Chapter One
Stormy Seas Make for Impromptu Decisions
The sea was calm and gentle and held the ships with an almost tender love except for the rocking of the deep swells and white breaks. Waves hugged the sides of the vessels and left a glittering trail of bracken and sea salt to coat the polished, white frames. So many ships had been leaving for Valinor as of late. The elves felt their time drawing to a close. Rivendell was to be almost entirely emptied in less than seven months time and Lothlorien was to follow soon after, for who could resist the calling of the sea to bring them home?
Anariel gazed across the open waters in the direction of her heritage and a contented smile lifted upon her face. She firmly believed that her time had come, for what else was there to do? Middle-earth was surely destined to either be destroyed or to fall into the temperamental hands of Men. Any elf who had enough common sense could see that the situation was coming to a close and that they were not meant to be a part of it in any way, shape, or form. And so elves came in droves from every corner of Middle-Earth in hopes of catching the first ship to sail. Anariel herself had come from a settlement near the Misty Mountains where her hope for a peaceful time had been utterly shattered.
Saruman's arm had begun to cast a great dread around Isengard and the terrain was now dangerous and silent. Rumors filled the once spring-like land with tales of black flesh and men-like orcs. Many elves disappeared in the surrounding forests. This was almost unheard of in the world of elves for they do not easily get lost and almost always travel safely in sensible numbers. Nevertheless a mysterious shadow crept out of Orthanc's gaze and there was nothing the elves could do about it. They abandoned their posts and settlements and packed for the white shores of Valinor knowing that the darkness would soon consume their lands and, if they didn't leave, themselves as well.
Dagored and Dearthos each laid a hand on their sister's shoulders. She smiled up at them in turn and wrapped her arms around their waists as the three siblings made their way down to the coast. Many of the elves who were departing upon these ships were already situated within the skiffs, ready to reach the white sails of the sea vessels and begin the journey. Bags and crates filled with belongings, food, and fresh water had already been stowed under the decks and a pleasant breeze had begun to blow through the bay. The time was nearing their departure and Anariel felt a tug of excitement as her leather boots stepped onto the inside of the skiff. The sun was bright and the air hummed with the song of birds and the laughter of the wind. It was a beautiful day to sail and a good omen.
Once out on the ships the elves began to sing a melody of excitement and true joy. The sound was quiet at first but steadily grew louder until it was resounding off of the rock walls and creating an echo of elated and merry voices throughout the bay. Friends and strangers alike waved goodbye and wishes of good luck and a safe journey filled the air. Slowly, one by one, the white ships opened up their gleaming, sturdy sails that shone golden in the rising sun and slowly slid out to sea.
It was unlike any motion that Anariel had ever felt before, the slight, gentle rocking of the ship was monotonously smooth, yet every once in a while a large wave would break the sequence of leaning and listing. The other elves had settled themselves down upon the deck and some even clambered below to their hammocks; their stomachs couldn't handle the rise and fall of the cresting waves. Dagored sat near the base of the mast in the light and warmth of the sun enjoying sifting through all of his weapons and cleaning their blades to a pristine condition. The weapons would have no more use across the sea except to be a token of memories created upon the surface of Middle-Earth, he thought. Dearthos and Anariel stood back near the stern of the vessel and gazed out upon the land that they had left.
It looked so far away, yet the greens and browns were still visible through their elven eyes and the lush forests atop the crumbling cliffs of the inlet blew in a breeze that they could not feel from this distance.
"Anariel, can you remember Mother?" asked Dearthos.
The siblings' mother had set sail almost a millennia before after their father had left for the Halls of Mandos. Dearthos was only a young elfling, truly a baby, at the age of only 17 though his siblings, Dagored and Anariel, were 154 and 105 (respectively) at the time. They were all looking forward to a moment with her again.
"Almost," replied his sister, "I can remember her voice and harp, her quick humor and her roasted quail, seasoned beyond perfection… but I have lost the details of her features in the depths of time. Do not worry pen-eth, you will recognize her when you see her. I'm sure of it!"
Dearthos smiled and nodded as his gaze turned towards the bow. The light seemed to grow on the western horizon though they had barely started their journey, for their ships still hung within a relatively safe distance from the western shore. The sun glittered upon the calming waters and breathed an air of suggestive yearning to the craving elves. This last journey was what they all needed: closure.
The night crew came up from below deck and the shifts were replaced and led below deck to a waiting dinner. The sun was setting behind the horizon, its golden rays turning amber as it sank beneath the sea, the very vision of Eru himself it seemed in all of its magnificent radiance and splendor!
It was not long after this that the elves began to file down below and into their hammocks and blankets for the night. Ease and peace were draped over every pale face and a harpist began his melody to the contentment of all aboard the white ship. The pleasantness of the evening air encouraged the travelers to fall into an embracing reverie. The last thing that Anariel remembered was the lulling of the waves and a voice pure and soft that sung of the land in the West.
