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Song of the Waters  by Zimraphel

“[Círdan] is the Sindarin for ‘Shipwright,’ and describes his later functions in the history of the First Three Ages; but his ‘proper’ name—his original name among the Teleri, to whom he belonged—is never used.” --“Last Writings,” The Peoples of Middle Earth

* * *

“Nowë, go not from the shore but stay where I can see you.”

He turned and looked at his mother, standing in the doorway of their hut, and waved to her. Many times he reminded her that he was nearly grown, but that mattered not to her or his father. “Mark you the shadow-shapes that haunt the hills and stay away from them,” said Mála. “Alata and her child they took, never again to be seen.”

They need not have feared for him, for Nowë had no curiosity about the dark woods or hills that encircled Cuiviénen; he could feel the threat hovering in the air of the forest without having to be told, seeing with his inner sight the evil that lay in wait for him there, and unless it was an excursion with his cousins Elwë and Olwë to climb up for a closer look at the stars, he paid the hills no mind. Rather, his attention turned to the twilit water, enjoying the feel of its silvery coolness ripple around his ankles, peering down to study his reflection framed by the stars.

Mother says the song of the waters was the first sound we ever heard, just as the stars were the first thing we ever saw. There is something special in that, something…ai, I do not have a word for it. But my life I will spend by the waters, he thought, with all the certainty of one who knew.

Olwë taught him to fish and to swim, though his mother did not like him to go too far from shore. For what lurked in the woods might dwell also in the deeper waters, she said, and bade him come indoors whenever rumor came of strange creatures abroad.

Nowë could have told her that in the water there was no darkness; its depths were clear and cool, watched over by some nameless presence that caressed his limbs and stirred tendrils of his silver hair as he glided through the deep. No evil would come there, where the light of the stars met the water. And, too, he could have told her that not all creatures that came near Cuiviénen were ones of darkness. Between the black stands of the trees he occasionally glimpsed a pale beast glimmering in the twilight, and a shape like one of the Eldar riding upon its back; Elwë told him that this was Oromë, a kindly and powerful being who watched over them.

His father said they should respect Oromë and not trouble him, while his mother feared dealings with any creature that came from the outside. “Other riders have come,” Mála reminded them, “dark riders, and those who have gone to them have never been seen again.”

At this, Elwë shook his head and said that was not Oromë’s doing. “I went with him once, me and Finwë and Ingwë,” he said as he and Nowë lounged on the shore, just beyond reach of the water. “He asked us to ride with him, and took us up on the back of his great beast that he calls Nahar. At great speed we traveled and went to a faraway place called Valinor. It is a place of beauty such as you have never seen.”

Nowë laughed. “You are telling tales again, cousin.”

“Nay, I speak in truth. Hear me out. In Valinor, there were people, not quite like us, but tall and beautiful like Oromë; they call themselves Valar.”

Still laughing, Nowë lay back in the sand and pillowed his head on his arms. Stars spangled the sky above, bathing the shore in a silver glow. “Yes, I am listening, cousin.”

“Ai, you are mocking me, but Oromë you have seen. Others there are, and they have been watching over us since our parents first woke by the waters. They want us to live with them in Valinor, where there are no threats or shadows.”

“They want us to leave Cuiviénen?”

But that was not a new idea, nor was the rumor of a distant, shining land. Golden-haired Ingwë had already gone, and with him went nearly two dozen Eldar that were entranced by his tales of Valinor. Finwë, too, had gone, with a larger group, and Nowë could see his cousin was restless, wanting to join them.

“Will you go?” asked Nowë. His inner eyes sought Elwë’s face and read something there he did not understand. He will go, but never again will he lay eyes upon Valinor. Something else he shall find along the way, and it will be greater still than the wonders of which he speaks.

Nowë pursed his lips and did not speak. Many of the things he saw had already come to pass; though he had been but very small at the time, he had seen his cousins with Oromë before they ever went, and had no fear when for days others sought in vain for them. But of these things he said nothing, sensing somehow this was a gift others did not have, and that it should not be flaunted openly.

