All the Tides of the World

"Other evils there are that may come....Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule." — Gandalf [The Return of the King, Book V, Chapter 9, "The Last Debate"]

**** 

Minas Anor: 15 Nénui 120 F.A.

He woke up as he had for the last two nights, sweaty and breathless; feeling slightly confused as to where he was. Then he felt Arwen draw him into her arms, murmuring softly.

"I wish you would tell me what it is that troubles your dreams beloved," she said as she cradled his head against her breasts.

Aragorn sighed as the tremors caused by the nightmare faded from his memory and he relaxed in his wife’s embrace.

"I do not think I am supposed to, meleth nîn. As much as I wish to share them with you, something tells me I mustn’t."

"And does that something tell you why you are having these dreams?"

He raised himself on his elbow and looked down on his queen, whose skin seemed translucent in the soft moonlight streaming through the western window. He brushed an errant strand of hair from her face, marveling at how dark her tresses still were, while his own hair and beard were now snow-white. "I do not know why I am having these dreams, nor what I should do about them, if anything."

"Is there no one with whom you can confide, my love?"

Aragorn started to shrug, then stopped. The faintest whisper of an idea had skittered across his mind, but it seemed too preposterous even to contemplate. And yet...

"There might be someone," he said slowly, still feeling his way to a solution. The dream was coming to him for a reason; it was for him to decide what was required of him, however absurd it might seem.

"Then go to that person, melda, and unburden yourself," Arwen responded, speaking barely above a whisper, "for I would not have your nights disturbed any more."

He bent down and planted a soft kiss on her lips, then laughed lightly, suddenly amused. "Easier said than done, but I think I see a way." He pulled the coverlet off him and rose, slipping his feet into soft slippers and throwing a robe around his shoulders.

Arwen raised herself up. "Where do you go, Estel?"

He turned with a smile. "To write a letter. Your brothers arrive in two days, do they not?"

Arwen looked at her husband with some suspicion. "You know that they do. Why?"

Aragorn shrugged. "I think they may be of some help in this. Go back to sleep, love. I will join you in a little while."

So saying, he left the bedroom, entering the adjoining parlor, closing the door softly behind him. He stopped at the fireplace and stoked the banked coals to provide light and warmth, for it was only the middle of Nénui and Ethuil was still another month and a half away. He took a taper and went to the writing desk beside the window overlooking the King’s Garden and lit a candle before sitting down.

He pulled out a sheet of fine vellum from the drawer and sharpened his favorite quill pen, but did not immediately begin to write. Instead he simply gazed out the window to the garden and the city below. It was past midnight, though it was not yet time for the changing of the watch. Minas Anor lay below him in moonlit splendor, its inhabitants asleep, save where a mother nursed her babe or an old man sat waiting restlessly for the dawn.

He loved this city and its people and it grieved him somewhat that his time was nearly at an end. He did not think he would live to see the New Year and had already made arrangements, though Arwen knew nothing about them.

All his affairs were in order and had been for the last year as the first hints that soon he would be Called Home had come to him. But these dreams or visions.... He did not know what they might portend, for they seemed to have nothing to do with him or his family. And yet....

He sighed, dipped the quill into the ink and began to write....

****

7,580 years later....

The Elder King of Arda stood on the balcony off from the throne room watching the sunrise. It was a sight that never lost its appeal even after all these long ages. He marveled at the colors streaking the still star-studded sky, delicate shades of mauve and rose beginning to warm into the more vibrant colors of fiery red and orange-yellow as Anar rose out of the sea. He bowed his head in brief greeting to Arien, who curtsied to her lord before turning back to the governance of the Sun. Now the blackness of night faded into indigo and then a brilliant blue and the songs of many birds filled the air in greeting.

Day in Aman had begun.

Manwë sighed, then breathed in the redolent air. He knew that many of the Eldar and even some of his own people still mourned the darkening of the Two Trees, but he no longer did, for out of that darkening something more wondrous had come. Many looked upon Anar and Isil as lesser lights, fit only to please the younger children of Arda and they looked forward to the time when the Two Trees would bloom again. Manwë was not so certain. In his long governance of Arda — with the failures and the successes — he had learned one simple lesson: Ilúvatar never repeated himself. The Creator seemed to delight in bringing out of the ashes of disaster something wondrous and fair that had never existed before.

