Grieving

On the high day, Olwë slipped out of the palace, refusing an escort, and made his way north along the jewel-strewn beach to where a headland projected out into the surf.  Great basalt columns were strewn about from the erosion of the waves, and he clambered across them until he'd achieved his objective, a hexagonal stump that would allow him to dangle his legs in the surf, and to commune with the Sea.

Sometimes, Ossë would come to speak with him, temporarily abandoning his oversight of the seas along the coasts of Beleriand.  No, Lindon, Olwë corrected himself, for Beleriand is no more.

And neither was his brother.  Silent tears wet his cheeks as he stared east at the distant blur where the cloudy sky met the horizon.  That particular grief was old enough that he no longer felt as if his heart was being ripped from his chest, but the ache remained, and would, he suspected, for however many yeni it was before Elwë was released from the Halls of Mandos.

A wave, much higher than the rest that flung themselves at the barrier of the Pelori, soaked him to the waist, almost like arms embracing him, and he allowed it to pull him with its retreat into the foam-laden water, letting the salt of the sea replace the taste of salt from his tears.

He swam, diving deep until his lungs finally protested, then making his way back to the surface to fight with the currents that threatened to drag him into the tumble of rocks or far out to sea.

When he finally tired, he made his way back to his 'thinking rock'.  As he began to haul himself onto it, a large, strong hand seized his wrist and pulled him up, to sit, dripping, in front of the incarnate form of Lord Ulmo.

"Thank you, my lord—" Olwë began.  Then, as his eyes met those of the Vala, a memory from when he had departed Middle-earth forever drifted from the depths of his mind, breaching like one of the great Singers whose voices sent alien yet comforting songs through the sea.

"I—I miss my brother, lord."  An odd expression crossed the Vala's face for a moment and Olwë thought he heard the words *As I miss mine.*

Olwë took Ulmo's hand and drew him down to sit next to him.  "It's all right to miss him, lord.  He did terrible things, but, still, he was your elder brother, and you loved him once."

Pain filled Ulmo's voice.  "I know that we had no choice in expelling him past the Door of Night, for Arda's sake and the sake of you Children. Yet, I love him for what he was, although I hate what he has chosen to become." 

Olwë put his arm across Ulmo's shoulders, and pulled the Vala against his side, just as he had Arafinwë and his sons.   He rested his chin on the seaweed-green hair, and wept himself as Ulmo grieved.