Elwë looked pensive. “Cuiviénen is a beautiful place, cousin, but you have not seen Valinor. We would be safe there. There are woods and meadows and streams where we could walk without fear of shadows. And the Trees, I have not the words to describe the Two Trees that give light to that blessed land. And—oh, I have not told you this, or anyone else—but there is a great water, greater even than the pool of Cuiviénen; I glimpsed it from Nahar’s back. It is called gaiar, the Sea, and it is deep and green and full of living things. Olwë desires very much to see it, and perhaps you should like to see it, too.”

Gaiar. Nowë felt a curious longing stir within him. He had heard of the longing male and female Eldar felt when they desired to bind themselves to each other. Perhaps this was the same: the need to see, to taste and to touch. Gaiar. He said it to himself, caressing the edges of the word like a lover’s name, and then pressed his cousin to tell him all he knew, which was frustratingly little.

“You are as bad as Olwë with your questions,” laughed Elwë. “I saw but little of the Sea, but there are many bright spirits that live within its depths and make music upon strange instruments—”

“Now I know you are telling tales. If you did not see much, then how could you possibly describe such things to me?”

Elwë gave him a playful shove. “Oromë told me, when I asked. More still would I have asked, but Ingwë would scarcely let anyone else speak, so many questions did he have. Finwë was ready to gag him, and by the end of it even the Valar looked weary.”

It had ever been Ingwë’s method to have his say by silencing everyone else with his own incessant prating; many joked that Cuiviénen was a much quieter place now that he was gone.

“You are tempting me with such tales to get me to go with you,” said Nowë.

“Is it so wrong to want you to come with me?”

“Nay, but you know I cannot resist such talk.” His gaze swept along the shore toward the huts where his parents waited for him. Seldom did they go abroad now, when in the days of their awakening they had, they said, fared far and wide in their wonder. They came now only as far as the water’s edge, and only in the safety of numbers. “I do not know that my mother and father would go.”

“It is not safe for them to remain,” said Elwë.

“They will say it is safer to stay than take a strange path to an unknown place. I heard them say as much when Finwë left. They are afraid.”

“Oromë will ride with us. He did as much for Ingwë and his folk, and Finwë’s, and has sometimes brought back tidings of them. Ingwë is nigh already to Valinor, so swiftly has he pressed his followers. Did you not know?”

Nowë shoved him with a little growl of frustration, for this was the first he had heard of it. “How could I know when you hold your tongue so? When were you going to share your secret with the rest of us?”

“Who says I have kept it all to myself?” Elwë affectionately shoved him back. “There are those that know. It is only that your family likes not such talk.”

“Then you will not come with me? Olwë is coming, and there are others.”

The vision of a long shore, pale sand stretching away under a starless sky tinted with many colors, of water crashing toward him in white-plumed folds, suddenly took hold of his inner eye and moved him. Glimmerings of such a place, the imagined sound of inrushing waves, had come to him before, but always in snatches, like dreams that dissipated upon the moment of waking. Now he saw it clearly, and it was his heart’s desire.

Yes, my path will take me to that far-off place whether by following Elwë’s steps or no, he thought, and there is neither fear nor shadow in that water. “I did not say that, Elwë. You know I would come, but there are others to whom you must speak first.”

* * *

Notes:

The name Nowë comes from Tolkien himself. In “Last Writings,” Christopher Tolkien states that “Pengolod alone mentions a tradition among the Sindar of Doriath that [Círdan’s name] was in archaic form Nowë, the original meaning of which was uncertain.”

Tolkien does not say whether Círdan was born at Cuiviénen or during the journey to Beleriand. The popular belief seems to be that he was born at Cuiviénen, though he would almost certainly have not belonged to the first generation. For the purposes of the story, he belongs to the second.

Shadow-shapes: In The Silmarillion, Chapter III, it is said that the most ancient of Elven songs “tell of the shadow-shapes that walked in the hills above Cuiviénen, or would pass suddenly over the stars” and that this was the doing of Melkor, who ensnared many wandering Eldar and bore them away to captivity and torment in Utumno.

Círdan is said to be a kinsman of both Elwë (Elu Thingol) and Olwë of Alqualondë; this would also make him a relation of Celeborn.

Círdan’s gift of foresight is mentioned in both The Silmarillion and in the short essay about him in “Lost Writings,” The People of Middle Earth.

gaiar: (Telerin) the Sea.

