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"Are you king, with concern for your people, or despot as your brother Thingol ended his days? DECIDE!"
The storm is forgotten. The angry, churning waves are forgotten. Olwe, Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea, King of the Teleri Elves and Cousin to the Sylvan Queen Comet, can see the shoreline of his cousin's kingdom, just behind the Lord of Storms, so tantalizingly close. But he forgets his purpose in this moment. The storm around him is naught to him compared to the rage and fury that boils and churns with him. Blue eyes, usually gentle, kind, earning him the nickname "Anamel" among his people grow hard and sharp. He tilts his head up a little, those eyes staring boldly into Osse's, and he clenches his jaw; his answer cold, hard, and as sharp as his gaze. His hair hangs limply plastered to his head and face, as his clothes are plastered against his body. The cold wind that is swirling around them like the pricks of several blade points on his skin. "My brother, ELWE," he pauses to stress the name, "was once beloved of the Valar, Lord Osse. He it was who was one of three the Lord Orome took the Undying Land, and he it was who returned unto us and spoke to us with the words of the Valar, bidding us come join them in the Blessed Realm. And so we did, because of him." He takes a step forward on the deck, and a wave rises up and tilts the ship dangerously to one side, tumbling Olwe into a seat at the oars. He clings to the seat ahead of his and waits for the swell to subside before speaking again.
"Despot? You call him Despot? He was not! Know I well, the things that claimed my brother's mind at the end. I need not hear him speak ill of, not by anyone alive. Not by any ONE. You seek to school me late in the cares of kingship, my Lord. And my beloved brother received no instruction at all, save the advice of his loving wife." He stands again, feet planted shoulder length apart. "You may speak of me how you wish, my Lord." He juts his chin out, and the winds whips up and pulls the next words out of his mouth and carries them in a swirl of water before speeding them to the Lord of Sea Storms. "But you may not speak disparagingly of my brother, who has paid the price for his mistakes and now spends his eternity in Mandos."
Nole keeps his grip as he can with the side of the ship. The wind drives rain in his eyes and he slits them to try to see. The deck tilts underfoot with the surging of the wave passing underneath. The boards are so slippery and wet even as he sits by the rudder. He thinks he should not try to stand. He hears the wind howling around him, filled with the voice of the Maiar and of his king. Beneath, the ship's timbers creak as they strain against the ocean.
Below, the Lord of dreams never felt sicker in all his existence. Trying to keep from sliding around, he holds on to the windowsill until the great wave passes beneath. He falls, gripping Nole's chest of supplies to steady himself. The lid pops open, and a dry sock falls out. His face turning green and unable to take it anymore, he vomits into the sock.
Osse's nostrils flare, and his eyes narrow to mere slits. All about the ship, the wind howls and beats at the sail, the ropes straining. The rain drops heavy from the steel grey sky, and a flash of lightning seems to cut through the heavens , following by a deafening roll of thunder. But above it all the voice of the Maiar is clearly heard. "Tell me of Beleriand, Olwe, of your years of searching for your brother? Where was he? Was he laid waste by some sickness? Trapped and unable to return to his people?" Osse pauses, lifting a hand and using a finger to tap at his chin. "Why, no, I believe he spent 200 years staring, moon- faced, at Melian, my sister Maia. Oh, brave and noble Lord he is."
He stretches that same hand out now, palm to Olwe. "But I--I, Olwe, Uinen and I felt moved by your people, moved by you, and we saw you through your journey, as our Lord Ulmo wished. I it was who taught unto you the crafting of ships such as you now sail. My Lord Ulmo watched over your people, over you, as did I. And all that you have learned of the waters of the world, you learned because my Lord wished, and because I grew fond of your people. I grew fond of you." His face grew darker and yet at the same time, more sorrowful as he speaks. "You SHALL turn back, Olwe. You shall turn back, or face what consequences come of such ungrateful disobedience."
