Elegy for Númenor – Volume 2: The Darkening by elfscribe

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4. Particle Manipulation

Chapter Summary: Sauron (Mairon) seeks to re-establish old ties in order to cajole Ossë into ceasing his stormy rampage.

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The ship was listing, buffeted by the storm. Sûla was right. Mairon had best go to the source of the trouble. He could tell that the drug he’d taken had done its work, as the elf’s fëa was no longer manifesting in his thoughts or singing ridiculous tunes in his ear. What a relief! He felt sharp now, his mind blissfully clear. But this wouldn’t last more than a week as he’d just drunk the last of his concoction brewed in Umbar. The ship simply had to make port soon so he could set about finding more ingredients or he may as well abandon the whole enterprise. In addition, he needed the King whole and in good health. It was imperative to get Ossë to quit stomping about.

He prepared to withdraw, then paused. Likely the elf would remain drugged and therefore subdued while he was gone, but he should bind his host’s tongue, else he might reveal uncomfortable secrets. Mairon conjured a spell, planted it within his own larynx. Then he ripped his fëa free.

For a moment he floated above his caged body, while Sûla floundered in the water below. Mairon stretched his senses, feeling the power of the storm outside. By rocks and rooks, what a tantrum, brother! The exigency of the present involved finding his squid-brained kinsman. It might take time he did not have.

Mairon gathered himself into a funnel of particles and shot through the lower level of the ship. All about him, he could feel the sailors’ fear, subsumed in frantic activity. He swirled around one lanky hand wearing silver hoops in his ears, who knelt in the water pounding a rope of oakum between the planks. The man paused and sniffed. “Do you smell something, like a sail burning?” he shouted to another man wearing naught but a loincloth.

“It’s the lightning,” the other shouted. “Keep patching that crack or we’ll all be shark food.”

Mairon laughed.

Both sailors froze. “What in Arda was that?” the first one muttered.

“Spirits of the drowned,” the other one said. “Work! Or we’ll join them!”

Mairon paused. He couldn’t allow the King to drown, as much as that thought was appealing. Time to do some repair work himself. He sank into the water sloshing around the mens’ knees, probed. Where were the cracks? Ah, found them!

He stretched, then abruptly fragmented into a swirling mass of particles, a state he found useful for investigating tiny elements of Eä. Upon minute examination, each particle became its own universe with whirling clouds of energy surrounding denser spherical masses. If he wasn’t careful, he could lose himself in that flux. He’d used this skill of particle manipulation to fix a portion of himself within the Ring. A miracle of cleverness on his part. He wondered whether it had been as astute to leave his treasure hidden deep in the roots of Barad-dûr, as the lack of it felt like an ever-present void in his fëa, and limited his full range of powers. Still, his remaining skills should be more than enough for this task.

He had to swim against the water infiltrating the ship, but finally he was out. From there, he seized nearby components from the ship’s hull and bonded them into the cracks. That should hold—for a while at least.

Mairon flowed away from the Zimrazra in a long stream of particles, then gathered himself together and directed his senses through the murky water as it heaved and flowed. A school of fishes darted right through him and were gone. He sent out tendrils, seeking vibrations that signified Ossë or Uinen. Perhaps they were in the depths below. He made himself heavy and sank, passing jungles of seaweed and schools of fish, silver bellies glinting, which, as the pressure increased, gave way to darker denizens with beads of light flashing along their sides. He contemplated them for a moment, wondering about the mechanics of their self-made light. But now was not the time for such investigation.

He plummeted to the depths where he must bear the tremendous weight of the water. It was dark, even for him. Too deep. He’d best return to the light zone above. He rose, floated above a jagged ridge of a mountain chain. Once he had established himself in Armenelos, it might be a good idea to explore the underwater topography near Númenor. He stretched out his senses, searching. Ossë, you turn-coat. Reveal yourself to me. They had a past, the two of them, although it was so ancient, he barely remembered it. Perhaps Ossë had forgotten also, which might be best, truthfully. But Mairon should be able to sense his unique vibration, even through that magnificent racket on the surface.

Mairon began to sing—a thread of the ancient melody taught them by Eru. Ossë would recognize it and answer—or not, rogue that he was. Mairon’s singing voice was rusty, but it swelled and gathered power.

All around him, unseen creatures responded with whistles, clicks, squeaks. Then, more distantly came the strange moaning songs of whales, some pitched so low that Mairon could feel them reverberating throughout his entire being. Thrilling!

