"The Nameless One… bearer of the new song. I am Ulmo, Lord of Waters."
The voice rolled through the world like thunder beneath the sea. In an instant, all around Kaen Eowenríel and Arwen Undómiel dissolved — the forests, the silver rivers, even the light of the Blue Tree — and the two of them stood instead upon a vast and endless ocean. The boat beneath their feet was cast upon the towering waves, lifted high as a mountain one moment and dropped gently into the troughs the next, yet it did not capsize.
Kaen and Arwen stood together, hand in hand, light pouring from their forms — bright and pure, driving back the storm that surged around them.
Then, from the roaring horizon, a shape began to take form — immense, majestic, terrible in its grace. The sea itself rose and took form, and out of the deep a colossal figure strode, each step sending waves rolling for leagues. Lightning crowned the dark heavens as the being came to a halt before the, and his presence filled the meeting of sea and sky..
He was armored in silver scales that gleamed like living light, and over them flowed a mantle of deep green, the color of the ocean's heart. A crown of silver rested upon his brow, and long hair fell beneath it, shimmering like moonlit foam. His face was veiled in mist, no features could be seen, only a radiance like water in sunlight. The air itself trembled with awe.
Kaen and Arwen felt their hearts pound with reverence and disbelief. For before them stood not a Maia, nor any spirit of lesser rank — but one of the Valar, a true lord of creation.
Ulmo, Lord of Waters, second in power only to Manwë himself — one of the three who shaped the very form of Arda. With Manwë he had wrought the sky and the airs, with Aulë he had carved the bones of the earth, and by his hand were the depths of the oceans and the paths of every river born.
He was the solitary one among the Valar, the wandering power who never dwelt in Aman's bliss but remained close to Middle-earth, ever watching, ever guiding its peoples through the whisper of streams and the song of tides. When the rest of the Valar turned away from the world, closing Aman's shores, Ulmo alone had kept his gaze upon Middle-earth, sending dreams and voices through the waters to those who would listen.
In the First Age, he had guided Finrod and Turgon to build the hidden realms of Nargothrond and Gondolin. Through him, the man Tuor was sent as herald to warn the Elves before Gondolin's fall. He had counseled Círdan the Shipwright to remain by the western shores, to receive the departing Elves, and inspired Eärendil to sail west and plead for the Valar's aid against Morgoth.
Even in the Second Age, when the island of Númenor rose from the sea, Ulmo had spoken through the waves, warning them against pride. But Morgoth's lingering corruption had dimmed his reach, binding much of his strength and silencing his guidance.
Yet of all the Valar, none had ever loved Middle-earth more deeply.
And now the Lord of Waters himself stood before them, vast and immeasurable, his voice like the breaking of storm upon cliff.
"Nameless one," he said, "and you, heir of the High Elves' noblest blood, do not fear. I am Ulmo, master of all waters beneath the sky."
Kaen and Arwen bowed low in reverence, awe coursing through their hearts. Kaen raised his head and asked, "Mighty Lord of the Waters, for what cause have you come to us?"
In times past, Kaen had spoken to the Lord of the Air, Manwë, as near-equal, a mortal grown into myth. But Ulmo was different. This was the Vala who had never abandoned Middle-earth, who still walked unseen among its rivers and rain. To him Kaen spoke with full reverence, his voice steady but humble.
The waters around them calmed, and Ulmo, seeing their respect, bent low, kneeling upon the vast waves so that they would not have to crane their necks to look upon him. His voice, like the surge of a thousand tides, spoke again:
"You two who have altered the fate of the Eldar, I bring tidings from Aman, that you may know what comes.
"In the Blessed Realm, a third of the Elves prepare to set sail — to cross the Sundering Seas and return to Middle-earth. Among them are many who perished in Beleriand and were reborn in Mandos' halls."
Arwen's lips parted in wonder, Kaen's eyes widened. For a heartbeat neither could speak. The echo of Ulmo's words seemed too vast to comprehend.
"To prevent the tragedies of old, the kinslayings and the feuds that stained the First Age with blood, you two must stand ready," said Ulmo. "When need arises, it shall fall upon you to preserve balance, to quell the fires of pride and vengeance before they burn anew."
The Elves returning from Aman… The thought alone shook them to their core.
Ulmo's voice rolled on, deep and unrelenting as the sea: "Kaen Eowenríel, you must remember: where light grows, shadow strengthens. Your deeds bring hope, but with hope comes despair equal in weight. Somewhere in this world, the darkness gathers, and its hand shall reach for you before long."
The waves around them swelled, as if echoing his warning.
"I will guide you when I may," Ulmo said, his form shimmering like mist on water. "But understand this, you have rewritten fate itself. Even we, the Valar, can no longer see all that will come. The Song now carries notes beyond our hearing.
"Remember this, both of you: unity — unity alone — is the mightiest weapon against the dark."
With that, his towering form began to fade, dissolving into foam and shadow. The roaring sea dimmed, the thunder fell silent. Slowly, the illusion of water withdrew, and the calm of Lothlórien returned. The gentle murmur of the small river once again filled the air.
Kaen and Arwen stood upon their small boat beneath the starlit canopy, staring into the rippling water where moments ago a god had spoken to them.
The revelation weighed upon them both. One-third of the Elves of Aman, the undying, the reborn, the ancient, would soon return to Middle-earth. Kaen recalled his words once spoken upon the snow-clad heights before Manwë: "Those Elves who once fled to Aman for safety,let them know they may one day return,for this land too belongs to the Children of the One."
Now that promise was coming true, but not as he had imagined.
Seeing the shadow of thought upon his face, Arwen placed her hand upon his cheek, her voice soft as falling rain. "Do not fear, my love. This is not ill news. The strength of the West will join with ours, and the light will grow brighter. Besides, crossing the seas is no small task. It will take time, years, perhaps decades."
Kaen nodded slowly. "You are right," he murmured. Then, kneeling, he touched his palm to the surface of the river. "Lord of Waters," he whispered, "tell me, when will they come?"
A gentle pulse of will answered him, wordless but clear in his mind: Ten years at the least. Fifteen at most.
Kaen drew a steady breath and rose. That would be enough. Time to prepare, to ready the realms for what was to come.
That night, beneath the tranquil boughs of Lothlórien, Kaen and Arwen swore to keep the vision secret. None but they would know of Ulmo's visitation or the approaching return of the Elves of Aman, not yet. When Kaen returned to Eowenría, he would summon a great council under Lord Elrond, and only then would the truth be revealed to the leaders of the Free Peoples.
And the stars burned softly above the quiet sea, their light mirrored in the silver tide and though all the world seemed still, the deep currents of fate had already begun to stir.
…