The time of the Two Trees was over. They had served their purpose. They would not come again. When Anar and Isil ceased to exist, as they some day must, Manwë had no doubt that Ilúvatar would inspire the Valar to bring forth a new wonder as yet unimagined.

The Elder King loved this time of day the best for the beauty and the peace it offered him. The beauty would remain. Peace, on the other hand, would soon flee....

He felt his brother Námo enter the throne room. The Lord of Mandos seemed to many cold and unyielding, grim beyond measure and even heartless, but Manwë knew better. He knew the tenderness and compassion that Námo allowed few others to see. No one, not even his beloved Varda, had been there the day the Doomsman of Arda had wept in Manwë’s arms for the Ringbearer and his companion as they struggled for life, coming ever closer to the Gates of Death after the Ring had been destroyed and being helpless to prevent it. None other had heard his sigh of relief when the mortal king with the Light of Stars in his eyes and healing in his hands had called the periandi back from Death to embrace Life again, to be given the chance to receive the blessings of Eru and the Valar ere they left the circles of Arda forever. Námo took his duties as the Guardian of the Dead seriously, but few knew the pain such duty engendered, and Manwë honored his brother all the more for his unstinting willingness to bear such pain for the sake of the One whom they both loved and served in joy.

"So, what news of the outer world does this day bring, my brother?" Námo said as he joined Manwë on the balcony. "How goes our little project?"

Manwë turned with a smile in greeting. "The outer world does well enough and our project continues apace."

"How long do you think it will take to come to fruition?"

"As long as necessary. Such things cannot be rushed, as well you know. I am thinking of sending Olórin back to keep an eye on things for us, with your permission of course."

Námo sighed, a frown creasing his forehead. "I was reluctant to release him into your service the first time, for he is very good at what he does, easing the transition of the Reborn into the life of Aman. Yet, I cannot deny that he succeeded far beyond even my expectations in accomplishing the mission entrusted to him as one of the istari. If he is willing, I will release him to your service."

"Good, good." Manwë clapped Námo on the shoulder. "Come, the others will soon be here." He turned back into the room and Námo followed.

"Do you think Ulmo will actually show up? He rarely comes to any of these meetings. Says it’s a waste of time."

"I know, but I was given assurances that he would come this time, though I suspect that he will come purposely late." Manwë smiled ruefully and Námo laughed.

"Fashionably late and dripping sea-water on the floor," he said in agreement.

"He better not," and the two Valar turned to see Varda entering the throne room, the light of amusement in her eyes reflected in the wreath of living stars above her head. "He better not," she repeated, "or he will be dripping with more than just sea-water when I finish with him."

The two Valar laughed. Manwë reflected how much he adored his spouse and took delight in her ways, but he could never fathom her obsessive need for clean floors. He had long decided he wouldn’t try.

"The others are on their way," Varda said, giving both Valar a kiss in greeting. "Oromë is not pleased to be summoned from his beloved forests, but he will be here."

Manwë smiled ruefully. Ulmo was not the only one of them who was difficult to pin down. Námo seemed to be the only one of the Aratar who was ever amiable towards having these meetings, but perhaps that was because he had a greater stake in their project than the others, at least for now.

"We will wait for them to arrive...all of them," he said and led them to the thrones which graced the room. In truth, none of them needed to be there physically, but Manwë had long insisted that they all keep in the habit of being clothed in physical forms. It made it easier for them to remember how to interact with the Eldar in their midst. Ingwë had long ceased to care if they were clothed or not, but the vast majority of the Eldar were not so sanguine and were in fact quite uncomfortable speaking to ‘thin air’ as Arafinwë had once put it.

In the space of a thought, the others began to arrive — Aulë and Yavanna, first, followed by Nienna and then Oromë — giving their greetings to Manwë and Varda. Finally, Ulmo made his appearance, but to Manwë’s disappointment and Varda’s relief, he was not dripping sea water. Námo turned to Manwë with a smile and a wink and the Elder King laughed softly.

"Let us begin then," Manwë said once all were seated. "There is only one item on the agenda today—"

"Two items, actually," Námo interrupted, his tone grave, and even Manwë looked upon the Doomsman with some surprise.

"And you were going to tell me about this when?"

The Lord of Mandos smiled thinly. "Just now, my brother, for I was waiting for the appropriate time to mention it."

"Is this something that we should discuss now or can it wait?" Ulmo asked impatiently. "I for one do not wish to be here any longer than necessary."