Under the stars the journey was long and arduous, and the Eldar went not in haste. Even beyond the familiar shores of Cuiviénen, dear to their hearts, there were new wonders, twilit meadows and streams, and stands of trees whose leaves were silvered by the stars; each wonder seemed greater than the last, all equally precious, and the Eldar lingered over them.

As he watched them, joining them in their wonderment, it seemed to Nowë that many were more afraid of the journey’s end than the journey itself. Elwë tried to soothe them with visions of the loveliness of Valinor, but Nowë thought perhaps this was the very thing that made them afraid. The twilight they loved, and the stars, for those were familiar; the waxing and waning light of the Two Trees were strange beyond their comprehension, beautiful yet forbidding.

Say less of the wonders we shall see and more of the kindness and protection of the Valar, cousin, and you shall give them more ease, thought Nowë. He had tried to tell Elwë this, but his dark-haired cousin had no ears for it.

“How can they be afraid of such beauty and light?” he asked.

“Have you not marked how some fear Oromë, even as they look to him for protection? And you say Manwë is greater and more stern, for that he is chief of the Valar. Do you not think some might fear to behold him, and the other Valar?”

“When I say he is stern,” said Elwë, “I say he is like one’s father, watching over us and giving instruction. He is much like Telwë, your sire, if you would know.”

“And who among us desires yet another parent?” asked Nowë, smiling. “I certainly do not need another. Tell us instead of Varda, who made the stars, and gentle Yavanna.”

Only when Oromë came to lead them did the Eldar march; only when he and Nahar were near did they feel safe from the shadows that yet threatened and secure in the knowledge that their path would not go astray. The Vala, however, often had to leave them to attend to other matters, for he had many charges, he said.

“He will forget us and not return,” said Mála.

“Nana, you say that every time he goes.” Nowë led her to the fire, where Olwë and Lenwë were cooking the fish they had caught in a nearby stream. “Always he returns.”

“Perhaps the shadow will take us before he returns, perhaps—”

“You worry too much, nana. Oromë will return; I have already seen it.”

Mála looked at her son with uncertain eyes. He was grown now, having reached his majority during the long march, and with his maturity he at last allowed others to know of his gift of foresight. His father nodded when Nowë spoke of things he had seen, offering no comment but that he trusted his son to do as seemed best. His mother, however, was of a different mind, fearing to put her faith in that which she herself could not see. “Visions are such hazy things, child. How can you be certain they are not mere dreams, or wisps of things as you would have them?”

Many times she had asked him this, and always he gave her the same answer. “I can feel the difference, nana.” He might have added that his inner sight never deceived him, but he could already hear her cautioning him against that one time when his visions might do so.

“Oromë will return, nana,” he said. “But look, Sílarielle and her mother are making a garland of those white flowers and would have you join them.”

Through starlit meads and moors they journeyed. And by a murmuring stream where Oromë left them, Olwë at last took Sílarielle as his bride, and it was an occasion for celebration, for singing and dancing under the stars. The lovers did not want to wait to be together, though they both agreed the wilderness was no safe haven to begin a family and they would not have children until they reached Valinor.

“He would have waited to wed. He told me,” said Elwë, as he and Nowë watched Elwë’s brother lead his bride in a dance, “but she and her mother are like aunt Mála, afraid of shadows and convinced we will never come to Valinor, no matter how many times Olwë has told them Ingwë has already arrived.”

“Yet there still is no word of Finwë and his people.”

Elwë was insistent. “That does not mean they are lost.”

“What of you?” Nowë took a crumb of fish from the leaf wrapping in which it had been baked and popped it into his mouth. “Are you going to wed?”

“Before we reach Valinor? Nay, I do not think so. There is no maid among our host who captures my heart as Sílarielle has captured Olwë’s,” answered Elwë. He made a sound that might have been a sigh, then his tone became playful, teasing. “Now it is your turn, Nowë? Is there not some maid for whom you secretly long?”

“Nay, there is no one.”

“Oh, come!” Elwë reached over and gave him a playful shove. “There must be someone to turn my silver-haired cousin’s heart.”

Nowë shoved him back. “I might say the same of you, that you were keeping secrets from me, but nay, I do not think I shall ever wed.”

* * *

The mountains, an impossibly high, vast dark mass that rose to impale the very stars upon its peaks, frightened some. This time, neither Olwë nor Elwë had the words to persuade them. Oromë was not there to lend them his courage, and they turned back.

