Wanderer of the Sea
By Lady Beruthiel
Disclaimer: the following work is based on the Silmarillion and snippets of the Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. All the characters and plot ideas belong to him and are under copyright. Since no profit is being made from this piece of fan fiction I can keep all the plot bunnies to myself –grin-. This disclaimer will stand for all future chapters.
Author's Notes: 1) Before I begin I feel it is important for all readers to understand that I do not own copies of Sauron's Defeat or Morgoth's Ring (never really did get around to buying them…) and the majority of this story draws mostly from the Silmarillion and my imagination. If there is anything I may be off at based on the canon set forth by Tolkien's notes within the Histories of Middle Earth I would greatly appreciate it if you would e-mail me and I would be happy to edit it and renew the chapter. 2) I am really not good with maps so don't mind the occasional lack of direction. I'm trying though! 3) I will thank all my loyal reviewers and helpers with end notes at the end of the fan fic novel, though it is implied that you are continually thanked throughout! ^_~
Synopsis: Ulmo, Lord of the Waters, chose Tuor as his vassal to fulfill his destiny on Middle Earth. Tuor is father to Earendil Half-Elven who will become reknown in ending the bane of the Silmarils and the exile of the Noldor. This is a tale of father and son both who hear the ever present calling of the sea and both who will be bound with the fate of the ending of the First Age and the beginning of the Second.
Now on to the story…
Prologue
He has died.
The words that fell from his lips caused her to drop her goblet and it clattered to the floor loudly echoing in the empty hall of her home. Two hand maidens came in looking at their mistress in concern and glancing at the vassal, with his tunic stained with both mud, rain, and blood with foreboding of ill news. "My lady?" asked one of them quietly. They had heard the news, no doubt, but Rian, Lady of Dorthonian, heard them not when they called for her attention. Her face took on a mask palor and her eyes, once silver, now had darkened to a stormy gray and they were distant.
"My lady, I am sorry," whispered the vassal still holding the staff that upheld the banner of Huor. The herald had died and he had ordered his vassal to ride back and deliver tidings back to Lady Rian.
Rian stood up silently, "I do not believe you." She said in a low voice. But her lithe arms trembled betraying her denial.
He has died.
"My lady, let me take you to your chambers…" began one of the maidens but Rian cut her off brushing quickly past her as her pace quickened out of the hall. Both hand maidens followed her. Rian took her heavy red mantle and threw it over her shoulders.
"My lady! Where are you going!?" exclaimed the elder one. Rian did not heat her.
"You are not well! My lady, you are with child you cannot…!" exclaimed the other beginning to grasp her, the vassal also walked out in an attempt to quell her blocking her path. Upstairs on the loft other servants watched the scene below grieved. They knew. They all knew.
"You cannot leave, lady, it is dangerous and the elves warn…" began the vassal putting his hands upon her shoulders to calm her.
"Release me!" Rian exclaimed sharply causing all of them to cease. Her dark eyes looked upon them sternly, "I will go whither I will," She said lowly, "It is not your right to decide." She walked passed them the dignity of her house returning to her and went outside moving faster toward the stables keeping her mind empty of thoughts though many threatened to break her at that moment.
Swiftly, she mounted upon her horse and urged it to fly away from the settlement, some of the people who were out in that evening watched her fly and then realized that some ill had come to pass.
~*~
Time did not matter. Hours had passed and evening had fallen to dark night.
Rian rode as swiftly as she could to the northern most border of her realm. The cold winter wind stung her cheeks and whipped her dark plaited hair from their braids. When she reached a vantage point she stopped her horse and looked out to the North.
A dark shadow hung in the sky covering the stars as if in tribute to the words of the vassal. Rian felt as if she could not breathe in that moment, a shiver passing her. He is dead.
"No." She whispered, but in her heart she knew he was dead. She had known three days before the arrival of the vassal, she had known when nightmares reflected in only blood had haunted her. Two tears burned down her numb cheeks though she did not feel them, but others soon followed and her denial melted away.
"Huor!" She cried out against all hope that he would hear her. She bowed her head sobbing feeling the world whirl around her and fade. "Huor," She said softly the name coming simply from her tongue though it was heavy with grief. Never again would she gaze into his shining eyes filled with humor, never would she dance with him during a festival, nor share their bed in the night. No more would Huor's laughter echo in the halls or the vales of Dorthonion, no longer would his words of mirth be heard at their table, nor his fervent whispers in their bed.
He was dead.
