20: Et Eärtumnallon

It was sometime later and they were all on the poop deck taking their ease as Voronwë and the elven sailors went about the task of bringing the Eäremírë about and heading almost directly east. Laurendil was seated with Calaldundil on his lap. Eärnur was seated next to him with Vorondil on his left. He kept a hand on the Teler’s arm, gently stroking it, as if to assure himself that Eärnur was truly there. The four Mortals ranged around them in a semi-circle. Food and drink had been provided them and they nibbled on bread, cheese and fruit while sipping on a mild yellow wine (Calaldundil was drinking fruit juice, much to his disgust).

"So where do we sail?" Valandil asked Laurendil.

"We will be sailing due east for a day before swinging north, then west. That is to avoid any Númenórëan ships that may be sailing these waters. There is a secluded cove north of Rómenna where we will leave you before we continue our own way back to Tol Eressëa."

"But what is to become of me?" Fiondil demanded. "We’ve already agreed that I cannot remain here."

Laurendil gave him a brief smile. "Do not concern yourself, Fiondil. Provisions have been provided for this very contingency." What those provisions were, though, he refused to elaborate. Instead, Laurendil asked about Nindamos.

"Do you know what happened to the fisherfolk of Nindamos?" he asked Vorondil.

There was a brief silence and then, surprisingly, it was Calaldundil who spoke, his tone one of childish awe. "Lord Ulmo came and told them to go away," he whispered.

Eärnur gave a start and cast a questioning look at Vorondil for an explanation. The ellon nodded, his expression sober.

"We reached these waters in the teeth of a storm and were forced to seek shelter in Nindamos’ harbor, much to the dismay of its inhabitants." He flashed them all a wry smile.

Eärnur chuckled knowingly. "I can just imagine."

"What happened?" Ercassë asked, her excitement obvious to the Elves and the three older Elves shared a smile. Young Calaldundil just stared at the four Mortals with naked interest, though he was glad to be able to do so from the safety of his beloved Anatar's lap. The said Mortals were equally fascinated at the sight of the elfling, finding it hard to believe the child was fourteen years old yet looked no older than six.

It was Vorondil who answered. "The storm did not last long as such storms do, according to our good captain. In fact, he and the sailors were rather surprised at that. We did not venture ashore as you had ordered, though I had to practically tie this little one to the main mast to stop him from leaping overboard to play with the children he saw on the beach."

"Ada!" the said elfling protested in childish disgust at grown-ups and their strange need to say embarrassing things in front of strangers. For the Mortals’ sake they were all speaking in Sindarin which even Calaldundil could speak after a fashion.

Vorondil merely laughed, reaching over to plant a kiss on the ellon’s brow, much to everyone’s amusement. Laurendil ruffled his grandson’s hair. "What happened next?" was all he said.

Both Vorondil and his son went still; Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged questioning glances. "Vorondil?" Eärnur finally said to his friend.

Vorondil shook his head, giving them a wan smile. "The storm passed and Captain Voronwë was ordering his people to raise anchor and sails. Even as the crew were preparing the ship to set sail again, Calaldundil started shouting, pointing out to sea...."

****

"Atto!" Calaldundil shouted from the poop deck where he had been ordered by Vorondil to remain out of the way of everyone. "Look, Atto!" The elfling pointed southward towards the open ocean.

The child’s cry alerted not only Vorondil but half the crew, including the ship’s captain. He and Vorondil made their way towards the elfling but stopped in amazement before reaching the deck. Rising out of the sea was none other than Lord Ulmo himself.

The Lord of Waters rose from the waves in a form taller than the highest mast of the ship, a trident in his hands. His sea-green beard and hair trailed behind him, looking more like seaweed than anything else. He wore a sleeveless knee-length coat that shimmered as if made of fish scales. On his head he wore a crown of living sea anemones. He strode out of the deeps towards Nindamos, ignoring the elven ship for the moment as he concentrated on the fisherfolk. Every Elf aboard the Eäremírë bowed deeply as the Vala passed by. Vorondil ran to Calaldundil and took his son into his arms. Together they made their way to the rail to better see what the Lord of Waters wanted with the Mortals who were standing in stunned silence. Only the cry of the gulls and terns and the wash of the waves upon the shore broke the absolute silence that surrounded them.

Ulmo never touched land but remained in the shallows. He gazed upon the Númenórëans with mingled love and regret, and none could interpret the meaning behind his expression. Then he spoke in greeting and now every Mortal fell to their knees, some quailing in fear while others simply stared in disbelief.

"Hush now, my children," the Vala admonished them gently. "Fear not! I have not come to punish you, but to warn you."

Some of the bolder Mortals, Vorondil noticed, climbed from their knees to face the Lord of Waters and he could do naught but admire their courage.

"W-what wouldst thou of us, lord?" One of them demanded respectfully and Vorondil thought this must be the head of the village.

"For long and long as ye Mortals account time," Ulmo answered, "ye harbored one of the Firstborn and kept him safe for the time when he would be found."

