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AelKennyr Rhiano
Ulmo, Singer of waves, Lord of Waters, rose out of the very foam of the tide as it rolled into the docks of the Teleri Swanhaven. Alqualonde stood, now an island in the world of mortal creatures, but the otherworldly beauty of the Undying Lands still clothed the realm and as Arien guided her fiery vessel into the sky, the red golden rays of the daystar bathed the island in a bright golden haze. Ulmo watched as another day came to Alqualonde, his eyes roving over the landscape. All the transcendence of the Shinging Lands was encapsuled here. Birdsong rose from among the trees and shrubs, greeting joyously the coming day. The swans roused themselves, little ones following obediently behind the gentle glide of their parents.
Every wisp of the wind Ulmo heard. Every rustle of a leaf, every sway of a branch, the tickle of the wind thorugh the grass brought a sound to his ears...he could hear every living thing both in the seas and on the land. But there were no songs, no lilting chattering elves going about their daily routine, no mothers bouncing gurgling babes on their hips, no haggling in the marketplace, no ships in the harbor.
All was still. Not since Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir elves called him, not since he ran amok and caused terrible destruction, has Ulmo felt such a cold dread. Even though he knew of the disappearance of the Teleri, elves close to his heart, to find Alqualonde cold and barren of elven life caused the Valar to utter a fearsome groan. In answer, waves of water lept up and spilled across the empty docks. The squawking of the swans brought the mighty Valar back to himself, and he quelled his anger and frustration, lest he destory the harbor of the Swanhaven.
The waves died down slowly, as Ulmo closed his eyes and found the heartbeat he sought. Yes, she was still here, on Alqualonde, tired, disheaveled, confused and seeking for answers. Ulmo made his form even smaller, more akin to the forms of the Firstborn and slowly spoke, his voice, low, but rumbling through the valley, echoing in the empty palace walls, reverberated from every waterfall, every pool of water. "Elwing, daughter of Dior the Fair, wife of Eärendil, come to me," he commanded. Then, with the patience of the endless Valar, Ulmo crossed his arms and waited.
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Every wisp of the wind Ulmo heard. Every rustle of a leaf, every sway of a branch, the tickle of the wind thorugh the grass brought a sound to his ears...he could hear every living thing both in the seas and on the land. But there were no songs, no lilting chattering elves going about their daily routine, no mothers bouncing gurgling babes on their hips, no haggling in the marketplace, no ships in the harbor.
All was still. Not since Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir elves called him, not since he ran amok and caused terrible destruction, has Ulmo felt such a cold dread. Even though he knew of the disappearance of the Teleri, elves close to his heart, to find Alqualonde cold and barren of elven life caused the Valar to utter a fearsome groan. In answer, waves of water lept up and spilled across the empty docks. The squawking of the swans brought the mighty Valar back to himself, and he quelled his anger and frustration, lest he destory the harbor of the Swanhaven.
The waves died down slowly, as Ulmo closed his eyes and found the heartbeat he sought. Yes, she was still here, on Alqualonde, tired, disheaveled, confused and seeking for answers. Ulmo made his form even smaller, more akin to the forms of the Firstborn and slowly spoke, his voice, low, but rumbling through the valley, echoing in the empty palace walls, reverberated from every waterfall, every pool of water. "Elwing, daughter of Dior the Fair, wife of Eärendil, come to me," he commanded. Then, with the patience of the endless Valar, Ulmo crossed his arms and waited.
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