. He waded into the water determinedly, grimacing at the cold, and stooped to lift it. It reflected starlight too, tiny points of light seeming to shine from deep within, beneath the faint golden flames flickering across its surface, and heavier than all the gold in Great Smials, it must be, for the ball refused to be moved.

Isengar struggled with it nonetheless, his numb fingers finding no purchase on the smooth glass. A sudden, groundless fear gripped him that the ball might be swept away if the waters rose again, and he scrabbled at the sand with both hands, trying to dislodge it. With a sudden sucking sound, the ball came up in a surge of water, and Isengar fell back with a gasp, letting the ball go for fear that he would be trapped beneath it.

Picking himself up out of the water and shivering with cold, he tried again grimly, but now the ball was no longer embedded in the sand, Isengar found it much lighter when he lifted it. He held it carefully as he made his way back to the cave, struggling to tear his eyes away from his strange find. So long had it lain there, until becoming almost part of the seabed itself; and yet it was flawless, utterly unmarked by time or tides. This alone gave Isengar cause to wonder at it, and as he sat once more by the fire to warm himself and dry his clothes, he raised his knees, keeping the ball between them, and gazed into it, certain that what he had found was of Dwarvish or Mannish origin, a relic of Ages past. As he stared at it, entranced by the flames dancing across the black glass, he willed it silently to reveal its purpose.

*TBC*