Add Salt to the Sea by Zdenka

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Chapter 1

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Míriel always loved the ocean. The beauty and vastness of it, the fresh smell of salt air, and the cry of the gulls all filled her heart with an unexplained delight. But she loved the Sea not only for its own sake.

Their visits to Amandil at Rómenna were among the few times she saw her father smile. As they walked down the path to the seashore, lined with flat grey and purple stones, Míriel saw the strained expression leave her father’s face and his eyes brighten. Even when she was too young to understand why her father’s brother seemed to dislike them so and why she must guard her tongue in the presence of her grandfather the King, she loved the Sea also for the peace it gave to those she loved.

But always the idyllic time would pass and they would return to Armenelos, to danger and suspicion. On one such occasion, Míriel was downcast, though she tried not to show it. But her father saw what she would conceal. “Do not lose hope, Míriel,” he said gently. “Even here, we may find unexpected friends.”

“What friend could we find in Ar-Gimilzôr’s palace?” Míriel asked in a low voice.

Her father smiled. “I will show you,” he said. “We have arrived early, so my father the King need not complain if we take the longer path to his audience chamber.”

He led her to a secluded courtyard of the palace where she had not been before. In the center of the flagstones was a fountain with flowing water. Despite herself, Míriel was soothed by the soft rushing sound of water falling upon marble, and the droplets of spray from the fountain made the courtyard cool and pleasant.

Then Míriel raised her eyes to the statue adorning the fountain. She caught her breath. There could be no doubt that the marble figure was Uinen, Lady of the Seas. She wore a crown of seaweed and branching coral; her long hair flowed down her back, and water poured from her cupped hands. Small fishes were carved swimming about her feet, in the folds of her robe. But it was her face that captured Míriel’s attention, more beautiful than any man or woman Míriel had seen. She thought she would never grow tired of gazing at it. The sculptor had carved her smiling, but there was a wildness in it, so unlike the calm and placid figures that adorned the columns of the King’s favorite colonnade.

“The guards will watch us if we visit the Court of the White Tree,” her father said quietly. “But Lady Uinen is still held in reverence by the King’s mariners. None will think it odd if you wish to spend time here.”

Míriel only nodded. She still could not tear her eyes away from the statue. Her father rested his hand on her shoulder. “Lady Uinen stands our friend,” he said. “And there are others as well within this palace, though they cannot always speak or act openly. We are not as alone as it may seem.”

Míriel found tears sting her eyes, though she could not say why, and blinked them away. “I thank you, my father,” she said. “I will remember.”

From that time forth, Míriel visited the courtyard with its fountain as often as she could. When her father became the King, when she must help him in his quiet battles with the courtiers who resisted him at every turn, she came to the fountain for snatched moments of peace. When Pharazôn her cousin, grown proud and haughty, demanded the royal sceptre and her hand in marriage, she sat all night by the flowing water and tried to find a better choice. There was no escape to be found; but she came away from the fountain with a secret glimmer of comfort and strength in her heart.

On the day that Ar-Pharazôn cut down the White Tree, Míriel sat long on the edge of Uinen’s fountain, her hands clasped together in her lap, and tried not to weep.

On the nine-and-thirtieth day since Ar-Pharazôn’s fleet departed, in the stillness of the early morning, the Queen sat in silence with her head bowed. She had not slept, and her dreams the previous nights had been troubled. As she sat, something came to her like a whisper of wind, like the distant smell of the Sea. Míriel suddenly knew with a bone-deep certainty that the time for waiting was at an end. It was the hour of doom, for good or ill.

There was one thing left that she could do, while she was still Queen. She saddled a horse with her own hands and, ignoring the questions and protests of her guards and ladies, she tucked her skirts about her knees and set off at a gallop for the Meneltarma.

She slid off her horse’s back at the base of the mountain. These paths were not made for riding, and if there was any hope left it must be in humility. Before beginning her ascent, she hastily removed the horse’s saddle and bridle, fumbling at the buckles with shaking hands. She feared there would be no safety for any, but let her mount have what chance he could.

Míriel gathered up her skirts and ran up the path toward the summit. She remembered clearly coming this way with her father, his face solemn and joyful, followed by a procession of the people. Even then, some of them had been plotting treason against him. Her father Tar-Palantir had moved up the mountain slowly and with dignity, his mind already wrapped in the peace and silence of the holy place. There was no time for that now. The only thought in her mind was to reach the summit, hoping that there the Valar would not be silent as they had remained silent to her all these days and years of Ar-Pharazôn’s rule. Valar, she prayed silently, tell me what I must do!

The earth shuddered under her feet like a great drum. Míriel was thrown to her knees. She climbed to her feet again and struggled up the path. The wind was blowing more and more strongly, and the path shifted under her. Míriel could go no farther. She could see the mountaintop, but she could not reach it. “Valar,” she cried into the rising wind, as the earth shook beneath her. “Valar, have mercy on my people!”

A great shadow rose far above her. Míriel had seen this moment a hundred times in her dreams, the darkness inescapable. She could not be afraid now when it finally came upon her. She gripped the rock tightly with her hands, but she did not turn her face away. The wall of water came down.