When the Vala returned, he did not pursue the stragglers as Elwë asked him to do. “If I bid thee follow me, that is all I might do,” he said. “I cannot command thy will.”

As the way became steeper and the weather more harsh, Oromë showed them where to find animals with the thickest hides and how to cure meat for the journey ahead, for no edible vegetation grew in the higher latitudes, nor would they be able to fish. Again they stopped, taking shelter in caves as they hunted for food and raiment. Meat was cut into strips and smoked until it was dry and tough; to some, the taste of red meat was unpalatable, and they would not eat of it until all other stores were exhausted.

Pelts were cured and fashioned into cloaks and crude garments, and mosses and dried grass stuffed into shoes to provide a barrier against the cold.

“Some amongst thee might not feel the cold,” said Oromë, “while others might feel it very strongly. Thou wert made to be strong and to step lightly without weakness or weariness, yet even so we wouldst have thee go carefully, as the One’s design is not impervious in all ways.”

Nowë took frequent note of the Vala’s cryptic utterances. Oromë said what was needful, yet always there was something behind his words, always something that went unexplained. Elwë said that, although they made other things, the Valar had not created the Eldar. There was another power above them, nameless and faceless.

“That is why Finwë would go to Valinor,” explained Elwë. “He wishes to know how things are made and how to make them. He would know who made us and why.”

“The Valar would not tell him?”

“When Ingwë would let him speak, he asked, but Manwë told us we were not yet ready for that knowledge. He said only that we were made by one even greater than they, who dwelt outside the world and could not be seen,” Elwë replied. “But very little satisfies Finwë’s curiosity.”

“Why do you wish to go, cousin?” asked Nowë.

“To see the light of the Trees again, and to live where there are no shadows.”

On the other side of the mountains was a land of many rivers and deep woodlands. As they came to the first river, Nowë heard the rushing of water and stopped to drink in the music. A song of long wandering it sang, of its source among the mountain snows, tumbling and frothing down in rapids to flow gently through a land of meadows and willows to….

“The Sea,” said Oromë. Opening his eyes, Nowë glanced up in surprise. The Vala, seated high above on Nahar’s back, was watching him. “It runs west and empties into the Sea. Dost thou hear the song?”

Never before had the Vala addressed him directly. “Yes, aráto.”

Lenwë, always lagging behind to marvel at some new wonder, became enamored of the rivers. He did not wish to go further, and others, taxed by the hard journey through the mountains, also wished to stay in this calm land by the waters.

Watching them go, Elwë turned desperate eyes to his cousin. “Nowë! Speak to them! Tell them what you have seen.”

This is what I have seen. I do not think all of us are fated to see Valinor. Were it not for the promise of the Sea, I, too, might follow Lenwë. Nowë returned his gaze, torn by the truth of his visions and love for his cousin. “We cannot force them to go where they will not.”

“The dark riders will find them and take them. They have followed us all the way from Cuiviénen, waiting to snare the unwary. Have you not noticed them?” Elwë motioned to their cousin, who was engaged in an animated argument with Lenwë. “In all else Olwë can persuade him, but he is being so stubborn.”

“Cousin,” Nowë said softly, “there are some who have no wish to see Valinor. Lenwë has grown much enamored of these lands, and would stay. He has enough numbers to resist the shadows, if his followers remain together. Let him go if he wishes it, and any who wish to go with them.”

Elwë stopped, stared at him. “Is that what you have seen?”

I would I had never said anything of my visions. “You behave as though I am capable of seeing every small thing, every ripple in the water before it occurs, when you know I cannot,” answered Nowë. “I know only that not all of us will finish the journey, though whether by choice or ill-chance I cannot say.”

In the end, Lenwë left. Oromë did not interfere, citing as he had before that he had not the authority to do so. Nor did he seem overly concerned that some had departed, possibly to be devoured by the shadows that dogged their steps. Nowë wondered at this, thinking perhaps the Vala had some hidden knowledge or perhaps, like him, could see things as they might be. He met the Vala’s eyes and Oromë gazed back, unwavering.

