Ulmo's Favours by Tehta

Chapter 1

"Oh, curse these mists!" Tuor swept an arm over the table, scattering maps and star charts. "They block the stars from our view, and when they part, it is only to prove that we travel in circles!" Beside his foot, a half-rolled scroll rocked from side to side. He kicked it into a corner of a cabin. "I thought we had Ulmo's favour!"

"We must have it, or else we would have drowned by now," said Idril, who thought it was important to stay optimistic. "Besides, have I not foreseen our arrival in the Undying Lands? My visions have never lied before." Indeed, they had even shown her that Tuor would get cranky onboard ship, although, in her wisdom, she refrained from mentioning this.

Her discretion paid off. Tuor's voice grew gentler as he said, "I apologize for doubting your visions, my love, but... are you sure the celebration you dreamt of was not one we have already attended? One of Cirdan's goat roasts, perhaps?" He looked off into the distance with hungry longing. "For the blunt truth is that our supplies are almost depleted, and when the waybread and water run out, we will die. Each in our own, different, way."

Idril placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Now this she had not foreseen: the strange murk of the ocean, which made both fishing and water extraction impossible.

"At least we seem to be close enough to the Shores that age no longer weighs upon you," she said. "And surely Ulmo would not abandon us, not after all that time. He has always remembered our special occasions."

They both looked up at the ship's clock that had been Ulmo's fiftieth anniversary gift. Not the most tactful of gifts to give a mortal, perhaps, but such a wonderful clock, both attractive and accurate.

"You must be right," said Tuor. "You must."

And perhaps she was. The following morning, they were awakened by the gentle drumming of rain: a pure-smelling, sweet rain, perfect for catching in empty casks and cisterns. It stopped exactly when all were full. Idril and Tuor looked at each other, and smiled, and spoke of blessings, as they rolled the full containers into the hold. They were below deck when the drumming sounded again, this time not so gentle—lucky thing, too, as the second rain was a rain of fish. Fishes, even: for they were of all types, large and small, salt water and sweet, with the occasional lobster or crayfish tossed in for good measure.

An hour later, they sat at a festive table, eating grilled swordfish.

"Remind me never to doubt the Valar again," said Tuor.

"Remind me to send Ulmo a thank you note at earliest convenience," said Idril. She'd taken far too long with the clock.

The miraculous rainfalls continued over the next few weeks. They took turns cooking, both doing their best to eke out their small store of seasonings as long as possible; neither one liked bland food. The evening when Idril crushed the last peppercorn was a somber occasion. They sat up late, eating smoked salmon and chatting about whether it would be appropriate to bury the pepper-pot at sea, with full ceremony, like a trusted friend.

As it turned out, they were right not to do so: the next day, it rained spices in small oilskin sacks. Also, lemons and hot peppers.

"Ulmo's generosity knows no bounds," said Tuor. "Oh look, rosemary! I wish we had some lamb."

The lambchops fell overnight, waking them with their soft squelches.

"These... phenomena cannot be meterological," said Tuor as they scrubbed the deck. "It must be magic."

Idril looked up into the overcast sky, but carefully, for she had recently expressed a craving for new potatoes. "Oh, I expect it's just the Eagles dropping things on us."

Whatever the mechanism, the rains got more varied after that. They got vegetables, and bread, and a variety of cheeses. The puddings were not a success, since they arrived in glass bowls, but the peeled grapes that followed felt like an apology. Still, it was all a little overwhelming and impractical. Idril decided to take control, and took to climbing up into the rigging each morning and yelling out a list of requests. This is how they acquired floor wax, clean underwear, and a large supply of racy novels to read to each other in the evenings.

On the day Idril asked for a new shaving kit they hid below decks until it arrived, but Tuor's new clean-cut appearance more than made up for the inconvenience. She caressed his smooth cheek.

"Now when we reach our destination, everyone will see that you are fair enough to be counted among us: perhaps fairer."

"What?" asked Tuor a bit absently. "Oh, our destination. Yes, right. But, my love, do you remember that story we read last night?"

A few short years later, on a nice relaxing morning, Tuor got up first, as it was his turn to bring in the bacon and muffins.

"Oh, curse these mists!" Idril heard him shout. She wrapped her newest silk robe around herself and ran out on deck.

"What is it?" she asked, though in fact there was no need. She could see for herself that the cursed mists had parted, revealing a vast, mountainous land.

She could also see Tuor watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye.

"A truly exciting sight, my love," she said. "And yet—let us not get OVERexcited. What if the mists return as we draw closer to the shore? It looks so rocky and treacherous."

"You are wise as always, sweet Idril," he replied. "Let us... watch this shore for a while, and bide our time. After all, we have no need to hurry." As an afterthought, he lifted up his left hand, which held a small sack. "Look, we got fresh coffee today."

"Let us go inside and try it," said Idril. "You know, now that I think about it, I suppose that celebration I foresaw might have been one of Cirdan's..."