Míriel was torn from the rock, seized and shaken, helplessly hurled by the wave’s force, the pressure too great for her to breathe. This is death, she thought, surely this is death. At last her lungs would obey her no longer; she drew in a breath, expecting to choke on salt water.

The breath came normally; she continued to breathe, in and out. Her heart was beating fast. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her; she was embraced, lifted, and gently set down.

Míriel blinked, trying to clear her eyes from the dazzle that filled them.

The first thing she saw was the face of Uinen. There could be no doubt; her face was like that of the statue in the fountain, and Míriel knew suddenly that the sculptor had seen her. But no mortal hand, no marble could fully capture her wild beauty, the radiance of her eyes and her gleaming long hair.

“Be at peace, beloved Míriel,” she said, and her voice was no woman’s voice; it had something of a seagull’s cry, of the wind fluting through hollowed rock, of the tide rushing up the beach in majesty. “Be at peace and fear not.”

It was a moment before Míriel could tear her eyes away from the Lady of the Seas, but when she did, she saw that she was drifting in the water. The ocean was agitated, rolling with restless waves far above her head, but she felt them only as a light caress on her skin.

“Lady,” Míriel whispered, “what has befallen?”

Uinen’s face was grave. “He who was King in Númenor has reached the Blessed Realm, where he bade defiance even to the Valar. There he was judged, and his pride was punished.”

“He who was King?” Míriel echoed. “Is he dead then?” She could not truly feel sorrow; the man she might have loved was gone long ago.

“Not dead,” Uinen answered, “but sleeping. For such was the judgement laid upon him, that he and all those who came with him shall lie under the earth, seeing not the sky and feeling not the wind, hearing and knowing naught, unto the Ending of the World.”

Míriel shuddered involuntarily. “And what of Númenor?” she asked. “What of my people?”

Uinen’s beautiful face was angry and grieved. “Númenóre is gone,” she said, “whelmed in the deep; and the Land of the Star has set for ever.”

For a moment there was darkness before Míriel's eyes. “Then why do I live?” she asked in anguish. “Why I alone, out of so many?”

“I wish that I could have saved all,” Uinen said with sorrow. “Thy forefather Eärendil pleaded with the Valar—as did another—but this time they would not hear him. The Valar’s wisdom could find no other way than to lay down their rule, and the One—I do not question his judgement! Perhaps I am not wise. But if the One has made my heart to love,” she said with an outburst of grief, “then surely he knows that I loved Númenóre! And I love thee,” she added more softly, “and I saw thee proud and beautiful, awaiting thy doom. I could not let thee perish. Thou needst not fear drowning, for I have set my power upon thee.”

That the One himself had doomed Númenor—it was too much to take in. “Are all my people gone,” Míriel asked, “all?”

“Not all,” Uinen said. “Elendil still leads a remnant.”

Míriel drew in her breath sharply, feeling the pain of reawakened hope. “They were in their ships,” she said, “off Rómenna. I hoped they yet might escape the doom that would fall upon us.”

“They are safe,” Uinen reassured her, with a flash of joy amid the sorrow. “They fly even now towards Middle-earth on the wings of the storm. Come, and I will show thee.”

And Míriel was lifted in the air, flying high over the waves like a gull. Below her, the nine ships of Elendil’s small fleet were tossed about by the storm. She could see down to the deck of one ship, where the sailors struggled frantically to keep their vessel afloat. And the captain—it was Elendil! She could see him now, shouting orders that she could not hear, his cloak blown back by the wind and his dark hair streaming with rain.

“The storm is so fierce,” Míriel said in anguish. “Will he be able to reach land?”

“Fear not!” Uinen’s resonant voice replied from behind her, though she could not turn to look. “He has never forgotten me, and I will shield all his people from the storm. Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth shall he come. In that place shall he abide, and his heirs, unto the ending of the world.”

As Míriel wheeled above them, her eyes were directed to another of the ships. It seemed then to her that her gaze sank down below the decks, where those who were not sailors crowded closely together. They were weary and frightened, but a lady of kind and noble bearing moved among them, speaking words of calm and reassurance. Míriel knew her also: Isildur’s wife Eärwen. And beside her, in a large pot carefully sheltered and tied down, there swayed a silver-white sapling, a true scion of that tree which Pharazôn had ordered cut down and burned.

“See,” Uinen murmured in her ear. “See, not all is lost.”

Míriel was back in her own body, drifting in the water before Uinen. She felt tears spring to her eyes; she could not hold them back, and she wept with shuddering sobs. And then Uinen’s arms were around her and Uinen’s gentle hands stroked her hair, until she could weep no more. It was a proverb for futility: to add salt to the Sea. But Míriel did not feel her tears were in vain.

She raised her head at last, to see Uinen looking at her with an expression of compassion. “Thou hast suffered much, beloved Míriel,” she said. “I grieve that I could not save thee from that grief! Now thou art here with me, what wouldst thou have me give thee? Wilt thou go to Middle-earth with Elendil? Shall I carry thee to his ships?”