* * *

Notes:

Sílarielle: (Telerin) the name means “a maiden crowned by a shining garland.”

aráto: (Telerin) noble one/male

Lenwë: According to The Silmarillion, Chapter III, “Then one arose in the host of Olwë, which was ever hindmost on the road…. He forsook the westward march, and led away a numerous people...and they passed out of the knowledge of their kin until long years were passed. Those were the Nandor; and they became a people apart, save that they loved water, and dwelt most beside falls and running streams.”

Beyond the land of the many rivers, where Lenwë broke with the company, they found some of Finwë’s people dwelling near vast woodlands of birch and beech. Unlike Ingwë’s host, which had crossed over to Valinor almost at once in their eagerness, Finwë and his followers were in no particular hurry, leisurely exploring the countryside and its resources.

Olwë saw how weary they all were, and, despite Elwë’s objections, decided they would abide for a time in this placid country, mingling with Finwë’s people. Many welcomed the respite and were eager to renew old acquaintances. Finwë had not been idle in his lingering; his people had crafted many lovely and useful items from local materials, and some of these they gave as gifts to the newcomers. Olwë demurred, being unable to return the courtesy, but Finwë insisted, saying their works were of little use if they could not be shared and enjoyed.

Elwë grew restless with waiting, and went abroad often and alone. This was ill-advised, for shadow-spirits haunted even this land, eager to ensnare those who were careless or unlucky enough to fall into their grasp. But Elwë refused to listen; he could not abide to remain idle while Olwë and others pursued their leisure. He must go out, he said, or go mad.

“You do not think he is foolish enough to try the road to Valinor on his own, do you?” asked Telwë.

“Nay, for he knows not the way,” Nowë told his father, “nor has he asked Oromë to bear him. He might do so, if his need were so great, but I do not think it has come to that.”

“It must be an exceedingly fair place, if he yearns for it so.”

Nowë could not say. He knew only that Oromë did not seem overly concerned over Elwë’s restlessness, yet the Vala had always been unreadable, and Nowë recalled his words, that he could not command the will of any who wished to stray.

And then, Elwë went abroad and did not return.

In the deepest woods, in the shadows where he had learned to find only silence, he suddenly heard sweet birdsong. And above it, soft at first, a voice singing, calling to him, and he forgot his errand, forgot all else but the voice and the lovely enchantment it wove about him.

He came then to an open clearing frosted by starlight and saw then the source of the spell. A maiden she was, yet unlike any he had ever seen save in the Blessed Realm. He stopped when he saw her, scarcely daring to breathe lest this vision of loveliness vanish.

Then she turned and their eyes met.

* * *

“Nowë! Why are you not coming with us?”

From his seat under the wide beech tree, he looked up at his father. Telwë stood with Olwë and Enel, who was the father of Olwë and Elwë. Long they had searched, as far and wide as they dared. Finwë and his people gave their aid, but to no avail.

At first, fearing the ever-present shadows that might have abducted Elwë, Nowë had joined the search, but as he slept a curious vision had come to him. Upon the path of dreams, he saw how Elwë had forgotten them and his yearning for Valinor, yet of the source that wrought this enchantment Nowë glimpsed only the pale oval of a face whose beauty struck him even in his repose.

“There is no need,” he said softly. “I do not think any harm has come to Elwë, but he is lost to us.”

“What have you seen?” Telwë wanted to know.

Nowë knew not quite how to describe his vision. When he awoke, he had heard a voice in his head telling him that Elwë had found that which he was meant to find. He knew not whence the voice had come, but when he emerged from the trees where he made his bower and met Oromë’s eyes, the Vala answered with a knowing gaze. “He has become enamored of the woods and chosen Lenwë’s path, to stay.”

His fear for Elwë vanished, though he could plainly see others were not so certain. Olwë defended his vision, and his parents, even if in private they did not understand his gift. Such things were not unknown among females, among mothers who had some special insight into the fates of their children; visions did not come with such frequency to males, nor with such power as they came to him.

They think it a strange thing, he thought, and it is passing strange, even to myself. I meant only to ease their fears for Elwë. I should know better than to speak so loosely.

* * *

Olwë led them when they were ready to march again. Finwë and his people, who now called themselves Noldor, unwilling to wait while Elwë’s people searched for him, had already departed. Oromë went with the Noldor on the first part of the journey westward before returning, and this time there seemed to be some urgency in the Vala’s bearing.

