The rains came. Sheets of waters pouring out of a charcoal grey sky sooted with clouds that promised much and more of the same. Beneath their feet, the sea because to roll and pitch, the ocean choppy and steel grey. Olwe stands up as the rains pour down, quickly drenching both he and the sea merchant, the faithful Nole, and his fine clothing sticks wetly to his skin, chilling his body. He shivers as the wind, turning cold, begins to whistle and moan, wrapping its icy fingers about his tall frame and squeezing tight. The ship leans starboard suddenly, and Olwe throws out a hand to grab at the ropes of the sail. Blue eyes scour the horizon and find, ahead of them, the darker grey outline of a shoreline. He turns his head, hair plastered limply to his head and shouts to Nole to be hear above the pelting rain, "Is...that...Sylvhara?"
Nole is concerned with the sudden change in weather. It had been clear earlier with favorable winds, but now with the wind picking up and the driving rain...it startles him. His king's words comfort him a little. At least they were close to land. Looking out over the sea to where Olwe indicates, he sees the forested shore ahead. He recognizes the forest even from this distance. "Yes,that is Sylvhara." Relieved and hoping the master of the waves allows them to pass the last distance, he thinks the sudden change in weather may be simply one of many others he encounters
in this region of the sea.
Olwe gives a grim nod and turns back to stare at the faint distant outline. With the rain so fierce it is hard to see much in the way of detail, but with each moment, they come closer and closer. The deck of the ship rolls and pitch in a complex dance of ship and sea, and Olwe plants his feet shoulder width apart and keeps his grip on the rope, letting his body shift its center of gravity in answer to the motion with a long established ease. He leans a little forward, cocking an ear to see if anything can be heard from down below, but the rain is hard and drowns out any sound that may be made beneath them in the cabins. The little lines around the eyes of the Lord of Alqualonde crease further as he squints. It is Sylvhara. It has to be. "Lord," He murmurs, "Ulmo, please, please. We are so close."
Nole wipes his hair from his eyes as the rain seems to intensify. The swells also appear to increase. He is not sure he has seen anything quite like this before. He holds on to the Captain's steering not only to guide the ship but to keep from falling out as well. His thoughts consider if this is a natural sea storm or not?
Estelin, already weakened by the slow rocking of the ship when they left harbor earlier, is truly miserable now. He wonders what could be causing all this motion. All he can do is grip the barrel, which, in itself, has started moving around in the cabin. He has not vomited in a while, and he thinks maybe he has nothing left inside him. "Olwe... why does he have to be a sea elf..." he moans under his breath.
Below them, right beyond them, beneath them, pacing upon the currents of the waters of the world, as they kiss the coastline of Sylvhara, the Maiar Osse curls his lips and narrows his eyes, his nostrils flaring. He waves a slender hand and the waves rise higher in response. "Turn back, Olwe," He murmurs, his voice mingling with the hard pelting rain, the rising moan of the wind, and the crash of the waves. "Turn back."
Closer they come, and ahead of them, a dark black mass against a grey sky looms closer and closer. Olwe reaches out and grabs the other rope as a swell picks up the boat and drops it hard, the water splashing up and over the sides. He shifts his boots and feels water sloshing over the top of them. Looking down, he sees that the boats is taking on water...not from the sea, but the rain. At this point they will have to start bailing the boat. His blues eyes lift and fix upon Sylvhara. "ULMO," He shouts as loud as he dares, "LORD OF THE SEA! HEAR MY PLEA! GIVE MERCY! I, OLWE, BESEECH THEE!"
But Ulmo, unbeknowst to Olwe, was in Aman, in Lorien, speaking of hands and feet with the Smith, the Mahal, Aule.
Olwe's words raises his fears. He shouts over the storm to his king. "This is unnatural, is this Ulmo's doing?" Looking around, the Sylvhara shore is visible but just so. The increasing rain nearly blotting it from view, but he knows which direction to sail. "We're nearly there! I assure you my king I will get you to port safely!"
Olwe turns at the sound of Nole's voice, but the words are drowned in the fury of the rain, and try as he might, Olwe cannot hear anything but "Ulmo," and "assure." His brow furrows as he tries to make sense and puzzle the missing words as all about them, the ocean churns and heaves, and the graceful swan ship is tossed about from one angry swell to another. He opens his mouth to speak, but from up ahead of them there is a mighty roaring sound, like a great horde of warriors riding across a field to give battle. His head whips back around to seen a mound of water erupt from the see. A gasp escapes him as his eyes widen. Atop the mountain of water is a figure, but not the one he expected to see.