He ceased, listened intently and then he heard it: a song of the elements, full of the crashing surf, a rattle of rain, crack of thunder. It oozed with anger and a dash of madness. Yes, that was him—powerful, not to be trifled with, but always resentful, always in the shadow of his master, Ulmo. That resentment was the key to Ossë’s heart. And now Mairon knew where to find him.

Catching a current, he moved quickly until he spied an opening and shot inside through a twisting corridor of black volcanic rock. He nudged a ragged projection, sensing the slow movement of particles within, which had once been liquid fire. Ah! His element. A vast undertaking such as erecting a whole island appealed to him. Why had it been Ossë instead of him raising this land in the midst of the sea? Although he well knew the answer. He had been branded an enemy of all the ‘pure and virtuous’ Ainur. Mairon resented that. He was not Melkor. How did the others not see his true worth?

As he undulated along, the corridor opened up into an amphitheatre filled with all manner of fish gliding about: hammerhead sharks and manta rays, striped sea bass, cod, mackerel. On the rocks crabs scuttled, octopuses waved their tentacled arms, and eels poked their vicious heads from cracks. Mairon listened again. The song was above him now.

He made himself light and rose like a bubble towards the surface.

A long brown tendril of seaweed drifted past him. Then another, and more, until he found himself in the midst of a waving forest of kelp, intertwined with strands of fine green filaments. Up, down, no matter which way he turned, he was surrounded, caged— and he didn’t like it. A sinuous seaweed filament fingered him. He moved away, but it followed. Another did the same. Rapidly, more kelp entangled him. Trying to reform his network of particles, he found himself buffeted about in the current. The kelp moved and slithered against him, almost sensuously.

He found himself staring into a huge brown eye framed by thick lashes. As he tried to back away, an immense hand curled about his disembodied self. There was a teasing sound of laughter.

“What have we here?” The voice lapped in his thoughts like waves upon the sand.

The eye retreated, and with some distance between them, resolved into two eyes in a face with skin as golden bronze as the kelp. Filaments, green as a copper patina, streamed like hair from her head. Her body was encased in golden scales, the lower half that of a fish and her torso with its shapely breasts and arms resembled one of the female Eruhíni. She smiled, revealing sharp teeth.

“Uinen,” Mairon said. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“What is this non-corporeal energy?” Uinen frowned. “Are you the one singing to my whales?”

“Do you not remember me, O lovely one?” Mairon visualized himself in the Eruhin form he had often taken when he’d been Aulë’s apprentice. He became solid enough to be seen, but he was upside down. He righted himself, scrubbed a hand over his silver hair now sheered short and spiky, and flashed a smile at her. “It’s been a long time.”

“Mairon?” Uinen said, suspiciously. “Is that truly you? Indeed it has been several long ages of Arda since last I saw you in the flesh, or,” she waved vaguely at him. “Whatever this is.”

“I believe it was when we had gathered in Valmar. But I was mostly at the forge back then with Aulë, when perhaps I could have been more social.”

She squinted at him. “I do remember you and that pretty form you fashioned. What are you doing here?” She covered a smile with her hand. “And the water is clearly a bit cold for you.”

“Very amusing,” Mairon huffed, turning away. He recalled the last time he’d seen her up close. She’d been tending creatures in a tidal pool outside Ossë’s watery home in Valmar, which had been rather too dank and cold for his taste, even if Ossë’s attentions had been rather, um, hot. But that history was best not to reveal to his wife. He inclined his head. “It has indeed been many long years, back to when the light of the Trees graced Valinor. But I have missed your wisdom and beauty and am pleased to encounter you once again.”

“As ever, the silky-tongued flatterer,” Uinen said dryly. “To what do we owe the dubious pleasure of your presence? Surely this is far from your dry and rocky abode on Middle-earth?”

“Indeed. Happenstance brings me here. Is Ossë available? I’ve come to pay my respects.”

Uinen crossed her arms. “Since when did you respect anyone but yourself and perhaps your vile Master, who wished to destroy anything that lived.” Her long green hair swirled about her face.

“As I recall,” Mairon countered, “there was a time when your esteemed husband was more charitable towards my former master, wasn’t there?”

Uinen batted aside a swarm of tiny jellyfish. “Melkor was nothing but trouble, which I told Ossë long ago, and in time, he agreed that we were well rid of that spiteful Vala—and his various minions. Fortunately, we had little to do with him before the Valar’s force flooded Beleriand.”