Along the shores of a great river they traveled, moving south through thin woods and willow marshes with the rushing of the water on their left hand. Nowë felt a change in the air, subtle at first, and listened for the rise and crash of waves that were the music of his dreams. Oromë confirmed that the river emptied into the Sea, but long before this Nowë tasted the moisture in the air, and it was like the salt of his tears.

As the hiss and crash of the Sea called to him, others noticed how the heavens began to lighten. Twilight lingered upon the land, and the stars were yet visible, yet the colors and shapes of things steadily grew more distinct.

“That light comes from Valinor,” explained Oromë, “where thou shalt soon go to dwell. There thou shalt see with thine own eyes the Two Trees whose waning and waxing give light to Arda.”

Nowë had no thought for Valinor. He wanted only to reach the end of the river, to climb the next hill and cross whatever distance remained between him and the Sea. He knew not what would follow, and cared not.

When Oromë led them from the marshes of the river estuary, Nowë balked, thinking the Vala meant to separate him from his desire, but as the earth under his feet grew soft and sandy and the undulating song of the waters pulsed ever more strongly in his blood, he stilled his protests.

“Look now,” said the Vala from Nahar’s back. “Behold Belegaer, the Great Water that lies between thee and Aman.”

Nahar stood nearly at Nowë’s shoulder; he could feel the great beast’s breath warm upon his neck. It seemed Oromë’s words were for him alone and he turned his gaze down the brow of the hill where the sand stretched to meet a vast horizon of water.

Behind him he heard cries of astonishment and fear. For this was not Cuiviénen, whose waves lapped gently at the shore, but a living thing whose heaving breath rose and fell upon the edge of the land, lashing the rocks with white-frothed spray. Nowë heard the screaming of gulls overhead, and saw more of the birds wheeling and diving above the crest of the water.

“I would venture closer still,” murmured Olwë. When Nowë was able to tear his eyes from the Sea long enough to look at his cousin, he saw Olwë was as entranced as he.

The sand was cool and soft, yielding to their footprints as the two of them drew near the water’s edge; a few others, braver than the rest, followed, but most huddled on the hill behind Oromë, tempted by fear to flight. The water surged up onto the sand, teasing the Eldar with white foam and then retreating. Nowë laughed at the feel of the spray on his face and darted his tongue out to taste the salt water on his lips. Beside him, Olwë was throwing off his shoes to walk through the waves and feel the wet sand between his toes. He tried to persuade Sílarielle to join him, but she hung back, daunted by the crashing foam.

Their laughter was cut short by the blast of a horn from the hill. Turning, they saw Oromë rising tall in Nahar’s saddle, his great hunting horn Valaróma raised to his lips.

“He is not calling us back, is he?” asked Olwë.

And then, from the deep, came an answering call. The music of many horns sounded through the water and set some of Olwë’s followers scurrying away from the foam and up the beach. Olwë looked at his cousin, wondering if they should not also retreat.

The music was both strange and beautiful, terrible and intoxicating. Nowë did not want to move, did not think he could for the longing those horns stirred in him. He turned toward Olwë, urging him to stay, but the waters between them suddenly surged upward, exploding into a column of white foam. The resulting wave knocked him backward into the surf, and as he surfaced, coughing and choking on salt water, he saw a figure bending over him.

A male shape it wore, like unto Oromë, yet its body and face were of the living, moving water. The hand that grasped him and pulled him upright was twice the size of his own; it felt strangely solid, yet he knew he could have put his fingers through it with ease had he tried. Through salt-stinging eyes, he saw Oromë ride to the surf’s edge, where Nahar pawed at the sand as if in greeting.

“Late they have come,” said a deep voice like the crash of a wave. “Already the others have departed.”

“See now,” replied Oromë, gesturing to the hills behind him where the Eldar who had huddled in terror were slowly venturing forward, drawn by their curiosity and something else. “They have heard the Ulumúri; the longing is upon them.”

Nowë knew not what the Ulumúri were, but his ears longed to hear again those horns, and to throw off his wet, clinging garments and dive into the deep. He might have done so, were it not for the hand holding him. Looking up, he saw the spirit glimmering through the curtain of water and wondered what manner of creature it was.

“Are…are you a Vala?” he gasped.