Námo sighed. "Perhaps it would be best if it is addressed now, for it may have a bearing on what follows."

"Then let us hear what you would say," Manwë said. It was rare enough that the Lord of Mandos ever surprised them and the Elder King was curious as to what news the Doomsman brought.

Námo nodded, but rather than addressing his fellow Valar he turned towards the doors of the throne room and raised his right hand, making a single gesture.

"Come," he commanded.

The doors to the throne room opened of their own accord and the other Valar were surprised to see two Eldar enter. Dark of hair and grey of eye they were, as alike as two peas. They were dressed nearly the same in iridescent robes of peacock blue and teal green. The one in peacock blue carried a small oak box, perhaps twelve inches long and half as wide. An eight-pointed star of inlaid wood of a lighter shade than the box graced the lid.

The two elves stopped some feet from the thrones and bowed deeply. Manwë nodded his greeting and smiled, gesturing for them to come closer. "Mae govannen, Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond and Celebrían. I take it that you are here at the request of our brother, Námo."

Elladan bowed again before answering. "Yes, my lord."

"Open the box, Elladan," Námo said quietly.

Elladan took a small mithril key from a chain around his neck and fitted it in the lock of the box held by his twin. Elrohir then lifted the lid and all leaned closer to see its contents. Inside, cushioned in black velvet, lay a vellum scroll, beribboned and covered with seals. One of the seals they could see was of a tree in bloom with seven stars around it and a crown above it. The other was a single A-certh in the mode of Daeron, with a single star imbedded in the middle of the glyph.

Námo stood up and gestured for Elrohir to come closer, which, the others noted with wry amusement, he did so with some reluctance. Námo smiled gently and took the scroll from the box. Elrohir closed the lid and stepped back, looking relieved. Elladan looked on his twin sympathetically and gave his arm a friendly squeeze.

"What have you there, Brother?" Ulmo asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

Námo stared at the scroll in his hands for a moment before answering. "The last letter written by King Elessar."

"Elessar?" Manwë exclaimed sharply. "He passed from the circles of Arda nearly seventy-six hundred years ago. How is it that it comes here in a box carried by the sons of Elrond?"

"And more importantly, why did you wait until now to show it to us?" asked Varda, her eyes narrowing.

The other Valar also looked perplexed. The two elves, Manwë noted with some sympathy, looked stricken, the memory of Aragorn’s and Arwen’s dying still fresh in their minds even after all these long millennia.

Námo’s expression darkened somewhat and all felt something cold and unforgiving sweep through their fëar. Elladan and Elrohir gasped as one, their eyes widening, the blood draining from their faces in shock. Nienna was suddenly beside them, crooning softly and stroking their hair, calming them. Námo looked at them sympathetically, but did not apologize. Instead, he turned to Manwë and spoke in soft tones laced with steel.

"When Elladan and Elrohir came at last to Tol Eressëa, they bore this box with them, long millennia after Elessar had entrusted them with it. They never showed the box to anyone, nor opened it themselves, for Elessar had instructed them to show it to none save one person only."

"You?" Yavanna asked with a raised eyebrow.

Námo shook his head, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "No, not to me. To Olórin."

Manwë’s eyes brightened with understanding. "Ah, I see." He turned his gaze upon the sons of Elrond, who were now looking less haggard. Nienna had returned to her seat. "Do you know what is written here?"

The two elves shook their heads. Elladan spoke, looking troubled. "Three days before our brother...died, Estel handed us this box and the key and told us that when the day came that we forsook Middle-earth we were to bring the box with us and give it to Mithrandir, or failing that, to our adar."

"And what did the one you know as Mithrandir do with the box?" Varda asked the twins.

But it was Námo who answered, smiling wryly. "Gave it to me. He seemed to guess at its import, though he did not open it. I deemed that the time was not right to reveal its contents and so I asked that the box remain in the keeping of Elrond’s sons until such time as I would call for it. And that time is now."

Elrohir spoke then, almost to himself, clutching the box to his chest as he stared at nothing in particular. "He seemed so sure we would take ship for the West when we ourselves knew nothing of the sort. We told him he should entrust the box to another, to Legolas, perhaps, or even Daeradar, but he was adamant that we be its guardians. At the end he seemed so much older than us, as if we were his little brothers instead."

There was genuine confusion in the elf’s voice and his brother’s expression mirrored that confusion as he wrapped an arm around Elrohir’s shoulders in comfort.

