.
The Sea
.
Their journey began at dusk on the night of a new moon. They stopped at the lake to gaze for a while at the mountains and stars glistening peacefully on its silvery surface in the early evening light, for in all hearts at that moment they seemed to understand that they would never see it again. Mírian remembered the stories her foster folk would tell of when they lived in ease along its shores during the long years of the great siege, when the Elven king and his faithful friends among the Edain lived not far away.
At last they turned away from their beloved lake, and went along to the western slopes to find the head of a stream that led through the woods of the lowland plains. Now that it was late summer the canopy of the trees and woodland underbrush was lush and full, and gave the party good cover though which to pass in the night. The young mortal took cheer in the warm breezes of the evening air, watching the last of the lantern beetles adorn the bushes with their flashing glow before they retired for the season. If there were any enemies in the region, it seemed they were far from here, and for a while it felt they were not fleeing for their lives but merely enjoying a country walk in the fine weather.
But this had come as the result of preparations by the elves who went out, unbeknownst to their wards, to try and ensure the first part of the path at least was clear of enemies before the journey. For this group, though small, was more vulnerable, consisting mostly of maids who had walked the world since the times of the awakening long ago, and a few of the newer wives with their younger children. But they took great care to walk long hours silently in the dark through the woods and keep a watch set during their rest by day. They managed to cross the lowlands of Hithlum unmolested, reaching the Echo Mountains after several days.
They made their way past the forlorn rocky cliffs of the eastern foothills, and came to where the stream continued right through a fissure in the rock under the mountains: the hidden Gate of the Noldor. Passing through, Mírian came to the hewn cave passage, beyond which the elders now led them with their soft yellow lamps, and they pushed through a long dreary march in the darkness alongside the rushing water echoing in their ears, until at last they approached the tunnel's exit. Then they rested, and returned to walking by day, traversing the ravine at their ease. All delighted in the spray of the mists drifting up from the water spilling and crashing over the rocks, and the many small flowers of white and pink and gold that sprung from gravel or crevices here and there were a marvel in the late afternoon when the spray of the firth cast rainbows over their crowns.
The group climbed up over where the river clashed in constant battle with the waters of the sea, and made their way back down to the beaches of Drengrist, where the mingled sounds of fear and rage still echoed against the walls of the inlet ravine from long ago. Anxious to move on from that place they hurried on toward the mouth of the firth, as the westerly wind heavy with salt and vapor kissed their cheeks and tossed their hair, and the crying gulls soared above their heads. Then at last Mírian came within sight of the Great Sea.
She stood enthralled by the endless expanse of watery hills receding into the horizon in the distance, glittering in the colors of the setting sun. Treading along the pale beaches they slowed their pace, feeling loth to press on with their journey, delighting in the song of the sighing waves. Mírian had begun to have strange dreams when they rested, in which she could hear the sound of a woman singing mingled with the singing of the winds and the water. "A delightful voice it was," she reported to her foster mother, "though I could discern no words, if any were sung."
"Alas, child!" said Gilduriel. "The Lady of the Seas calls to you! It is said among us that the Houses of Hador and Bëor have the favor of the gods. Annael believes they intend a lofty purpose for your brother Tuor. Perhaps they come now with a task for you as well."
"But no message did she hear, mother," said Lothaelin. "Read not too much into it, foster daughter. Perhaps she sings only to cheer you in your grief."
Mírian wondered that there seemed to be no question or doubt among them that the Maia, but a story of distant legend in her mortal mind, was indeed communicating with her. Greatly curious she would grow anxious to stop for rest again, that she might hear or learn more. Then at last they reached the place where the inlet met the sea and the beach curved southwards.
"Will we continue southward along the sight of the sea, lady?" Mírian asked.
"Nay, child," answered Lothaelin. "For the cliffs soon grow too close to the shore, which you might not see from here. That way will become dangerous to pass, nor does our path follow it. Now we must turn and follow the eastward thrust of the Echo Mountains back along its southern side, and pass into greater Beleriand."
The girl furrowed her brow in confusion. "If the wide plains of Beleriand were our aim," she asked, "why did we come so far out of the way and not take a more direct route, and pass over the mountains behind our home?"
"The safety of those passes is less certain," said Cúdolin, who had volunteered to accompany the group, both for pity and worry over the daughter of Rían but also because he had kin beyond the mountains whom he desired to go see. "They let out too far north in the Sirion Pass which is still controlled by the enemy. This less direct route should not be watched, and where the Echo Mountains meet the Shadowy the hills are lower for easier passage. From there we may enter Beleriand by the source of the River Narog, which remains under the protection of the Lord of Waters."
But looking back at the sea Mírian sighed. "Let us tarry here for a while! If it is safe. For is it not our safety that worries you?"
Some of the younger elves now spoke up in support of this idea. For as kindred of the Teleri who came to the sea long ago, the sight and sound of it now held their hearts.
"Yes, it is safe," said Lothaelin, "but the wider world beyond the mountain fences may not remain so for long. If we would seek refuge in the south we must not delay."
"But as the afternoon is now waning, I see no harm in staying the night," countered Cúdolin.
The women conceded this point, and so climbing an old set of stone stairs to a cliff top overlooking the water, they found a cluster of boulders behind which to set their camp for shelter from the evening winds. Then Mírian with some of the younger elves descended back down to the beach and took pleasure in the waves, slipping off their shoes to wade into water. As they kicked and splashed they peered in wonder at the creatures on the great rocks poking through the surf, on which they found the most curious array of shellfish and starfish and anemones in all manner of colors.
Now the sun was waning, and their elders began calling to them, for the tide was rising and the beach was growing precarious. So the youths ascended back up the stairs to their camp and settled in for the night. But the travelers were not yet tired, and they ate and drank and made merry as elves do, singing songs of the sea and its gods and the mariners among their long sundered kindred who dwelt in the south. Deep into the night they at last quieted down, and lay to take repose on the ground under the stars, and Mírian passed into a deep sleep.