Nole watches the ropes holding the sails stretching taut from the strain with the wind. He strongly considers furling some of the sails, bringing them in before the wind tears them to shreds. Land is all but invisible now, and he is unsure if they are moving or not. Sylvhara seemed close before, and he hopes that they do not wind up smashed on a rocky shoreline. All the while he waits for Olwe to respond, for once in his life, feeling doubt and insecurity in his king's actions.
Estelin grips the chest in one hand and the now-full Nole's sock in the other. He sends thoughts of anger to the Maiar, flashing messages of how dare Osse defy one of the Valar and risk Lord Olwe's mission in uniting the free elves of the world.
"My Lord Osse," answers Olwe, drawing himself to his full height. Now that his brother no longer was on the mortal plain, it is Olwe who towers in height over the Firstborn, the Elves, and his long, slender frame seems frail in the center of this maelstrom. "All that you have been and more. Friend, teacher, patron, and guardian at times. All that and more has been the Lord of the Waters of the World." He swallows and sets upon his face a look of fierce determination. "But I shall NOT turn back, My Lord. I shall not. Ahead lies my closest kin in the realm of Men and Elves, and unknown to me is her condition. I have lost my people once to the greed of the Noldor in the time of the kinslaying. I have lost my people again, taken from the one place where they should have been safe."
He pauses again, and his anger rises up as he thinks of his words and their import. "Yes, where they should have been safe. In the Undying Lands, protected by the Lady Uinen, protected by the Lord Ulmo. Protected by YOU!" His voice becomes a shout, and he raises a hand to point at the Maia. "Where were you when my people were taken, my Lord? Where were the Valar? Where were they, when I was taken unawares, my mind, my soul nearly lost." He takes a step forward, heedless of the heaving of the boat. "I was saved, my Lord, by the Valar. I live, while I know not if my people live. She is blood of my blood, kin of my Clan. I WILL NOT YIELD!"
Osse's mouth becomes a tight, thin line. "Then, do not yield, Olwe," he answers, and he turns his hand so that the palm faces upward. He lifts his hand, up, up, up, and below him, the winds screams, and lifts the ship up, up, up, out of the water. The ropes, strained beyond endurance, at last snap, one by one, becoming snakes of twine, falling back down to the deck and narrowly missing Nole as he sits upon the captain's chair, manning the rudder. Olwe catches his breath as he feels the ship rise out of the ocean, and keeps his eyes affixed upon the Maiar, his heart hammering. Osse gathers himself, and opens his thoughts to the Lord of Dreams, inviting the Vala of Visions to see into his mind and know that no harm is planned for the Lord of Alqualonde or the Teleri sea merchant.
Osse lifts his hand, and the ship raises that much more from the ocean. The wind scream his rage, but his eyes, his eyes that lock unto the form of Olwe are angry and vengeful and sorrowful and hurt. "GO!" he commands, and then he tilts his head back, opens his mouth, and a scream such as never has issued from a mortal mouth spills from the Maia, T he skies turn black. The very wind around them spins and dances wildly, and the ship shudders as the mast finally snaps and breaks, landing across the ship, the sails flopping over the side, the wild winds tearing the canvas into strips. Olwe feels the moment the ship lurches, and then they are airborne, flying careening stem to stern to stem to stern in wild circles, hurtling away from Sylvhara.
As the grey outline of his cousin's kingdom recedes from view, Olwe surges into action and tries to move forward toward the prow of the ship, but instead he stumbles among the ropes and snapped wood and cloth of the shattered mast. Sinking down amongst the wreckage of the mast, all he can do is lift a hand up and out and scream with all his might, "Noooooo! Nooo! Comet! COOMMMMEETTT!!"
Without the sails, the ship is affected by the rolling of the winds. Nole uses only the rudder to steer with, which seems rather ineffectual against the wind. Muttering a prayer, he also stifles a curse or two at his stubborn elf king. In addition, he is worried about getting back to land again.
Estelin, confused by Osse's reply about not wanting to hurt the teleri, lets his guard down a little. But his queasy stomach prevents him from feeling any better about their situation as the ship continues to lurch around. "Where in the world are we now?" he thinks while holding back another bodily eruption.
