At the Edge of the Water by Independence1776

At the Edge of the Water

Nienna walked the woods. Mist curled around the tree trunks, turning everything gray and ethereal in the dim light of the full moon. Waves crashed unseen on the pebbled beach to her right, dull in the fog. The lighthouse stood invisible and silent ahead; its light only visible when she looked up, a dull glow rather than the powerful beam she’d seen on her prior journeys.

Yet she was drawn here to the place where the water met the coast, a pebbled shore, and the forest growing beyond. Few people lived here yet; Tol Eressëa was mostly concentrated in a city and outlying areas. But there was enough marine traffic to need a light.

Nienna stepped out of the forest and onto the pebbles, walking to where the water started. She stared into the fog and waited.

*****

The sand squeaked under Maglor’s bare feet. He’d taken his boots off to fish in the surf at dawn. Years uncounted of wandering had eventually brought him back to the north-eastern coast of Middle-earth, much changed since his departure mere years after the War of Wrath. The sun rose behind him; the sky pinks and purples. The fog bank hovering just offshore reflected… oddly. It almost seemed not of this world. And in a steady rhythm, a light flashed out from it.

He put his boots on, prepared his boat, and did the absolutely foolish thing of heading straight into the fog to figure out just what the light was. If he didn’t know that there was no land West of him save for where he could not return, he would have thought it a lighthouse.

When the fog grew dark— much darker than it should have, dark enough to light the lantern hanging on a hook from the prow— Maglor knew he’d made a mistake. This was some new art of the Enemy. And then the shore reappeared, too close for him to do anything but brace himself for the impact of his boat grounding. He jumped over the side, one hand on his sword and landing softly on his feet on the pebbled shore.

He looked to his right and cursed under his breath. It was a lighthouse. But how? There had been no island, no pebbled shore, to the West. A shift of pebbles had him draw his sword and he turned to face the sound.

Only the person standing near him in the dark of the fog was someone he recognized, her gray garments merging with the fog. He did not sheath his sword, though little good it would do him against one of the Valië. “Where am I?”

“A quiet part of Tol Eressëa,” she said.

Well, that would explain why it was so dark. It was night. “How?”

More importantly, why?

Nienna shrugged a shoulder. “I do not know. I was drawn here. Now I know why.”

“I saw a lighthouse that could not exist flashing in a fog bank.” Maglor sheathed his sword. He would absolutely question a quirk of fate that led to his unexpected arrival, but he would not do so now. He’d been fishing for his breakfast, damn it, and he was still hungry.

“Mercy exists in Eä, son of Fëanor. Whatever chance brought you here—“

“—is not unwelcome.” That much he would admit now. “But if you’ll excuse me, I will seek my breakfast from the lighthouse keeper.”

Where he would go and what he would do he could figure out after he’d eaten. He dragged his boat above the high tide line of seaweed and walked to the lighthouse door.

“After breakfast, then,” Nienna said from a few feet behind him. He glanced at her and raised his hand to knock.