Estelin comes to his senses at Osse's voice. He feels his presence nearby, and knows Ulmo must have sent him. Mental images come to mind of things he can do to the Maia for causing all this havoc. "Why... why could you have not just told him to go home? Why did you have to make a storm?" Becoming queasy again with a downward plunge of the ship, he settles against the barrel again.
Osse, Maia in service to Ulmo, Lord of the Waters of the world, rises from the ocean upon a foaming, churning, roaring volcano of sea waters, the mere sound of the rushing waters like the roars of a great beast in extreme pain. Resting atop it, his slanted eyes regard the swan ship before him. Crossing his hands and resting them against his stomach, his lips curl as he gazes down upon the Lord of Alqualonde, the displeasure he feels at the Teleri Lord clear upon his face as he snorts. He opens his mouth to answer, and readies himself to throw the fury of the sea at the delicate ship before him, to drive it back to Alqualonde and to smash it against the shores of the Swanhaven. But there is a presence in his mind, an awareness, and the eyes of the Lord of Sea Storms widen in surprise. Irmo? Irmo aboard the ship? Not only is the Lord of Dreams aboard the vessel, but down below the deck, and heaving the contents of a very mortal stomach. Osse pulls his head back a little in astonishment and then grinds his teeth. Now, he dares not sink the ship, nor send it crashing against land.
Osse bows his head, once, and in his mind, answer the Lord of Dreams, his mental tone surly and redolent with disappointment. "I ask pardon, Lord of Dreams. I was obeying my Lord and his Will." He then turns back to the ship and the Elven king. "Olwe of Alqualonde, "He calls out. "King of the Teleri. You have presumed much in sailing these waters. You have been so insolent as to pitch your will against the Will of the great Vala Ulmo. You have been told, faithless Child of Eru, to sail not to Sylvhara. Your path is elsewhere. Heed you the Will of the Valar and turn away. For you shall not pass." He raises a hand and points at the Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea. "Blessed you have been by the favor of the Valar. Be not a fool. For if you turn not away, then upon your head will fall the consequences that not only you will pay, but those here with you. Are you king, with concern for your people, or despot as your brother Thingol ended his days? DECIDE!"
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Osse, Maia in service to Ulmo, Lord of the Waters of the world, rises from the ocean upon a foaming, churning, roaring volcano of sea waters, the mere sound of the rushing waters like the roars of a great beast in extreme pain. Resting atop it, his slanted eyes regard the swan ship before him. Crossing his hands and resting them against his stomach, his lips curl as he gazes down upon the Lord of Alqualonde, the displeasure he feels at the Teleri Lord clear upon his face as he snorts. He opens his mouth to answer, and readies himself to throw the fury of the sea at the delicate ship before him, to drive it back to Alqualonde and to smash it against the shores of the Swanhaven. But there is a presence in his mind, an awareness, and the eyes of the Lord of Sea Storms widen in surprise. Irmo? Irmo aboard the ship? Not only is the Lord of Dreams aboard the vessel, but down below the deck, and heaving the contents of a very mortal stomach. Osse pulls his head back a little in astonishment and then grinds his teeth. Now, he dares not sink the ship, nor send it crashing against land.
Osse bows his head, once, and in his mind, answer the Lord of Dreams, his mental tone surly and redolent with disappointment. "I ask pardon, Lord of Dreams. I was obeying my Lord and his Will." He then turns back to the ship and the Elven king. "Olwe of Alqualonde, "He calls out. "King of the Teleri. You have presumed much in sailing these waters. You have been so insolent as to pitch your will against the Will of the great Vala Ulmo. You have been told, faithless Child of Eru, to sail not to Sylvhara. Your path is elsewhere. Heed you the Will of the Valar and turn away. For you shall not pass." He raises a hand and points at the Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea. "Blessed you have been by the favor of the Valar. Be not a fool. For if you turn not away, then upon your head will fall the consequences that not only you will pay, but those here with you. Are you king, with concern for your people, or despot as your brother Thingol ended his days? DECIDE!"
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