The Valar looked upon the two ellyn with grave sympathy, and Námo came to stand before them, which seemed to disconcert the twins somewhat. He smiled sadly down at them, then, cupping his hands around their heads, leaned down and kissed them gently on their foreheads. Both elves shivered at the Lord of Mandos’ touch, yet when Námo stepped back all could see that the doubt and confusion in their eyes had fled, replaced by a look of wonder. Still smiling, Námo spoke with quiet authority.

"At the end, your brother was going where you could never follow and that made him suddenly more in your eyes than he had been before. In that he has fulfilled a destiny you will never fully comprehend, one that only two of your kind has ever experienced. He knew his time was nearly over and perhaps in the time remaining he saw many things still hidden from others, including your decision to forsake Middle-earth in the end."

Silence reigned then in the throne room while the Valar allowed the twins to digest Námo’s words. Anar shone brightly through the eastern windows and birds swooped through the sky, singing gaily. Somewhere in the distance a song was being sung in praise of the Valar, which those in the throne room ignored. Finally Manwë looked up at the two elves.

"Though you did not know what lay in the box, or why your mortal brother wished for it to be brought to Aman, you yet kept faith with his wishes all these long millennia. Such devotion will not go unrewarded."

"He was our little brother, lord, our Estel," Elrohir stated with heartfelt simplicity. "We loved him. We could not have done other than we did."

Manwë nodded. "Nonetheless, it will not be forgotten. Bado nes sidh."

It was obvious to the Valar that the twins were loath to leave without learning the contents of the scroll, but they knew better than to argue. They bowed low and Elrohir handed the box over to Námo before following his brother out. The doors of the throne room closed silently behind them.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Aulë asked impatiently.

Námo smiled at his fellow Vala and preceded to break the seals, carefully unrolling the scroll. Had the box been opened anywhere but in the heart of the Undying Lands, it would have crumbled into dust, but here, on Mount Taniquetil, the ink looked as fresh as if the letter had been written only yesterday. He glanced quickly at its contents, his eyebrows rising in surprise, before a quiet cough from Manwë reminded him that others were waiting to hear what a mortal king, whose body had long turned to dust, had to say to the Powers of Arda. He began to read aloud:

Elessar Telcontar Envinyatar, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Lord of Gondor and Arnor, the King Returned, unto the Powers Who Reside in the Undying Lands Under Eru Ilúvatar, Greetings.

I do not know if this will ever reach you, or when, or even if what I write will have any meaning for you, but it is in my mind that I must write this letter and entrust it to my brothers, the sons of Elrond, that they may someday deliver it to you. I beg you to forgive me for my impertinence in addressing you in this manner.

For three nights my sleep has been plagued by the same dream. I do not know what it portends, and leave it to you to decipher its meaning, if there is one.

In my dream it is dark and cold and the only light is from the stars, high and dim above me, yet somehow I am able to see as if all were bathed in bright sunlight. I am standing on a wall of ice that extends for miles to either side of me. There are watchtowers spaced along the wall, each a different shape. The one nearest to me is square with seven turrets. Looking about I realize that the wall is the outer defense of a mighty fortress and I am afraid, for never have I seen such a place in my waking life and there is a sense of inimical evil all about me. To my mind the fortress seems impregnable, but even as I think this, a silver line of a crack appears running from the base of the tower, a crack that would not otherwise be noticed because of the darkness all about.

No sooner does this realization come to me than I find myself inside the fortress and see a Shining One walking away from me down a frozen hallway. I am reminded of my closest and dearest friend whom I called Mithrandir, but whose true name I know is Olórin, though I do not know for sure if this is he.

I start to call out to him, but something stays my voice and I know I must not interfere with what is to happen. The Shining One comes to a door at the end of the hallway. The door is made of a bluish crystal, so thick as to be impossible to see through it. There is a sigil etched on the door which I reproduce here to the best of my abilities. The Shining One brings out a key and unlocks the door, and begins to open it, but at that moment a Darkness invades the hallway, cold and evil, of a sort that I have felt only in the Morgul Vale. There is a flash of searing light as the Darkness attempts to engulf the Shining One.

At that moment I awake.

If my words have any meaning for you, my lords, I pray that they come to you in good time. Please give my heartfelt greetings to my adar and to the Lady Galadriel and to any who may now reside in the Undying Lands who once knew a Mortal named Estel.

Farewell.