“And that settled the situation. Melkor’s gone from Arda and its waters, now, isn’t he?” Mairon purred. “I’m freed from servitude and have come to make amends with you and your husband. Long overdue, I must say.” He smiled charmingly at her.

“Feh! It’s poor timing on your part. He’s in a mood, as I imagine you’ve noticed if you were in the vicinity.”

“I noticed,” Mairon said. “It’s causing considerable consternation on the surface and trouble for the ship I was on.”

“Ah, so the true reason for your sudden appearance is revealed,” Uinen laughed. “Many things I am recalling now about you, Master Silver-tongue. The first is that you are rather beguiling, in whatever fana you take.” She brushed a finger across his lips, which scattered and reassembled. “The second is that you are not to be trusted—in any form. So. As it happens, my husband and I had a spat and he’s taking it out on the world above, instead of reconciling with me. Typical.”

“I suspected as much. It’s a rare storm up above.”

“Well, it’s time he got over his little tantrum, which has gone on long enough and is distressing my creatures.” She gestured at a school of unhappy tuna sloshing back and forth in the churning waters. Then she laughed. “It’s so male, all that urgent thrashing and roaring about.” She eyed him sidelong. “Something you understand all too well, Mairon, don’t you.”

Ah, this was going better than he’d anticipated. Last time he’d seen her, she wanted nothing to do with him, but he’d always noticed a spark of attraction beneath her enmity.

Mairon smiled. “I do believe we’ve reached an understanding, sweet Uinen. Perhaps together, we can calm him down or at least distract him. Can you take me to him?”

She eyed Mairon over her shoulder. “Perhaps. If you can keep up.” With a great flip of her tail, she shot off through the kelp forest, which parted before her and Mairon had to attach himself to a lock of her long hair so he wouldn’t be left behind. They followed the jagged mountain range to the top, over rocks covered with waving anemones and sponges. Close to the surface now. The waters roiled and flowed around him.

Mairon’s head broke the surface and he released the strand of Uinen’s hair as she disappeared. The rain dimpled the heaving waves that crashed onto the shores of a nearby rocky islet. Black and gray clouds with an eerie yellow underbelly boiled across the sky. Willing his form somewhat more coherent, Mairon allowed the waves to carry him, and was thrown headlong onto a black sandy beach. Rolling, he managed to stop himself. Then, gathering his particles together, he raised his head as the surf surged about him.

Several hundred feet away stood Ossë. He wore a towering finely muscled elvish form, mostly naked but for a short kilt of abalone shells. His long white hair, chopped into varied lengths, rippled about him, like foam upon the waves. His body was covered in brown, geometric tattoos that flowed across his skin as flotsam upon the tide. His face, normally as fair as any elf, contorted with rage as he sang a song of power, stomped and leapt about, flinging his arms in grand gestures at ocean and sky, which responded with chaos. He seized a huge conch shell and blew upon it, sending a blast of lightning into the storm, followed by thunder. Marveling at the sheer energy involved, Mairon licked his lips. Slowly, he flowed upright.

Uinen came up behind him. She had taken an Eruhin form as well, complete with a delightful pair of long legs. Her vividly green hair curled over her shoulders and covered her body, just barely. “Who am I to stop him when he’s having such a good time,” she chuckled. “He hasn’t let loose like this in a year or more. Rather exhilarating, actually. Perhaps we could enjoy ourselves as well; it’s only fair, isn’t it?” She slipped her arms around Mairon’s insubstantial neck, her lips inches from his.

So she knew. Mairon wondered when in the long eons together Ossë had told her. “Much as that would please me,” Mairon said, as he gently extricated himself, “I fear it would only anger him more, which would jeopardize my position on that ship you can see listing heavily in the water—over yonder.”

Her brown eyes were lively. Apparently, she had enjoyed making him uncomfortable. They flicked to the ship. “I see it now.” She paused, stretched out her hands. “That does indeed look unpleasant for the sailors, who somehow lost their talisman, didn’t they. I wonder what would make them so careless? Or perhaps you know why it happened?”

“My dear, that ship carries the high King of Númenor, who I thought had your favor.”

“Psst!” She snapped her fingers. “As far as I’m concerned, kings come and go. But you are correct, Mairon. Ossë is quite fond of Númenor, since it’s his finest work. But he’s irritated because he found their Green Bough floating in the sea and, of late, he’s been annoyed that they were not conducting the ancient rituals as well as they once did. I told him it was likely an accident after a long voyage and we just needed to send an emissary to the priests in Rómenna to remind them to do the rituals properly. I made the mistake of saying that our Lord Ulmo cared little for these things, so why should he. I should know better.”