Laughter crashed over him with the pounding surf. “Nay, I am Ossë, servant of Ulmo Lord of the Waters. And what is thy name, Elda?”

“I-I am Nowë, aráto.”

“And thou dost not fear me, Elda?”

Nowë gazed up at Ossë. He heard the crashing of the surf pound in time with his own heartbeat, and the echoes of the sea music that impassioned his blood. The Maia’s hand was still upon him, powerful yet gentle.

“Nay, I do not fear thee,” he whispered, dimly aware he was using the language of love to express his longing. If thou art the Sea, then I love thee.

* * *

Notes:

Land of many rivers: Ossiriand, with its seven rivers.

Finwë’s largesse is noted in The Silmarillion, Chapter 5, in which the Noldor learn to mine gems in Valinor and “hoarded them not, but gave them freely.”

Nowë’s dream is a paraphrased version of the encounter between Elwë (Elu Thingol) and Melian in Chapter Four of The Silmarillion.

Enel: The first three Elves to awaken at Cuiviénen were named Imin, Tata and Enel. For the purposes of this story, I have made Enel the father of Elwë and Olwë.

Ulumúri: horns of white shell made for Ulmo by Salmar the Maia, “and those to whom that music comes hear it ever after in their hearts, and the longing for the sea never leaves them again.” The Silmarillion, “Valaquenta.”

After long years, the isle that had borne the people of Ingwë and Finwë across the Great Water to Aman had returned. Finwë, missing the kin who had been left behind, asked this favor of the Valar, as Olwë on the Hither Shore had asked the same.

Olwë was more captivated by the promise of the light of the Two Trees glimmering in the West than he was by the song of the Sea. He desired his offspring to be born in Valinor, he said, and would have attempted the crossing himself if the Valar would not enable his passage. Under the tutelage of the Maia Ossë and his spouse Uinen, the Teleri had learned much of the Sea. Boats they could build, for this craft they had had at Cuiviénen, building light rafts and reed-boats to traverse the length and breadth of the lake. Now they built sturdy, graceful vessels that rode wind and wave, and in this craft Nowë found he excelled. He experimented with materials and designs, teaching others what he learned.

Although Olwë pressed him, Nowë heeded Ossë’s advice and did not build the ship his cousin requested. He had not the skill to attempt the wind and wild waves of Belegaer, and was not arrogant enough to gainsay the Maia.

Nowë marked Ossë’s sorrow at the prospect of their parting, and that sorrow was his also. The Maia’s domain was the Hither Shore; he did not come often to Aman, and Nowë did not wish to lose his company and guidance. His love for the Sea, his devotion to Ossë and Uinen, these things had not diminished. The Sea fulfilled a longing in him that could not be eased by any mate; the light of the Trees could not take its place.

Telwë and Mála had reconciled themselves to their son’s solitary existence, though Mála was ever hopeful that Nowë’s heart would be claimed by some gentle maiden.

Only one spouse do we ever take, he thought, and my heart has already been taken by the Sea. It is all the lover I shall ever have or want.

Leaving his clothes on the beach, Nowë waded out to the rock that was Ossë’s place and tried to console him. Many Teleri did not wish to leave, he said. For some, it was love of the Hither Shore that kept them, yet for those others who called themselves Eglath, they would not leave without Elwë their lord.

In fragments of dreams and in visions that still came sometimes unbidden, Nowë saw that his cousin yet lived and would soon return to the world from the enchantment that caught him. A great lord, tall and silver he would appear, a lady of matchless beauty at his side, the spirit of a Maia glimmering in the body of an Elda. When the time came, Elwë would have need of his followers.

As for himself, Nowë was torn. Olwë was his cousin and he desired to see the children he and Sílarielle would have in Aman, yet he loved also the Hither Shore and did not wish to be parted from Ossë and Uinen. Ulmo was mighty among the Valar, but Nowë had seen in Oromë how inscrutable the Valar could be. Though he bore Ulmo’s element and the Vala’s followers great love, to serve so distant and forbidding a lord was not in his heart.

Lenwë knew where his heart was. I did not envy the choice he made, to leave his brethren for his heart’s desire, nor do I envy it now.