"It is signed Aragorn Elfstone," Námo concluded, "and was written on the fifteenth of Nénui, Fourth Age 120."

As Námo concluded reading, Manwë sighed. Many of the others looked thoughtful. Even Oromë, who was the least patient of them, especially where mortals were concerned, seemed pensive, as if Elessar’s words had struck a chord.

"What is this sigil he mentions?" Aulë asked, breaking the silence that had descended on the throne room with the reading of the letter.

Námo held the vellum up for all to see. There, along the right margin of the page was a rune, or rather two runes superimposed. One was definitely the A-certh, the other appeared to be the H-certh embedded inside the first rune.

"It is Helcaran’s sigil," Ulmo stated flatly, and none disputed his claim.

"Then the fortress in Elessar’s dream is..." Yavanna began.

Námo nodded. "Helcaran’s own fortress in the Southern Continent. The very fortress we hope to destroy and thus bring an end to the Ice King’s reign."

"Why would a mortal who lived and died nearly seventy-six hundred years ago have such a dream and for what purpose?" Oromë asked.

Manwë shook his head. "Mysterious are the ways of Ilúvatar. Perchance he wished to make this favorite son a further instrument of his design, for Elessar’s descendants are now in danger of being annihilated unless we intervene."

"I still do not understand why we are the ones to interfere," stated Oromë petulantly. "We left Sauron to the Elves and Men to deal with. Helcaran was only a minor minion under the Dark Lord. Why do we bother with him now when we refused to confront Sauron then?"

Manwë sighed. It was an old argument. Some thought that Sauron as a Maia should have been dealt with by his own people, but few understood that the final decision to leave Sauron to the Free Peoples of Middle-earth to deal with had come not from Manwë but from Eru.

The forging of the Fellowship had been necessary for many reasons, not the least of which was the reconciliation of the children of Varda with the children of Aulë through the elf Legolas and the dwarf Gimli. But even more important was the union of the line of Elros with the line of Elrond. None of the Valar understood the significance of it, but all knew that Eru considered it to be of great importance to his own plans, plans that had nothing to do with the three Great Themes of the Ainulindalë. That union could not have happened if the Valar had stepped in to deal with Sauron themselves. Only through the efforts of a mortal man who loved an immortal woman could that union come to be. Manwë and the other Valar often wondered what significance that union truly had for the history of Arda, but they knew that Eru would reveal its significance only in his own time, not theirs.

Helcaran, on the other hand, was a different matter. While Sauron had sought to subjugate the peoples of Arda to his will, Helcaran was satisfied with nothing less than the complete annihilation of all life on this world. In that respect, he was closer to Melkor in spirit than Sauron had ever been, and while he was not as strong as either Melkor or Sauron, it did not make him any less dangerous.

Neither Elf nor Man had the power to defeat Helcaran. Yet, if the line of kings descended from Lúthien and Beren perished, all hope for Arda would perish with it and Eru would not permit that to happen. That much of Ilúvatar’s plans Manwë knew.

No, Helcaran had to be dealt with and only the Valar and Maiar were in a position to do so.

"The blood of Númenórë is almost spent," Manwë commented at last, "and unless this ice age is put to an end, it will be lost forever. Ilúvatar will not permit that to happen. We’ve allowed this to go on for far too long as it is."

"Eight kings reigned in Gondor and Arnor after Elessar and Eldarion," Yavanna commented, almost to herself. "The Fourth Age lasted only twenty-seven hundred years. It should have continued for at least another thousand, but for Undómion." She shook her head in sorrow and disbelief. "I fear I will never comprehend the depths of foolishness to which these mortals can descend."

"Undómion was indeed foolish," Námo agreed, his expression darkening at the memory of how the last king of the Fourth Age had committed Ar-Pharazon’s sin, believing that he could extend his life beyond the limits set by Eru.

Sacrificing innocent children and bathing in their blood in the belief that such an act would grant him immortality had brought the wrath of the Valar upon him and his people. His own son, Morinehtar, had nearly been a victim of his father’s obsession, but had been rescued by those faithful to the Valar and spirited away to safety. Shortly thereafter Helcaran had begun his quest for domination of all the lands of Middle-earth and first Annúminas, then Edoras and finally Minas Anor had been crushed under the encroaching ice. Morinehtar and a remnant of the people of Arnor, Gondor and Rohan had escaped further south to eke out an existence as hunters and gatherers, until, after five thousand years, their descendants were dying of starvation for lack of game and grain.