“From what I hear, your priests are subordinate to those of Manwë,” Mairon said. “Unfortunate, isn’t it? When, as a great seafaring nation, the Númenóreans obviously owe so much more to both of you.”

“You bring up a good point, Mairon. But the lost talisman isn’t the reason for Ossë’s display. He was angry because I informed him that a slope under the north-eastern arm of Númenor was subsiding and needed an uplift. He replied that it was perfect in conception and bade me tend to my own gardens. Stubborn Maia! He just doesn’t want the work of stoking the underground fires. Something, as I recall, you were quite good at.”

Mairon employed his most charming smile. “I may be able to help him at some point, but right now, you’ll note that my form isn’t as robust as it used to be.” He glanced down at himself.

“Pity,” she said. “Your current form is rather delectable, if somewhat, hum, sparse. But, I’d say both of us will require some wooing if we are to believe you have changed from your behavior of yore. Well then, I suppose I should talk to him. She turned and cried out, “Ossë! That’s enough! You’re disturbing the fish. If you weren’t throwing such a fit, you might notice we have a visitor. Someone you haven’t seen in many an age.”

Her words appeared to have little effect as Ossë continued to thrash and stamp in the surf, causing water to spray up in immense jets. He always was a theatrical git.

“Ossë!” cried Uinen again, her tone now angry. She grew as large as her husband and the air crackled about her. Lightning seared the sky in one ragged web of light, followed by a clap of thunder that Mairon thought would render his spirit form deaf. He fell on his face and threw his hands over his all-too-functional ears.

In a swirl of sodden white hair, Ossë turned. Looking up at him through his fingers, Mairon had to admit that he looked rather scrumptious. His wrath was pleasantly roiling Mairon’s particles.

The land under them trembled as Ossë pointed a finger at Uinen, “Back to harangue me some more, you harpy! I told you not to disturb me for at least a fortnight! Have you come to apologize, then?”

“Of course not,” Uinen laughed. “I’m right and you know it. A harpy am I!” Her eyes flashed dangerously, even though her mouth tugged upwards. “Cursed if you’re not the most obstinate, willful, inflexible old spiny-backed slug in the whole of Arda’s oceans. If you would just open your eyes for a moment, you’d see that Mairon is here. So it’s time to quit acting like a cranky old crab.”

Ossë clenched his fists, but his attention shifted to Mairon, who smiled as best he could in his translucent form, and wiggled his fingers at him. “Greetings, brother. I hate to disturb you when you’re so very busy, but there are reasons.”

“Mairon?” Ossë scowled. Dropping his arms, he squinted, then strode over and lowered his great head to look into Mairon’s insubstantial face. He passed a hand through Mairon’s body, sifted the particles through his fingers. “Why it is you. It’s been a long time, a very long time. Why haven’t you taken solid form?” He scowled and the wind picked up again. “Remarkably audacious of you to show up here, after everything you’ve done! Why are you here?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Mairon said. “And curious as to what had inspired such an impressive and forceful display.”

Uinen giggled.

Ossë’s mouth quirked. “Were you indeed?” He shrank himself so that he was Mairon’s height and sat on a flat rock, knees splayed under his kilt which clicked as he moved. He cradled his chin in his hand, frowning deeply, as the tattoos flowed over his body. “It’s a long time since I’ve seen you close by, Mairon. But I’ve heard things. Oh aye. It’s said you were Melkor’s fancy boy, and number one toadie, puffed up with your importance. Needlessly cruel, they said. Then, when the Valar’s forces drowned your country and carried off your preciously insane master, you were summoned to Aman to confess and atone. But I heard you fled, like a darting sardine, built yourself a miniature Angband far in-land and proceeded to make war on all of Middle-earth. Seems you haven’t learned a thing.”

Stung, Mairon closed his eyes a moment to control his anger. “What an . . . inhospitable way to greet an old . . . friend. I can’t help the rumors you’ve heard, but surely you know that truth becomes warped in the telling. Middle-earth was a chaotic mess and still is. It needs taming. Do you so soon forget your own alliance with our former master and how . . . beguiling and empowering he was? What a sense of grand mission he instilled in his followers? I was . . . taken in. Which I now regret.”