"Are you king, with concern for your people, or despot as your brother Thingol ended his days? DECIDE!"
The storm is forgotten. The angry, churning waves are forgotten. Olwe, Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea, King of the Teleri Elves and Cousin to the Sylvan Queen Comet, can see the shoreline of his cousin's kingdom, just behind the Lord of Storms, so tantalizingly close. But he forgets his purpose in this moment. The storm around him is naught to him compared to the rage and fury that boils and churns with him. Blue eyes, usually gentle, kind, earning him the nickname "Anamel" among his people grow hard and sharp. He tilts his head up a little, those eyes staring boldly into Osse's, and he clenches his jaw; his answer cold, hard, and as sharp as his gaze. His hair hangs limply plastered to his head and face, as his clothes are plastered against his body. The cold wind that is swirling around them like the pricks of several blade points on his skin. "My brother, ELWE," he pauses to stress the name, "was once beloved of the Valar, Lord Osse. He it was who was one of three the Lord Orome took the Undying Land, and he it was who returned unto us and spoke to us with the words of the Valar, bidding us come join them in the Blessed Realm. And so we did, because of him." He takes a step forward on the deck, and a wave rises up and tilts the ship dangerously to one side, tumbling Olwe into a seat at the oars. He clings to the seat ahead of his and waits for the swell to subside before speaking again.
"Despot? You call him Despot? He was not! Know I well, the things that claimed my brother's mind at the end. I need not hear him speak ill of, not by anyone alive. Not by any ONE. You seek to school me late in the cares of kingship, my Lord. And my beloved brother received no instruction at all, save the advice of his loving wife." He stands again, feet planted shoulder length apart. "You may speak of me how you wish, my Lord." He juts his chin out, and the winds whips up and pulls the next words out of his mouth and carries them in a swirl of water before speeding them to the Lord of Sea Storms. "But you may not speak disparagingly of my brother, who has paid the price for his mistakes and now spends his eternity in Mandos."
Nole keeps his grip as he can with the side of the ship. The wind drives rain in his eyes and he slits them to try to see. The deck tilts underfoot with the surging of the wave passing underneath. The boards are so slippery and wet even as he sits by the rudder. He thinks he should not try to stand. He hears the wind howling around him, filled with the voice of the Maiar and of his king. Beneath, the ship's timbers creak as they strain against the ocean.
Below, the Lord of dreams never felt sicker in all his existence. Trying to keep from sliding around, he holds on to the windowsill until the great wave passes beneath. He falls, gripping Nole's chest of supplies to steady himself. The lid pops open, and a dry sock falls out. His face turning green and unable to take it anymore, he vomits into the sock.
Osse's nostrils flare, and his eyes narrow to mere slits. All about the ship, the wind howls and beats at the sail, the ropes straining. The rain drops heavy from the steel grey sky, and a flash of lightning seems to cut through the heavens , following by a deafening roll of thunder. But above it all the voice of the Maiar is clearly heard. "Tell me of Beleriand, Olwe, of your years of searching for your brother? Where was he? Was he laid waste by some sickness? Trapped and unable to return to his people?" Osse pauses, lifting a hand and using a finger to tap at his chin. "Why, no, I believe he spent 200 years staring, moon- faced, at Melian, my sister Maia. Oh, brave and noble Lord he is."
He stretches that same hand out now, palm to Olwe. "But I--I, Olwe, Uinen and I felt moved by your people, moved by you, and we saw you through your journey, as our Lord Ulmo wished. I it was who taught unto you the crafting of ships such as you now sail. My Lord Ulmo watched over your people, over you, as did I. And all that you have learned of the waters of the world, you learned because my Lord wished, and because I grew fond of your people. I grew fond of you." His face grew darker and yet at the same time, more sorrowful as he speaks. "You SHALL turn back, Olwe. You shall turn back, or face what consequences come of such ungrateful disobedience."
