The soft sounds of the gentle ripples the paddles made were Beren's only companion as he sailed alone, his small boat shily advancing along this alien coast. He was getting closer now, with the outline of the land slowly appearing in the light of his flickering lantern, in a dark, irregular shape that loomed over this stranger intruding on its waters. He was the only survivor of the ship, despite the ferryman's promises to get to safer territories, but the sea, traitorous as ever, hadn't spared them. He hadn't salvaged much, only this fragile wooden shell and a single light, which was using its last sizzling ember to lighten an uncertain path. The night was cold, and Beren shivered as the icy air crept under his shirt, biting his skin. He looked up, but the stars were as unforgiving as the waves that had sunk their ship. Beren couldn't recognize a single one, let alone the strange and new constellations that were unfurling above his head. He stopped paddling, and let waves carry the small boat as he took a closer look at the land and its blurry outline in front of him. The dark, irregular shards of rocks decorating it were unknown to him, and he guessed shapes of trees curling on the distant beach. He took his paddles back again, and they splashed in the silent, oily waters. Beren advanced, wondering about this land and the possibilities it might bring, when a new sound rose curiously from the waves. The sailor stopped again, his paddles splashing once more, and listened. The sound was new, weaving so subtly with the natural melody of the waves, that at first Beren genuinely believed the ocean was singing around him. Then he listened more carefully, and picked the tone of a voice among the melody of water.
The voice rose and fell, accompanying the waves, reflecting its melody in the pitch-black waters, singing words Beren had never heard, in a language he couldn't understand. His inability to comprehend it didn't stop him from enjoying the song, however, as it bloomed all around him in beautiful and intricate patterns. Words bounced gracefully on the foamy crown the waves bore, weaved into a simple and natural melody. Beren realized he was hearing a new composition, and put the paddles into the boat to stop the ripples.
The song arose again, and Beren distinguished the tone of a female voice this time as it climbed higher than the waves. He understood the song was joyful, praising a beauty he couldn't understand nor be a part of, and a deep, sorrowful sadness overtook him. He watched the waves dance in rhythm as they broke softly against the wooden shell, watched the dark land looming over him, and simply listened, enjoying this new language, the way words rose and fell in the way powerful, deadly waves did, before dying powerless into the sea. The syllables, despite being unknown to him, had a peculiar tone, producing patterns that his ear blissfully listened to. Sounds that had seemed unsignificant to him were now turned into a fine tune, composing their own theme, using nature's own instruments, creating a song he would never hear again, and that he would be forever estranged from.
Then the voice fell suddenly, and only silence was heard as the waves took back their usual melody. Beren looked around, stunned at this brutal ending, and a bit disappointed, too. He wanted to know the rest, and to understand what it was about. So he let his own voice rise, escaping his lips, fluttering in the night, adding his own note to the hymn he had just had the opportunity to listen to.
He sang for several minutes, in his own language, willing his voice to be just as harmonious as the traitorous sea around him, to accompany the dark waters playing around his small boat. Beren was a good singer, and he did his best to pour the pride of men, their joy, their fear, but most importantly their hopes into his words, hoping his unseen companion was listening, just as he had done himself. Only silence answered, and Beren was about to let his melody die when the voice rose again, picking its song just where it had left it, intertwining it with Beren's own words. Its notes were joyful, and Beren detected a pleased surprise in the way it came to his ear. It was as beautiful as ever, shily touching Beren's own notes, then their songs became one as they pursued, alone in the waves. Beren's voice finally fell, and the small boat shook slightly as a new weight added itself to the stern. The sailor turned around. A young woman was watching him, her hands grabbing the stern as she was leaning against it. They stared at each other for several seconds in silence, then the young woman spoke:
"You know the song?"
Her voice was as beautiful as the composition they had created together. It bounced gracefully, words falling at the end of her sentences. There was a kind of innocent curiosity in her eyes as she looked at him, waiting for his answer.
"No," he admitted, bowing his head. "But I would like to learn it."