Rian's expression grew cold and her tears ceased she turned her burning eyes toward Angband and then she whispered fiercely, "Utulie 'n Aure…"
It seemed as if a dark laughter echoed upon the wind in reply.
Silently and solemnly the Lady of Dorthonion turned her horse toward the east and sped toward the wilds of Hithlum.
She would not return.
~*~
Three months had passed and the winter was in its peak.
Already the burden of her child had become heavier and heavier.
Rian put a hand upon her pregnant belly as she painfully led her horse through the forests of Mithrim. The sky was clear and the stars shone brightly that night, but Rian had not the strength to turn up and look at them.
A sharp pain stabbed through her and she cried out falling to her knees into the soft snowfall as she clutched her abdomen.
"Tiro!" cried a fair voice from up in the trees. Other words were exchanged and Rian was for a moment afraid but when she realized they were elves her fear subsided. Two of them came down and picked helped her up. Rian moaned in agony feeling as if her child was going to rip its way out of her. One of them mounted her horse and the other two helped her upon it. More words were exchanged. Rian rested herself against the elf who sped her horse through the woods and her discomfort only grew.
"Varda!" She gasped out crying. Small child, do not let me die here… for I would die next to my beloved.
Soon the pain had grown too great and she fainted into darkness.
~*~
"Awake!" urged a soft voice.
When she woke she found herself within a fair home lain upon a bed a warm fire roaring nearby. An elven lady with raven hair and blue silver eyes stood by her wiping her head with a cool cloth her bright eyes lit with a smile that soothed Rian from her fever. "Lady, your son has need of you now." She said in a soft-spoken common tongue.
"My son?" asked Rian dazed. The elven lady smiled and turned to an elven maid standing nearby who held a child swaddled in a dark blue cloth embroidered with silver stars. She moved near Rian who extended her arms to the small baby. Rian exerted a small smile.
"My son," She whispered looking at him as he gazed at her curiously as well, "He has his father's brow." Rian said sadly. The elven lady looked at her sympathetically.
"He is his father's heir." The elven lady told her, "What shall you call him?"
"Tuor," Rian said softly, "Son of Huor."
"So he shall be." The elven lady told her and then her tone became grave, "You have traveled far alone, Rian of Dorthonion, the elves of Mithrim have tracked you since you entered Hithlum last month to make sure all went well where you wandered." Rian sighed still looking down fondly at her child.
"So that was the singing I heard in the trees those nights."
"You were brought into our care with fever and we had thought you would die with your son's birth so weak was your body." Said the elven lady, "But the stars shine brightly at his birth, and you have lived. A good omen it has been for you and for him." Rian's eyes than misted over with sadness although some light glowed beyond them.
"For him, indeed," said Rian despondently, "But for me another journey yet lies ahead." The elven lady frowned.
"You intend to leave?" She asked softly, though it as more of a statement on her part. Rian swallowed.
"In a few months," she said quietly, "When Tuor no longer has need of me. I have fulfilled what I had to do and I am weary of shadow." Some understanding flickered in the elven lady's eyes as if she read something in Rian.
"So not speak so soon of it," said the elven lady, "For the time being you shall remain among us and you are welcome here. I am called Elariel, it was my elder brother, Annael, and his two companions who had found you." She smiled once more, "They shall be glad to know that you and your son are well. My home is now yours, Rian of Dorthonion."
"Thank you," said Rian gratefully. Elariel stood up from her bed side.
"I shall get you some drink to raise your spirits," She said with a smile, "And then you may meet my brother when your strength returns."
~*~
The days that Rian passed in the halls of Androth were peaceful although her heart still grieved for Huor. His voice still sounded in her dreams and she woke expecting to find him by her side but cried silently when she knew he was no more among the living. She kept watch over Tuor for many months and mothered him and Annael and Elariel became close to the small mortal child, watching over him as Rian did.
But the time finally came when Tuor had grown enough to have no more dependency on his mother for survival. After lulling Tuor to sleep one night Rian sadly took parting of her two elven friends, for the grief lay to heavy in her heart for her to stay. She rode away silently and alone toward Anfauglith to the Haudh-en-Ndengin, the Hill of the Slain. There Rian fell to her knees in bitter mourning and in the cold of that year she died there, close to Huor, her beloved.
The Lady of Dorthonion was no more, and the only memory of her and her husband was in small Tuor who abided under the care of the elves of Mithrim, and they called him 'Siltholion', which in their tongue means, Son of the Shining Helm.
~*~
Next Chapter: Tuor 'Siltholion' grows up among elves.