Barefoot, he walked through the cold surf, letting the foam play about his ankles, and he gazed toward the West as if the glimmering of the Trees that lit the horizon could offer an answer. For once, he could not see his own path. He had been born by the shores of Cuiviénen, he had heard the call of the Ulumúri, the song of the Sea was in his blood, yet he knew not whether his fate lay on the Hither Shore or across the water in Aman.

So many things I have seen, yet my sight eludes me, when I am most uncertain. He lingered for a time, until the air grew cold, and then retired to his narrow cot.

As he slept, a voice came to him. Ossë sometimes spoke to him in dreams, yet this voice was deep and grave, compelling in its power, and he knew it belonged to one of the Valar. “Thy heart is torn. Thy grief I hear, yet abide now that time, for when it comes then will thy work be of utmost worth, and it will be remembered in song for many ages after.”

The voice surrounded him in an embrace like the touch of the waters, wrapping him in warm currents. My work, he thought, struggling to understand what the Vala meant. My lord, I craft boats to fish upon the deeper waters. There is no greatness in such a thing.

Into the field of his vision then drifted a white ship, its sails fluttering in the breeze, more beautiful and cunningly crafted than anything ever made by his hands. It shone above him with an unearthly light, as if the living spirit of the wood from which it was crafted was shining through, and as it receded it seemed to his eyes to dwindle until it became a star of such brilliance that it cast shadows where he stood.

I will craft this ship if it is your will, and it will be the fairest work of my hands, he thought. Though I understand not thy purpose, my lord, I obey thee and will abide here.

* * *

“You are certain, cousin?” asked Olwë.

Nowë answered him with a smile and parting embrace. He kissed Sílarielle on the cheek, then placed her hand in her husband’s. “I am certain. My place is on the Hither Shore.”

Slowly, Olwë looked from him to the other Teleri gathered on the dock, those who had elected to remain. “And what say you? Is this also your wish, to dwell here and forsake Aman?”

One of them nodded. “We will stay, and have Círdan for our lord.”

“Círdan?” Olwë followed the other’s gaze until it fell once more upon his cousin. He tested the unfamiliar name on his tongue. “What is this they call you?”

“It means ‘ship-wright,’” answered Nowë. “The name does not displease me, for it was given me by the Lord Ossë.”

“Shipwright,” said Olwë, and then he smiled. “Círdan it is, if that is your preference. And if it is truly your choice, then I will not hinder you. Perhaps one day you shall build a ship to brave the wind and wave of the Great Sea and we shall meet again.”

Nowë saw in his mind the white ship, drifting away on a long tide of Ages to come. “My heart is with the Sea,” he said, “and here I will dwell until the last ship sails and my work is done.”

He kissed his mother and father good-bye, and let Olwë lead them gently away. Mála had not wanted to leave her only child on the Hither Shore, but Nowë embraced her and dried her tears with fingers made rough with shipbuilding. “Nana,” he murmured, “I would not have you forsake the light of Valinor for my sake. One day I shall join you, yet I must abide here a while longer.”

I obey, my lord, he thought, and in that moment, as he watched his parents depart with Olwë, his heart ached. Tears filled his eyes, yet he knew not whether it was from great joy at the works to come or sorrow at the parting.

* * * Notes:

In The Silmarillion, the Elves were transported across the Sea to Aman on an island. By the time the Teleri reached the coast, the Vanyar and Noldor had already departed and they had to wait many years before Ulmo brought the island back. This island eventually became Tol Eressëa; its tip, which is said to have broken off, became the isle of Balar.

Eglath: the Forsaken People. Those Teleri loyal to Elwë who remained in Beleriand and continued to search for him.

In the “Last Writings,” The Peoples of Middle Earth, Círdan is the leader of those who search for Elwë. In this early version of the tale, he does not reach the coast until after Olwë has departed and is stranded; he learns of shipbuilding from Ossë and determines to sail West until a voice tells him not to do so. The version which appears in The Silmarillion does not mention Círdan with relation to the search for Elwë, nor does it include the voice or the vision of Vingilot. The version given here is an amalgamation of the two sources.

Much of the dialogue in Nowë/Círdan’s dream comes verbatim from “Last Writings,” The Peoples of Middle Earth. Tolkien never states the source of the voice; I have taken some license in suggesting it is Ulmo’s voice Círdan hears. The vision of Vingilot and the star of Eärendil are from the same source.





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