At those words, most of the villagers quailed again and Vorondil was at a loss to understand what they were saying or what Lord Ulmo meant by his words. Ulmo held up a hand for silence, which came, though somewhat reluctantly. When he had their attention again he smiled.

"Fear not, my children! Ye did what I wished of you. There was a reason why the Firstborn could not leave this island and for keeping him here as I commanded, I will give you this gift: flee this island! Take ye your wives and children, your goats and cattle, and whatever possessions ye deem most valuable or useful and flee. Take ye your boats and sail east unto the lands of your forefathers. If ye would be saved from the coming darkness that will soon engulf this land, then I say to you: flee!"

"But Lord," the Mortal who had first spoken protested, "our little sailing boats cannot survive the crossing."

"My People will see you safely to Endórë," Ulmo replied. "Only do as I bid and all will be well with you."

"What of the other villages?" the Man asked. "Should we not warn them as well?"

Ulmo shook his head. "Nay. The warning is meant for you and you alone to heed or not as you will."

Vorondil watched as the Mortals held a hasty conference, the crash of the waves upon the shore too loud to allow any of the Elves to hear their words. Finally, the one who had spoken to the Vala stepped forward to enter the waters. He gave Ulmo a deep bow. "It will be as thou hast commanded, Lord," he said. "It will take some time for us to gather our things, though."

"Leave one boat, the smallest that you have, behind," Ulmo commanded them, his expression pleased. "It will be needed by others soon."

With that the Mortals began scrambling about, lading their fishing boats with whatever they could, which, admittedly was not much. The Elves watched in bemusement. Vorondil turned to the captain with whom he had become good friends while waiting for Laurendil to return. "How will they transport the animals with enough fodder for them to survive the crossing?"

"Never mind food enough for themselves," Voronwë added with a sympathetic scowl. "I do not envy them the crossing, however smooth the sailing."

"And of whom does Lord Ulmo speak?" The question was voiced by Aerveril, Voronwë’s first mate, who was standing next to them.

Even though she had spoken barely loud enough for the Elves standing beside her, Lord Ulmo turned his attention upon them, his expression one of amusement. All the Elves straightened to attention, except Calaldundil, who hid his face in the crook of his atar’s shoulder.

"And ye, my heart’s children," the Lord of Waters said, "get ye back to the sea, for this harbor is not for you."

"My lord," Voronwë said with a respectful bow. "We await the coming of one whom the Valar sent to this island and...."

"And he comes, but thou must not be here when he reaches these shores," Ulmo retorted. "Wait for him at sea as he bade thee."

The captain bowed again and then, keeping his eyes on the Vala, he issued his orders to Aerveril and soon the ship was a hive of activity again. In the meantime, Ulmo bent towards the ship, a gentle smile on his face. "And how fares my youngest eärhína, hmm?"

The Vala obviously meant Calaldundil, who merely scrunched further into his atar’s embrace. Vorondil gave Lord Ulmo an apologetic smile then turned to his son. "Lord Ulmo hath spoken to thee, hinya. Hast thou forgot thy lessons as thy ammë hath taught to thee?" With that, he put the elfling down, forcing the child to face the Vala, who waited with infinite patience. Slowly, Calaldundil gave Lord Ulmo a bow, awkward and ungraceful by elven standards, though most Mortals would wonder at one so young being so refined, but no one censured him, allowing for his youth and the circumstances.

"Wh-why did thou callest me a... an eärhína?" he whispered.

"My lord," Vorondil supplied and the elfling hastily amended his words.

Ulmo smiled benignly at the child. "Hast thou not enjoyed thy trip aboard the Eäremírë?"

"Oh, yes!" the elfling exclaimed, his expression brightening to something akin to joy. "Unca’ V’ronwë’s been teaching me how to tie knots. Would you like to see?" he asked, slipping into the familiar person in his excitement. Without waiting for an answer, Calaldundil ran off, eager to show the Lord of Waters what he had learned.

Vorondil blushed in embarrassment at his son’s precipitous behavior and tried to apologize but Ulmo merely waved his apology away with a flick of a hand. "Be not concerned, young Vorondil," Ulmo said with a smile. "He is a delightful child and I look forward to the day when he captains his own ship."

Vorondil just stared at the Vala in shock. "Bu-but, lord! He’s a Noldo!"

"Well, when has that stopped anyone?" Voronwë exclaimed with a laugh, flicking a hand through his dark brown locks and Vorondil blushed even more. He was saved from having to offer yet another apology by his son running back, nearly breathless with excitement as he clung to the practice rope Voronwë had given him.

"Look! I can do this," he nearly shouted, as he came barreling up to the rail. Both Vorondil and Voronwë grabbed the back of his tunic to prevent him from leaping overboard in his excitement. He ignored everyone and everything but his precious rope, his expression turning thoughtful as he tried to remember what the captain had taught him. Finally, after a few false starts he held up the rope and all could see a knot. Vorondil had no idea if it was a good knot or not, but both Voronwë and Ulmo appeared pleased.

"And do you remember what we use that knot for, youngling?" the captain asked.