“You dare to compare my brief lapse to your sniveling, ages-long groveling!” Ossë leapt up, pointed at the sea, and a rather large wave rose and dashed against the rocks, spraying them all. With a sudden jerk upwards, Mairon pulled his particles into the air to keep from being swept off the beach by the backwash.

Control. Control. He now remembered why his affair with Ossë had been so short-lived. It was all that chaos: exhilarating in short doses, not so much for long-term affairs. They got along about as well as fire and water. He summoned a smile. “I would only ask that you hear me out before making assumptions.”

“Ha!” Ossë folded his arms. “I don’t believe a word from your mouth. In fact, I think you should bugger off again, and let me finish my symphony, which was just coming to its climax. You were naught but trouble.”

“Based on my experience while being vigorously tossed about on board ship, I’d say your symphony has already climaxed . . . multiple times.” Mairon smiled. He projected an image of Ossë, lying back on his seaweed-laced bed, hand working his very erect cock.

Ossë swallowed and hitched his kilt.

In the distance, the tiny silhouette of the Zimrazra listed dangerously. There was little time for banter or recrimination and certainly not seduction. Best to adopt an attitude of contrition. Mairon hung his head and wrung his insubstantial hands. “Believe me, my siblings in the Song, I know I’ve made mistakes, some dreadful ones, which indeed I did confess to that overbearing brother of ours, Eönwë, but then things happened and I could not bring myself . . . I was forced to retreat to the east. But I returned and began rebuilding a fortress and an army, for safety, as the Secondborn are inveterate warmongers. Then it happened that the Númenórean King invaded my kingdom, threatening everything I’d built. But I did not meet his forces with my own. I have evolved, you see. I chose instead to make peace. In fact, until a few hours ago, I was his guest. You see his ship there in the distance.” Mairon pointed—happy to see that distracting Ossë had already diminished the rain and calmed the waves.

“That ship! Are they the ones who defiled my talisman?”

“Through accident, I believe,” Mairon purred. “They did not mean any disrespect, I’m sure. As for my presence here, I’m like to remain on Númenor for some time and thought it would be beneficial to renew our acquaintance.”

“Beneficial! I hardly think so,” Ossë scoffed. “Perhaps I should finish sinking that ship, now that I know you were aboard!”

“Ah. Did you not hear me say that Ar-Pharazôn himself is aboard and has been my host?” Mairon sighed dramatically. “My friends, I find myself longing for the old days before Melkor whispered lies into my ears. I cannot help that I was inexperienced then. Naive. You of all the Ainur should understand, brother. You might well recall how he was the master of persuasion. Once I’m settled on the island, I would welcome the opportunity to return for a longer chat. Truly, I have things to impart that I’m sure would interest you. Uinen says the structure of the island needs some repair work. You might remember that I have a certain skill in working the fires of the earth and considerable experience with moderating the activities of volcanos. Ask Ulmo. It was a gift I absorbed from the Song, all those ages ago.”

Ossë grunted,“Ulmo barely deigns to talk to me and instead lurks in the outer seas. So I’m unlikely to get his advice on these matters.”

“I see,” Mairon said. “Well, you’re the expert on the Land of the Star, not him. We could perhaps collaborate.”

“Collaborate.” Ossë’s face grew thoughtful. He glanced at Uinen, who at first looked surprised and then sly.

She laid a hand on Ossë’s shoulder. “What an interesting notion, my dear. You thought it would be too toilsome to poke up the fires under Andor. Working with Mairon could solve your problem and allow me to go back to my gardens, instead of moving a bunch of rocks for you.”

“Nay. Rather, I thought it would likely trigger earthquakes which would not endear me to the people of Andor,” Ossë said with some pique.

Uinen replied, “I daresay today’s performance will not endear you to Andor’s people either, particularly if you drown their King.”

“I didn’t know,” Ossë said.

“You could’ve checked, instead of going off like some newly unblocked steam vent!” Uinen threw her hands in the air.

“I understand your concern, brother,” Mairon interjected. “Earthquakes can be a problem, hard to control, most inconvenient. But I’ve found that if you move the magma slowly enough, through the right fissures and allow it to cool without coming into contact with water, that danger can be minimized. It just needs to be properly controlled, brother. Nothing sudden. Done with care, a movement of molten rock without an eruption or quakes would take many years. I’d have to study and map the underlying geography first, which would take time.”

Ossë frowned.“Why would you go to such trouble and labor, when as the King’s guest, you could instead be luxuriating in Armenelos?”