The young woman smiled, satisfied and visibly happy at seeing such interest. Beren didn't dare to move, not wanting to frighten her. He didn't understand how she could stand like this in water.
"What is your name?" Beren asked at last.
The young woman's smile faded a bit, and she stood silent, her eyes becoming, to Beren's great sadness, slightly wary.
"What name would you give me?" she finally answered, her voice hesitant.
He watched her, watched the way her dark hair glistened in the moonlight, covering her shoulders, watched the way her sad, curious blue eyes lingered on him, akin to the color of the waves singing around them. Then a single word bloomed into his mind, an old, forgotten word, but the only one Beren could think of when staring into these mesmerizing blue eyes.
"Tínuviel," he blurted, unable to tear his gaze apart from hers.
The smile came back on the young woman's lips, and she looked wondering at him. He had passed her test.
"Tínuviel I shall be, then. What is yours?"
"Beren," he answered, unable to stop himself from bowing once again.
"Beren," she nodded, repeating the word and transforming it into her lively language. His name changed between her lips, rising and falling with the pulse of the ocean, and Beren himself felt transformed, in a curious, odd yet soothing way.
He was about to speak again when the young woman suddenly turned her head, as if answering some unheard call Beren couldn't sense. Her hands slipped off of the wooden edge, and she returned gracefully in the water. Curious, Beren leaned over the edge, slowly and carefully. The young woman looked back at him, with a glint of sadness in her eyes. Her hair spread about her like some dark, wild flower, and he caught a glimpse of white scales rippling in the foam.
"Will I see you again?" he asked helplessly, leaning more over the edge of the boat as tiny drops of foam sprayed on his face.
The young woman – no, Tínuviel, Beren thought, only smiled back at him, a sad smile, full of a past joy and tainted by regret. Then she dove, and the ocean swallowed her blue eyes, her sorrowful face, her dark hair, leaving only the faint image of shiny, pearly scales in Beren's mind. The sailor was alone again, and he stood a few moments, staring at the black ocean that had taken the miracle he had been allowed to witness.
Beren finally berthed the shore of the wild, unexplored land, and later in the night, after making his camp, he sat back on the sandy shore, feeling the grainy earth of the beach accumulating on the skin of his hands, and looked longingly at the waves, their hypnotizing rhythm, and their singing which now intertwined with the soft brushing of the branches around him. He felt at peace and yet couldn't erase the deep feeling of having lost something, something unique that he wouldn't be able to see again.
He laid flat on his back, deciding that maybe some sleep would help, when the melody arose above the waves. Beren immediately sat, and listened ravenously as the notes echoed all around the sheltered bay he was in. It was Tínuviel's melody, except that this time it had taken new notes, and Beren's heart leaped as he recognized his own song in hers. She had taken it and made it her own. Mesmerized, Beren kept listening, when new voices arose alongside Tínuviel's, growing in a powerful chorus that even the ocean shied away from. The waves fell, crushed by the strength of the song, and even Beren felt the need to stay back from this mighty choir. It had an angelic, almost divine tone as the voices became one, male and female, yet there was a warning in their notes, to keep away and let them in peace. Scales flashed among the dark blue of the sea, and Beren squinted as he thought he could catch glimpses of silhouettes in the water.
Suddenly the song quieted a little, and grew calmer as the waves took back their natural movements. It became gentler, tender, as if lulling the world around it, with female voices taking the lead, before leaving way to male ones. The notes bounced back on foam, echoing in the trees of the bay. Beren couldn't see anything anymore, no flashes of colors nor furtive shadows swimming under the dark cover of the sea. The sailor simply sat again on the sand, listening to this new composition, the feeling of peace returning as he enjoyed this mysterious ode nature was giving him.
A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I really like this concept, so I might write more scenes in this style, in a rewrite of Beren and Lúthien's story.
This first part is a tribute to the Mermaid scene in Pirates of Carribean 4, which is in my opinion the best representation of mermaids ever done in cinema.
Let me know what you thought :)