Calaldundil hesitated only for a moment before answering. "It’s for... um... tying the ship to the wharf so it doesn’t sail away with the tide."

"Very good," Ulmo stated, his expression pleased. The child practically glowed with pride at the praise. Ulmo, meanwhile, reached down and brought something out of the water and carefully extended his hand so Calaldundil could see what he held. The child’s eyes widened and his mouth became an ‘O’ though no sound issued from his throat. In the palm of the Vala’s hand was a perfectly formed spiral seashell, its walls iridescent. "Take this, Eärhinya, a gift from me to thee."

Calaldundil looked at his atar for permission and when Vorondil nodded, he gingerly took the fragile shell, cradling it carefully in his hands. "What do we say, Calaldundil?" Vorondil asked in his best ‘atto’ voice.

"I thank thee, my lord," the elfling said with a brief bow that was less awkward than the previous one.

"Thou wilt notice there is a small hole in the shell," Ulmo told him. "When thou returnest unto Aman, takest thou the shell unto a jewel-smith and he will make thee a fine chain for it. Then thou wilt be able to wear it as a remembrance of this voyage."

"Will not the shell break if it already has a hole in it, though?" Vorondil asked. He was concerned that such a fragile object could easily be broken and feared how his son would react if that happened.

"I have strengthened its walls," Ulmo replied. "The shell will not break unless you dash it with all your might against stone."

"Hmm... well, in that case, perhaps I should hang on to it until we return to Aman," Vorondil said with a knowing smile and Ulmo merely chuckled when Calaldundil clutched the shell to his chest, unwilling to give it up even to his atto. Vorondil knelt beside his son, brushing a hand through the ellon’s hair. "You must promise to keep it in a safe place until we return home, then," he said and Calaldundil’s expression brightened as he nodded.

By this time the fisherfolk were nearly finished with loading their boats and one by one they set sail. Ulmo turned to Voronwë. "Escort them into open waters. Head southeast until the dawn. My People will escort them from there. Continue round to the northeast before returning here. You will avoid the ships of the Númenórëans that way."

The Captain of the Eäremírë gave the Lord of Waters a deep bow then turned to issue further orders. Vorondil and Calaldundil remained where they were and watched as Ulmo strode back out to the depths, disappearing under the waves....

****

"We sailed for a day and night," Vorondil said as he finished his narrative. "At dawn the next day several Maiar, led by Salmar and Amillo, appeared and began leading the fishing boats eastward."

"Not Ossë?" Eärnur asked in surprise.

Vorondil shook his head. "I have the feeling that Ossë and Ulmo aren’t too happy with one another at the moment."

Laurendil and Eärnur nodded, though the four Mortals looked a bit confused. Laurendil gave them a brief smile. "Long story. I’ll tell it to you as we sail."

"So now we know what happened to the villagers," Vandiel said softly. She looked up at Vorondil, her expression fretful. "Do you think they will survive the voyage?"

Vorondil gave her an assuring smile and nodded. "They are under the protection of Lord Ulmo. The Maiar who escort them... Salmar is Lord Ulmo’s Chief Maia and unlike Ossë, he has never thought to rebel against his lord’s authority. The fisherfolk are in good hands."

The Mortals nodded, satisfied that the people of Nindamos were safe. Fiondil, however, was more concerned about his own fate than those of the villagers whom he had never met. "How long will it take us to reach this cove you spoke of?" he asked.

"We should reach the harbor tomorrow night around midnight," Laurendil answered.

"And then what?" Fiondil demanded in exasperation. "What happens to me? I cannot remain in Númenórë. You know that!"

Eärnur reached over and placed a hand on the young Man’s knee. "Hush now, mellon nîn," he admonished him gently. "Do not fret so. A way will be found. Have faith."

"Easy for you to say," Fiondil muttered, looking rebellious.

Eärnur straightened, his expression going cold. "Indeed. After four hundred years in captivity, it is very easy for me to say."

Fiondil paled at Eärnur’s words and then he started to blush, attempting to apologize, but Eärnur stilled him with a finger on his lips, his eyes unreadable as he gazed at the now mortified Mortal. "Do not give into either despair or bitterness, child. Your life is short enough without compounding the problem. Have faith and believe that a way will be found."

For several moments no one else spoke. Finally, though ,Vorondil stirred and gave Eärnur a measuring look. "Well, while we are waiting around for a way to be found, perhaps you can enlighten me as to just what you’ve been doing these last four hundred years. Do you know I cried for a week when news came that you had died?"

Eärnur cast a mischievous smile at the younger Elf. "Only a week? I’m crushed."

"You’ll get over it," Vorondil retorted with a sniff.

Eärnur threw back his head and laughed. It was several minutes before he could get himself under control. When he had recovered enough he began his tale. "The Lord of Andúnië and I were sailing along the coast towards Rómenna when a gale came up from nowhere and...."

****

All words are Quenya.

Et Eärtumnallon: 'From Out of the Sea-Deeps'.

Eärhína: Sea-child.

Eärhinya: My Sea-child.

Hinya: My child.