1. Defiance by Marta
The Valar spoke long – about choice, and will, and freedom – until Máhanaxar was full of their idle talk. It grated across Ulmo's hearing like a clanging cymbal, but he could not leave. He owed it to those that would die, to at least endure the talk. The others might tell themselves that they debated philosophy's niceties, whether it would make Pharazôn's choice null to shield him from the consequences; all that was true, but it did not tell the full tale. His brothers and sisters talked of genocide, whether they knew it or not.
He had heard the water's melodies, the One's Song, as clear as it came in Arda Marred; he at least could not be fooled.
Ulmo knew the people, aye, knew the ships and other treasures that would be lost beneath his water when the One's waves were unleashed; but he also knew of other beings that the Others had forgotten. What of the minnows that lived in the quiet pools, and the rams that climbed Meneltarma? And the stones – what of them? They had stood against the waves for centuries, always resisting the never-altering rhythm, changed but never subdued. Would their choice now be washed aside in favor of the speaking ones? Úinen might restrain Ossë's mischief in small matters, but neither of them could stand against the One's wrath.
And that was the crux of it, really. Ulmo might resist, but even he could not prevail; and if he saved some small remnant, it would be through defiance. He was at root a Child of the One; he had heard too much of the Song, too often, to be otherwise.
Still, he would not restrain his servants from doing what they could – and if their waves pushed some few ships out of harm's way, well, that was their affair.
He had heard the water's melodies, the One's Song, as clear as it came in Arda Marred; he at least could not be fooled.
Ulmo knew the people, aye, knew the ships and other treasures that would be lost beneath his water when the One's waves were unleashed; but he also knew of other beings that the Others had forgotten. What of the minnows that lived in the quiet pools, and the rams that climbed Meneltarma? And the stones – what of them? They had stood against the waves for centuries, always resisting the never-altering rhythm, changed but never subdued. Would their choice now be washed aside in favor of the speaking ones? Úinen might restrain Ossë's mischief in small matters, but neither of them could stand against the One's wrath.
And that was the crux of it, really. Ulmo might resist, but even he could not prevail; and if he saved some small remnant, it would be through defiance. He was at root a Child of the One; he had heard too much of the Song, too often, to be otherwise.
Still, he would not restrain his servants from doing what they could – and if their waves pushed some few ships out of harm's way, well, that was their affair.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