"What is past, is past," Manwë said. "It is the present that concerns us now. Elessar’s dream throws new light on the problem of how best to defeat Helcaran."

"There is both a promise and a threat to this dream," Námo agreed. "We must not squander this gift that has been given us."

"Is everything in place?" asked Oromë.

Ulmo answered with a nod. "Yes. The timing is important. We must not play our hand too soon or all will be lost."

"I wish to send Olórin and others to Endorë to oversee this next phase," Manwë interjected. "We cannot afford to make any mistakes this time."

There was silence among them and not a few grimaced at the implicit reminder of their earlier failures.

"When do you wish to move then?" Yavanna asked.

"Soon. Helcaran has grown complacent since our last attempt to bring his reign to an end failed and the watch on the Southern Continent has become lax over these last few centuries. Some of our people have been able to infiltrate his stronghold there and begin the slow process of warming the ice. But they have as yet found no way to breach the walls of Helcaran’s fortress from within."

"Until now," Ulmo stated and the other Valar nodded.

"I think it is time to summon Olórin," Manwë said and with a simple gesture the doors of the throne room opened once again and a Maia stepped through, bowing briefly before approaching the thrones.

Olórin recognized the box which Námo held and smiled. "Ah, I see that you have finally determined to open Aragorn’s box, my lord."

Námo smiled back. "And it is for that reason that you have been summoned, Olórin. Here, read this."

The Lord of Mandos handed the king’s letter to the Maia who read it through once, then read it through a second time before looking up into his lord’s face. His smile was tinged with sadness. "I knew that boy was special the moment we first met. I guess I just never realized how special he truly was."

Varda smiled sympathetically. "None of us did, Olórin."

The Maia turned to Manwë. "What are your plans, lord? Do you mean to confront Helcaran again?"

"Yes, I do. I have in mind to send you back to Endorë to oversee this final stage. It will be dangerous, but I think you understand what message Elessar’s dream is meant to convey."

The Maia nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "We must find the tower with the seven turrets."

"And under no circumstances are you or any of our people to approach the door of blue crystal with Helcaran’s sigil etched into it," commanded Námo in a tone that would not be gainsaid. "I think the meaning of that part of Elessar’s dream is clear as well."

Olórin bowed in acquiescence.

"Are we still determined on a frontal attack of the southern stronghold?" Aulë asked.

"Coupled with this new information, it’s our best course of action," answered Námo. "Too long has Helcaran had his way, turning Arda into a virtual wasteland. He must be stopped."

"What will be the consequences for the rest of Middle-earth once the walls of Helcaran’s fortress are breached?" Olórin asked with some concern.

Námo sighed. "There will be much destruction and loss of life when the ice slips into the seas and tidal waves sweep across the surface of the world. That cannot be helped, but Ulmo has an idea for saving what we can."

Ulmo nodded. "I have already set my plans in motion. They will be ready by the time we begin the final assault on Helcaran’s domain."

Manwë stood and the others followed. "Then let us begin."

****

Olórin found the tower with the seven turrets without trouble. It was finding the crack Aragorn had seen in his dream that was proving elusive. He wished that his friend had seen fit to describe its exact location, but realized that he was just being picky. That Eru had used his dear friend to show the Valar where victory lay still amazed him. He wondered if Aragorn even knew that his final official act as king had been to set in motion the saving of his own descendants.

Perhaps he did, Olórin reflected wryly as he continued to hunt for the crack along the base of the tower. He had stolen into the fortress along with three others. His task was to find the crack in the wall; the others were ordered to find their compatriots who had infiltrated the fortress earlier and be ready to give the signal that would begin the final assault. He had been tempted to seek the door of blue crystal, his curiosity piqued by that image from Aragorn’s dream, but in the end he had put aside the urge to seek out Helcaran in his own lair, which had been the original plan, and sought the outer walls instead.

Nearly all of Aman would soon be emptied of Maiar for the planned assault, Olórin knew, and wondered what the Eldar left behind would be thinking. He knew that Manwë would speak little if at all about the doings of Arda to the elves of Aman. Arda was no longer their concern, though it still remained the concern of the Powers and those, like Olórin, who had a special interest in the fate of the mortals now being threatened with annihilation.

Ah! He had found it!