Nole watches the ropes holding the sails stretching taut from the strain with the wind. He strongly considers furling some of the sails, bringing them in before the wind tears them to shreds. Land is all but invisible now, and he is unsure if they are moving or not. Sylvhara seemed close before, and he hopes that they do not wind up smashed on a rocky shoreline. All the while he waits for Olwe to respond, for once in his life, feeling doubt and insecurity in his king's actions.
Estelin grips the chest in one hand and the now-full Nole's sock in the other. He sends thoughts of anger to the Maiar, flashing messages of how dare Osse defy one of the Valar and risk Lord Olwe's mission in uniting the free elves of the world.
"My Lord Osse," answers Olwe, drawing himself to his full height. Now that his brother no longer was on the mortal plain, it is Olwe who towers in height over the Firstborn, the Elves, and his long, slender frame seems frail in the center of this maelstrom. "All that you have been and more. Friend, teacher, patron, and guardian at times. All that and more has been the Lord of the Waters of the World." He swallows and sets upon his face a look of fierce determination. "But I shall NOT turn back, My Lord. I shall not. Ahead lies my closest kin in the realm of Men and Elves, and unknown to me is her condition. I have lost my people once to the greed of the Noldor in the time of the kinslaying. I have lost my people again, taken from the one place where they should have been safe."
He pauses again, and his anger rises up as he thinks of his words and their import. "Yes, where they should have been safe. In the Undying Lands, protected by the Lady Uinen, protected by the Lord Ulmo. Protected by YOU!" His voice becomes a shout, and he raises a hand to point at the Maia. "Where were you when my people were taken, my Lord? Where were the Valar? Where were they, when I was taken unawares, my mind, my soul nearly lost." He takes a step forward, heedless of the heaving of the boat. "I was saved, my Lord, by the Valar. I live, while I know not if my people live. She is blood of my blood, kin of my Clan. I WILL NOT YIELD!"
Osse's mouth becomes a tight, thin line. "Then, do not yield, Olwe," he answers, and he turns his hand so that the palm faces upward. He lifts his hand, up, up, up, and below him, the winds screams, and lifts the ship up, up, up, out of the water. The ropes, strained beyond endurance, at last snap, one by one, becoming snakes of twine, falling back down to the deck and narrowly missing Nole as he sits upon the captain's chair, manning the rudder. Olwe catches his breath as he feels the ship rise out of the ocean, and keeps his eyes affixed upon the Maiar, his heart hammering. Osse gathers himself, and opens his thoughts to the Lord of Dreams, inviting the Vala of Visions to see into his mind and know that no harm is planned for the Lord of Alqualonde or the Teleri sea merchant.
Osse lifts his hand, and the ship raises that much more from the ocean. The wind scream his rage, but his eyes, his eyes that lock unto the form of Olwe are angry and vengeful and sorrowful and hurt. "GO!" he commands, and then he tilts his head back, opens his mouth, and a scream such as never has issued from a mortal mouth spills from the Maia, T he skies turn black. The very wind around them spins and dances wildly, and the ship shudders as the mast finally snaps and breaks, landing across the ship, the sails flopping over the side, the wild winds tearing the canvas into strips. Olwe feels the moment the ship lurches, and then they are airborne, flying careening stem to stern to stem to stern in wild circles, hurtling away from Sylvhara.
As the grey outline of his cousin's kingdom recedes from view, Olwe surges into action and tries to move forward toward the prow of the ship, but instead he stumbles among the ropes and snapped wood and cloth of the shattered mast. Sinking down amongst the wreckage of the mast, all he can do is lift a hand up and out and scream with all his might, "Noooooo! Nooo! Comet! COOMMMMEETTT!!"
Without the sails, the ship is affected by the rolling of the winds. Nole uses only the rudder to steer with, which seems rather ineffectual against the wind. Muttering a prayer, he also stifles a curse or two at his stubborn elf king. In addition, he is worried about getting back to land again.
Estelin, confused by Osse's reply about not wanting to hurt the teleri, lets his guard down a little. But his queasy stomach prevents him from feeling any better about their situation as the ship continues to lurch around. "Where in the world are we now?" he thinks while holding back another bodily eruption.