“What will come to pass,” Míriel asked slowly, “in Middle-earth?”

“I know not what is to be woven,” Uinen replied. “But there will be struggle and conflict still. Your Enemy is not defeated utterly, and he will return.”

Míriel shook her head. “Like my namesake of old,” she said, “I am too weary for more conflict. Like her, I seek shelter and rest.”

“I would miss thee, beloved one,” Uinen said gently, “but shall I set thee on the shore of the Shadowy Isles? There thou mayst sleep for long and long, until the World is changed.”

“What other choice have I?” Míriel asked.

“To remain with me,” Uinen replied at once. “Thou shalt dwell with those who serve me, if thou wishest it; and none shall trouble thy peace. Ever shall I rejoice at thy presence, beloved Míriel!”

“Is it permitted for me to dwell here?” Míriel asked. “I am of mortal kind—”

“I have pled with the Valar for thy sake, and gone unheard,” Uinen replied with a flash of anger. “They shall not take thee from me now!”

Míriel felt her heart lighten. “Gladly will I dwell here,” she said. “And gladly will I serve you, my lady.”

“Then I take thee,” Uinen said, “and I bind thee to my service!” She leaned forward, and her lips lightly brushed Míriel’s forehead. Míriel found herself tilting her face upward involuntarily. Uinen’s fingers slipped through Míriel’s hair as gently as water. Her circlet and royal gem were already gone, lost to the waves. But now Uinen loosed the pins and ornaments that bound Míriel’s hair in the elaborate coiled braids of formal court fashion, until Míriel’s hair flowed freely as Uinen’s own. Míriel watched the jewelled pins sink slowly down through the waves without regret. In exchange, Uinen plucked a single shimmering hair from her own head and bound it around Míriel’s head; Míriel could feel it pressing gently against her brow even when Uinen took her fingers away. She was truly bound now to her lady, and she shivered at the thought.

“One more thing would I give thee,” Uinen said tenderly, “and one more thing would I take.”

“What is that?” Míriel asked in a low voice.

Uinen reached out towards Míriel’s cheek, but stopped short of touching her; instead, it was the water that pressed against her face like a caress. Míriel felt heat rise to her cheeks. Then Uinen leaned closer and set her mouth against Míriel’s in a sweet kiss. Míriel had endured Pharazôn’s kiss, when he was so inclined, but it had never stirred her. But now she felt herself responding to Uinen’s mouth, returning the pressure of her lips, and desire twined through her like ink spiralling through water. When Uinen drew back, Míriel was suddenly conscious of how the water touched her and held her up, pressing everywhere against her body.

Uinen looked upon her with affection. “Once again I ask thee, beloved Míriel: what dost thou wish? Thou shalt not be constrained. Thou art free as water, as each one is within my realm. If thou wilt not have my touch, thou shalt still dwell here in my love.”

Míriel looked then at Uinen’s shining eyes, at her dark hair gleaming with green and purple light and the silver sheen of sea-foam, rippling from her head down into unseen depths, her long graceful limbs and the gentle swell of her body. Uinen’s form and her sea-green robe swayed and rippled with the currents, but what Míriel could see of her bore a woman’s shape, and it was fair.

“Yes,” she surprised herself by saying. “Yes, I wish it.”

Uinen’s robe dissolved away like foam and she reached for Míriel. Uinen’s body felt now like flowing water, now like warm flesh against her. She was not sure if it was Uinen’s hands, her lips, her hair, or the water itself that slid over her, gently touching and caressing where Míriel’s wet garments clung to her neck, her breasts, her thighs. Míriel gasped, her breath quickening. She reached out; her hands went through water, touched what she thought was the bare skin of Uinen’s shoulders, and then she grasped the strands of Uinen’s glorious hair, cool and smooth as silk, twining between her fingers.

A pleasant pressure came rocking against her like the waves, one after another; slowly at first, then increasing in speed. Míriel was suspended, touched and caressed over every part of her skin, and trembling with desire. The pleasure grew in her like a mounting wave until at last she shuddered and cried out, twisting against Uinen’s body.

When she came back to herself, Uinen was pressed close beside her, her arms twined around Míriel. Her head was thrown back and her eyes half-closed in satisfied bliss. Daring, Míriel pressed a kiss to the graceful line of her throat. Uinen opened her eyes and smiled at her. She drew back and, taking Míriel’s hand, tugged at her gently until they both lay on their backs looking upward through the water.

“Behold!” Uinen said. The storm had passed over; the waves only rocked gently with its spent fury. Far above them, the sky was clear and blue as a jewel. As Míriel watched, sunlight filtered down through the waves, filling all the water with beauty and radiance. “Behold, beloved Míriel,” Uinen murmured, “this is thy home.”

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Chapter End Notes

"Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth shall he come. In that place shall he abide, and his heirs, unto the ending of the world." Slightly adapted from the words Elendil is said to have spoken on his arrival in Middle-earth after the destruction of Númenor (from The Return of the King, "The Steward and the King").