“As you should remember, I’ve always relished a challenge,” Mairon said. “Sitting idle has never been something I desire.” He emphasized the last word and smiled.

He could swear Ossë turned red, and averted his gaze. “What do you want in return? You were never one for doing something without, um, proper recompense.”

The wind had died and the clouds were breaking up. Good. Mairon stretched his senses towards the ship, but something wasn’t right. By Melkor’s chains, what were those humans doing!! He’d best conclude this little interview before they ruined everything. He said, “Ah well, we could work together on a portion of it, and then you would decide what my efforts were worth. However, as a bit of down payment, you could do something for me now.”

“What would that be?”

“Allow my ship to continue unharmed to Andor. I’m rather fond of Ar-Pharazôn, you see, and it would be a calamity to his kingdom to lose him. As you may know, there’s no direct heir—as yet. I myself will have a word with your priests and emphasize the importance of their rituals and prayers to your well-being.”

Ossë stood and regarded the distant ship for a long moment.“Seems careless of them to lose their oiolairë branch.” He sniffed.

“These things do happen, particularly on the return voyage when the branches have dried and become brittle,” Mairon said. “What do you say? Do we have a bargain?”

Ossë shrugged. He turned to his wife. “What do you think, my dear?”

“It might not hurt to see if Melkor’s fancy boy could be helpful—for once,” Uinen said.

“Your concerns do you credit.” Mairon bowed. “Give me a chance. You will find I have changed. Matured. One does not experience the horrors I have without it leaving a mark. I don’t wish to repeat the past.”

“That remains to be seen,” Uinen responded. “Ossë, my love, restore the good weather and let the ship go on its way. Mairon, I fear we have been inhospitable, my husband and I, making you stand out here naked on this barren rock, with the winds blowing right through you. Would you care to visit our house below? I’ve made some delicious kelp stew we could enjoy. And Ossë has composed a new ode to anemones. It’s a gentle little tune, in contrast to his recent endeavors.” Her mouth quirked.

“I should be delighted,” Mairon said, inwardly shuddering. “But for the exigency of the moment. You see, when I left, the ship was under duress and the King wounded. I must return quickly to tend to him. If I may make a request, brother, once you’ve calmed your storm, could you send a breath of wind to fill the sails and get us moving again? You needn’t reprise your symphony, just a gentle pursing of the lips and a little hum should do it.”

Ossë’s laugh boomed about the island. “As I recall, that was your specialty.” He glanced at his wife, who looked amused. “Well then. I find that I am rather fatigued, so in deference to the past, I will grant you this favor. But mind you, keep your promise and come back to visit us, so that I may judge if you speak truly or are merely bandying words about, as you always did.”

Mairon bowed deeply. “You may rely on me, brother.”

“We shall see,” Ossë said.

“Indeed. As I think about it, perhaps you could make a brief appearance to the King. Greet him in person to assure him you had no ill will towards him or his people and then help us get moving again while I repair the ship. It may go a long way towards improving relations between you, which I’m afraid to divulge, stand somewhat strained at the moment.”

Ossë looked disgruntled. “Truly?”

Mairon nodded. “I’m afraid so. Let me go ahead and pave the way for you to appear.”

Uinen said, “I think Mairon is right. Help me clean up around here and then follow him so you can make nice with Númenor’s King. I’ll expect you home for dinner. As for you.” Uinen gave Mairon a sideways look. “Once you get settled, do pay us a visit. Life out here has been rather dull of late. As I recall, you always knew how to spice up a party.”

Mairon bowed deeply to her. “Of course, my dear. Now then, brother. Can you give me a push? There is an emergency brewing on board ship and I need to plug some holes before you get there.”

“As ever,” Ossë grinned. He stood, put his hands to his mouth, and blew out a great puff of air. Mairon felt the breeze swirling about him, tickling his parts most agreeably as his body rose and was sucked up into it. “Farewell, Lady Uinen,” he called. “Until we next meet.”

“Make it soon, that stew won’t keep.” Uinen laughed. As Mairon rose higher into a rain-swollen cloud, he heard her say, “He’ll never come. Not unless he wants something else.”

Harpy, Mairon thought. But now, he needed as much speed as he could muster before disaster struck and all his plans would be for naught.

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Chapter End Notes

Eruhíni (Quenya, plural. Eruhin, singular) Children of Eru, i.e. Elves and Men.
Ossë: I repurposed Ossë’s physical description from my story Ossë’s Gift.