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AelKennyr Rhiano
Olwe felt his heart hammer painfully in his chest, and little spots of white light appeared before his eyes. It was then he realized that he had been holding his breath. One moment he was standing, head held hight, blue eyes flashing, his carriage that of one who beheld his death rushing to tear flesh from bone and yet would not quail or run. Then the waters of the harbor churned and foamed, and from its depths emerged no other than the Lord of Waters. Ulmo had heard the prayers of the elven king. Alqualonde was saved.
Mute, transfixed, Olwe watches as from the sea a solid wall of water rises, and in a voice deep as the sea, as loud as thunder, and as uncompromising as the worse of sea storms, Ulmo commands the Balrog and his dragon mount to leave the Swanhaven, claiming the eternal home of the Teleri as under his protection. As sudden silence fell across the island city, and only the swirling woosh of the wall of water mingled with the roar and crackle of several dozen fires could be heard.
Once the dragon and the balrog was no longer even a distant dot on the horizon, the wall of water rose into the clouds and a few moments later, Alqualonde was bathed in a cleansing rain, dousing the fires spread throughout the Swanhaven. The drops of rain mingled with the tears upon Olwe's face, and as the Lord of Waters descended, the Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea sunk to his knees, bowing his head. "My Lord," He greeted. his voice thick with emotion. "I.." Olwe stops.
Tearing his eyes away from the horizon and the direction in which the foul, twisted creatures had fled, the look Ulmo turned upon the Lord of the Teleri was dark and wrathful. As Olwe struggled to give voice to his relief and gratitude, he lifts his face up to behold Ulmo and saw the expression, so dark and dread. It was a look that Olwe had never seen upon the Lord of Water. "My Lord?" he starts again, in his words a quiet and respectful tone.
Ulmo starts and finally sees the elf kneeling before him, blue eyes looking up with complete trust, with an emotion Ulmo cannot name. Slowly, his anger seeps out of him, and the Lord of Waters's gaze becomes calm and still. "Olwe." he says.
Olwe bows his head at hearing his name, his silver hair plastered against his head as the rain continues to fall. "You heard us, my Lord, in our great need. By your hand is Alqualonde saved. We are grateful, my Lord Ulmo."
Ulmo gazes about the Swanhaven. Slowly the fires were being extinguished. His eyes rest upon the destroyed Tower of the Maia, Tilion for several moments. Dimly, he hears Olwe's thanks, as thought from a great distance. I have disregarded Manwe's admonishment against interference in the affairs of the Children," Ulmo realizes. He, the one among the Valar who was most like a friend unto the Breath of Arda. He who prefers the caress of the waters of the worlds to the surface of the land, who knew of the Children and their habits only as they sailed upon the seas, who watched them from afar and wondered at the things which often occupied them. He has crossed an uncharted boundary and without a second thought, discounted the will of Manwe to save the elf now kneeling before him.
"Rise, Olwe of Alqualonde, past, present, and future King of Alqualonde," he says, his voice gentle now, his eyes filled with a warmth few ever find there.
But Olwe has seen that warmth before, and his face lights with a radiance. Gracefully he stands. "As Lord Ulmo commands," he says.
Ulmo tilts his head, and a overlarge hand reaches up to stroke his chin as he grows silent for a few seconds. "The spawn of Melkor's desire will not seek to strike in Alqualonde in so bold a manner," Ulmo says," But know, Olwe, that this is but the beginning."
Olwe opens his mouth to ask "beginning of what?" But, in truth, he knows the answer. The Darkness has tried, twice now, to end the life of Olwe of Alqualonde. It will try again.
And Olwe needs be ready.
Mute, transfixed, Olwe watches as from the sea a solid wall of water rises, and in a voice deep as the sea, as loud as thunder, and as uncompromising as the worse of sea storms, Ulmo commands the Balrog and his dragon mount to leave the Swanhaven, claiming the eternal home of the Teleri as under his protection. As sudden silence fell across the island city, and only the swirling woosh of the wall of water mingled with the roar and crackle of several dozen fires could be heard.
Once the dragon and the balrog was no longer even a distant dot on the horizon, the wall of water rose into the clouds and a few moments later, Alqualonde was bathed in a cleansing rain, dousing the fires spread throughout the Swanhaven. The drops of rain mingled with the tears upon Olwe's face, and as the Lord of Waters descended, the Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea sunk to his knees, bowing his head. "My Lord," He greeted. his voice thick with emotion. "I.." Olwe stops.
Tearing his eyes away from the horizon and the direction in which the foul, twisted creatures had fled, the look Ulmo turned upon the Lord of the Teleri was dark and wrathful. As Olwe struggled to give voice to his relief and gratitude, he lifts his face up to behold Ulmo and saw the expression, so dark and dread. It was a look that Olwe had never seen upon the Lord of Water. "My Lord?" he starts again, in his words a quiet and respectful tone.
Ulmo starts and finally sees the elf kneeling before him, blue eyes looking up with complete trust, with an emotion Ulmo cannot name. Slowly, his anger seeps out of him, and the Lord of Waters's gaze becomes calm and still. "Olwe." he says.
Olwe bows his head at hearing his name, his silver hair plastered against his head as the rain continues to fall. "You heard us, my Lord, in our great need. By your hand is Alqualonde saved. We are grateful, my Lord Ulmo."
Ulmo gazes about the Swanhaven. Slowly the fires were being extinguished. His eyes rest upon the destroyed Tower of the Maia, Tilion for several moments. Dimly, he hears Olwe's thanks, as thought from a great distance. I have disregarded Manwe's admonishment against interference in the affairs of the Children," Ulmo realizes. He, the one among the Valar who was most like a friend unto the Breath of Arda. He who prefers the caress of the waters of the worlds to the surface of the land, who knew of the Children and their habits only as they sailed upon the seas, who watched them from afar and wondered at the things which often occupied them. He has crossed an uncharted boundary and without a second thought, discounted the will of Manwe to save the elf now kneeling before him.
"Rise, Olwe of Alqualonde, past, present, and future King of Alqualonde," he says, his voice gentle now, his eyes filled with a warmth few ever find there.
But Olwe has seen that warmth before, and his face lights with a radiance. Gracefully he stands. "As Lord Ulmo commands," he says.
Ulmo tilts his head, and a overlarge hand reaches up to stroke his chin as he grows silent for a few seconds. "The spawn of Melkor's desire will not seek to strike in Alqualonde in so bold a manner," Ulmo says," But know, Olwe, that this is but the beginning."
Olwe opens his mouth to ask "beginning of what?" But, in truth, he knows the answer. The Darkness has tried, twice now, to end the life of Olwe of Alqualonde. It will try again.
And Olwe needs be ready.