The Musings of Ulmo

< Previous Elwing      < Previous Ulmo     September 29, 2010 AelKennyr Rhiano Upon his throne in his palace Ulmonan, on the bottom of Vaiya, sat the Singer of the Waves, the Lord of the Seas.  Tengwar in Quenya, but known by most of the Children of Illuvatar as Ulmo, he allowed himself, here in his watery palace to take on the form most comfortable to him, grateful to shed the new form he adopted of later seasons, so that the Children would not quake in fear of him.  His green armour glittered with a light of its own, and his great horns, the Ulumúri, laid in his watery lap, his fingers playing over the inlay of precious jewels of the seas which covered them. Always he had loved the Eldar and the Edain, the Children of Blessed Illuvatar.  Long were the talks between Manwë, first of all the Aratar and Ulmo: discussions before the coming of the Children, when Ulmo was one of the chief Architects of Arda; dark, dreadful talks about the deceits of Melkor; conversations where he informed the First of all the Valar, Manwë, of the comings and goings of Illuvatar's Children.  Ulmo, it was, whose watery fingers touched upon the very pulse of the world.  Their society he watched, too, for awhile, but it interested the solitary Lord of the Waves not, and he soon grew bored with the subtilities of their social interactions.  He knew Olwe was their Lord and King.  He would sometimes rear a head  when Olwe's daughter played along the shorelines, for she, among her people, had no fear of the Lord of Waves, but to his great amazement, would raise cubby arms and flex her fingers, beckoning him closer, showing him her treasures that only a small child could find along the shoreline...peices of shells, starfish, and  such.  But she grew into maidenhood and left behind things of childhood, and her fascination with Lord Ulmo faded as other things took precedence in her young mind.  He sent by swan a necklace of the finest pearls upon the day of her handfasting, and her tears of joy, falling to the soil beneath her feet, yet found their way to him, and he smiled. He sighs, a gush of water, not air, and the waters of the world echoed the sigh.  The Teleri, he thought, remembering the silver-haired elves he brought to the Blessed Realm, to Aman.  A smile, tender, almost fatherly, plays across the expanse of his face.  Their minds held the song of his seas,  their songs perfect in pitch and evocative of the rolling of sea toward shore. For the Teleri, his heart was soft, for they loved his realm and reverenced the waters of Illuvatar's creation.  A rumble of laughter spilled from the Sea Lord, for again, in his mind's eye, he saw the astonished look of the Teleri as Ulmo ferried them across the Belegaer to the Bay of Eldamar. Among the frightened and amazed Teleri, stood Olwe, no less frightened, but tall and determined to show a calmness and surety that did not reach the young elf's eyes.  Fingering one of his horns, Ulmo had to remind himself the passage of time in the world beyond his waters, how time, while not dimming the eyes of Olwe, has given them a tightness and a knowing, his body and carriage not that of a young and new-woken Child of Illuvatar, but that of a Eldar king of many centuries. But whereas before, the mind of the Teleri Lord was as accessible as the currents of the sea, now his mind was clouded, dark, murky as water inked by the multi-armed octopus.  And the myriad thoughts of the Teleri have vanished from his awareness as though one blew out a candle.  Save for a handful...ones like the sailor Nole,  the swordmaidens... a handful scattered throughout the mortal world.  He pushed at the darkness erected around the Teleri Lord's mind, strong as castle embattlements, but dared not pushed too hard, for the Eldar, though made of stronger stuff and the Edain, were not as the Valar, and he dared not hammer at the darkness for fear of destroying the mind of the Teleri King.  Rising from his throne, he replaced the horns, the  Ulumúri, upon the wall of his sea palace where they were hung.   As he drew his hand away,  he heard his name called, carried to him upon the waters of the world.  Whether it be in supplication, or exclamation, he marked not, but he knew well from whom the call came.  But, mused the second greatest of the Lords of the Valar, why would Eärendil's wife, Elwing, call his name, now, after so great a passage of time, and more importantly... Why was Elwing in Alqualonde? > Next