He bent to examine the crack more closely, careful to conceal the glow of a flame that he conjured in his hand. It was not as large a crack as he had hoped, but it was large enough. It would take some time, but he knew that eventually the wall would be breached and the final assault on Helcaran’s realm would begin.

He set about widening the crack, praying to Eru that he would not be discovered by any of Helcaran’s minions before he was finished.

****

The last peg had been hammered in and the ship was now ready for boarding. Orndil grimaced at the thought, still feeling embarrassed by his obsession to build this ship, but the dreams had stopped the moment he had picked up the first plank. For that he was grateful. He turned to see his wife, Mirl, along with his sons and daughters and the whole of his people watching him and nodded.

"It is time."

With that everyone began loading the ship with the goods they had been collecting surreptitiously over the last several months. The younger children herded the animals aboard, lodging them in the lower decks. Mirl gathered the seedlings she had been hoarding through the cold season and placed them carefully in the trays specially prepared for them in the upper deck.

Orndil looked southward to where clouds gathered in ever darkening forms, the sound of thunder and the distant flash of lightning ominous in the silence that surrounded them otherwise, for no birds sang.

"Hurry, children. There is little time left." Even as he spoke, he felt the first drops of rain on his forehead.

It took some time to get all aboard in spite of Orndil’s urgings, but at last it was done. With a final look to the south, Orndil son of Bren, Chieftain of the Numori clan, closed the hatch. He hoped he was doing the right thing, that his people would be saved from the coming disaster that he had seen in his dreams. He sent a silent prayer to Elbrit that it would be so.

****

From the Annals of Aman under the entry for Valian Year 6541:

The Fifth Age of Middle-earth finally came to an end when the fortress of Helcaran was overthrown. Two years were spent in destroying the fortress. Great sheets of ice slipped off the Southern Continent, sending huge tidal waves across the face of the world, drowning the coastal lands, sweeping far inland. Yet, some few mortals were saved, here and there, through the efforts of Lord Ulmo, who sent dreams of warning to various worthy Men. Some did not heed the dreams and thus were lost, but those who did were saved, including the last remnant of the blood of Númenórë. Eru’s will has been done and Arda once more blooms.

****

Unless otherwise noted, all words are Quenya.

Nénui: (Sindarin) corresponding to our February. 

Meleth nîn: (Sindarin) my love. 

Melda: beloved.

Ethuil: (Sindarin) Spring, which, according to the Calendar of Imladris began on 28 Gwaeron (March), which was reckoned as the New Year by the Eldar. In the Fourth Age, the New Year was reckoned to begin three days earlier, on 25 Gwaeron, the date of the downfall of Barad-dûr. Aragorn died on 1 Gwaeron, F.A. 120.

periandi: plural of perian: hobbit.

Aratar: the name given to the eight most powerful of the Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Námo, Oromë, Nienna, Aulë and Yavanna.

Arafinwë: Finarfin.

Mae govannen: (Sindarin) Well met.

Fëar: plural of fëa: soul, spirit. It is used here in a more general sense to mean "that which is the essence of being, flowing from Ilúvatar". As created beings, even though not necessarily incarnate, the Valar would have a spiritual dimension to them, conveniently referred to as their fëar.

Ellyn: (Sindarin) male elves, plural of ellon.

Adar: (Sindarin) Father.

Daeradar: (Sindarin) Grandfather; in this case, Celeborn.

Bado nes sidh: (Sindarin) Go in peace.

Endorë: Middle-earth.

Helcaran: (Imagined) Maia underling of Sauron who escaped the destruction of Barad-dûr and later was responsible for the Ice Age that ended 13,000 years ago and which brought about the end of the Fourth Age and the destruction of Minas Anor. The name means "Ice King" (helcë + aran).

Helcaran’s runic sigil consists of Certh No. 54 superimposed on Certh No. 48 (see Appendix E of LoTR).

Undómion: Son of Twilight.

Morinehtar: Darkness-Slayer.

Orndil: Corrupted Sindarin for Eärendil.

Mirl: Corrupted Quenya for Míriel.

Bren: Corrupted Sindarin for Beren. 

Numori: Corrupted Quenya for Númenórean.

Elbrit: Corrupted Sindarin for Elbereth.

Note: The Valian Year is equal to 9.58 Sun Years. Thus, under the entry for Valian Year 6541, 62,664 years of the sun had passed since the Valar first entered Arda. The assault on Helcaran’s fortress began in Valian Year 6539.