Anariel felt the electricity in the air before its presence was fully upon them. The vessel heaved up unceremoniously and any elf who had not already awakened was fully driven from their reverie now! Thunder cracked above the deck and rolled through the waves in angry frustration, caught in a never-ending battle between water and air. Lightning flashed brightly overhead, stunning the elves' dilated eyes and blinding them for seconds at a time. The crew ran around the deck in an orderly chaos and urged the other elves to remain below. Anariel and Dearthos quickly surfaced and offered their services to the captain for they had long ago trained upon sea vessels in the delta of the Anduin. The captain agreed without a second thought; he needed all of the knowledgeable help that could be provided!
Elves ran around securing the rigging, bailing out the bowels of the vessel, and tightening the sails. By morning weariness had completely saturated every member aboard the vessel as those who could do nothing on deck found buckets, cups, and bowls to bail out the rising seawater. The storm, fierce as it had been, was still going strong enough to bring a grim nervousness to everyone on board.
The storm raged relentlessly until it finally began to subside around midday. The sun danced behind the thinning clouds winking at the elves mockingly. They had blown off course and were too far north near the dark island of Tol Fuin. The mast had taken a massive blow to its base from the wind and was only held down to the deck by many uprooted mithril rings and pulleys of taught, worn rope. Their vessel would not make it to Valinor in this condition much less through another storm, should one arise, and so the captain ordered them to pull into a cove closest to them and row to shore to scout for a make-shift camp whilst they repaired the ship. The sailors, though not keen about setting foot on the infamous island but finding no other choice, found a suitable area to beach and many of their passengers felt at ease with the trusted judgment of their fellow kind. Once the order of camp had been erected many of the elves set off in armed groups to find a suitable tree for the shipmasters to cut and shape into a replacement for their mast. This island was evil and had always spelled evil in previous ages of this world. The rumors and hushed whisperings did nothing but keep the elves on the alert, their ever-watchful eyes penetrating the close, dark trees as best they could. The elves didn't plan on staying more than was necessary to fix the broken timber.
Tol Fuin, or as it was previously known by the name of Taur-nu-Fuin, used to be of the northern regions of Doriath before the land was swept under the sea by the mighty surges of war. After Sauron was defeated by Huan he fled to Taur-nu-Fuin and filled the forests with a darkness that would not sleep. Servants of the fallen maiar engaged the forests, twisting the trees and wildlife in perverse ways to serve their own greed for destruction. But the land was engulfed by the oceans of Ulmo and all of Doriath now lay under miles of salty water. Only the tip of Taur-nu-Fuin remained above the water, an island now silent and supposedly abandoned but a menace always overlooking the coast.
All of the elves stranded now on this dark island were exhausted, anxious, and thoroughly disappointed at the delay to sail West but they would be content for now. A worried look flashed across some doubtful faces. Dagored made his way around the camp conversing with officials and the crew of their ship with a frown carefully tucked into his eyebrows.
"What is it?" asked Anariel as she approached her older brother, "What is not well?"
"It is the earth," replied Dagored, "its twists and turns hint of blood and battle. See this reddened dirt here, under the grass?" he asked, and bent down to taste it, "This is dried orc blood, not more than ten days old! And the charred twigs scattered around the field... these must have recently been blown here for they lie upon grass that has not yet bent with their weight. Someone else, perhaps another ship, has been here as well. We are being watched, I can feel it, but the captain says that we are fine here, that his men know what they're doing… yet I fear that he's wrong! I can feel eyes upon our every action."
Dagored remained in thought whilst Anariel and Dearthos contemplated their surroundings with more scrutiny. It was evident enough that some sort of creatures had been here not long ago, yet the evidence was almost entirely unnoticeable unless looked for by the trained eye. The air smelled slightly of mold and decay and the surrounding woodlands were still and quiet, devoid of life and the chatter of birds, save for the crashing of waves upon the beach.
That night Anariel and her two brothers slept in a secluded area under a great, old oak and away from the light of the fires and loud merriment of the other elves. Bottles of wine lay upon folding tables as the elves promised each other the drink of their kin and the new life waiting for them in the undying lands. The elves wouldn't listen to the siblings' pleas of warning for they did not believe that evil could have endured this uninhabited island of trees and beach after so long a time. Dagored prayed to Ulmo that the crashing of the sea would deafen the cries of song from the elves and muffle their harps and flutes. Anariel agreed to take the first watch, though the captain already had men on the lookout for any suspicious activity, though he thought it highly unlikely that anything should happen to them.
The night began to pass uneventfully and Dagored, awoken by his younger sister, took the second watch upon his bedroll, sharpening his knives as he had been before though with a cocked ear and an expression of grim silence and attentiveness. The silence began to press in around the camp, he could feel it, the moon hid behind the clouds and the stars were nowhere to be found. The darkness crept in and the air became thick with apprehension. The entire landscape felt as if it were holding its breath in fear.