-General-
The white ships of the Teleri, taken by steel and blood, sailed through Ulmo's sea. The Noldor navigated along the coast that connected Valinor with Beleriand, avoiding the heart of the sea with eagerness, they were not sailors and would not risk their people by venturing into the vast and perilous ocean.
Moreover, despite their beauty and solid structure, the few Noldor navigators knew that these ships were not made to withstand the tides and winds of an oceanic journey.
"The coast will serve as our guide, my lord," said a Noldor navigator to Fëanor, who, with a serene and profound expression, nodded. No words were needed; the gesture was more than enough.
On the other side, in the ships further from Fëanor's Noldor host, Fingolfin and his followers trailed behind at a distance. A deep and emotional conversation took place aboard Fingolfin's ship between him and Finarfin.
"I cannot bear it, brother," said Finarfin, his gaze lost in the distant docks of Alqualondë. "What we have done is a mistake, one we will never be able to repair." Exhaustion was evident in his eyes, like a man consumed by guilt.
He shook his head in a vague attempt to drive away the thoughts that tormented him. His trembling hands covered his face in shame, and with a lamenting voice, he said, "Olwë and I were friends… Eärwen will never forgive me for what we did to her people… Oh no, what have we done?!"
His knees buckled, Finarfin had collapsed, his despair palpable. Some among the Noldor shared his pain, whether due to having relatives among the Teleri or for other reasons.
Fingolfin felt a knot in his stomach as he watched his brother break down, but he had to remain strong despite the weight pressing on his chest. With a sigh laden with emotion, he composed himself, his eyes settling on the figure leading the ships. Fëanor stood at the prow of his vessel, an undisputed leader, his face devoid of emotion, as if the massacre of the Teleri did not weigh upon him.
But unlike Fëanor, his sons gazed into the void, especially Ilarion, who lowered his eyes, as if merely keeping them raised would be a sickness condemning him to despair.
Yet, that despair did not matter to the fleet, which pressed forward with hearts pounding from recent events. The ships aligned like a constellation, gleaming in the dark twilight of the sea.
Aboard Fëanor's ship, Huan, the hunting hound of Oromë and now protector of Ilarion, perked his ears, which twitched. Danger loomed, and Huan knew it. His majestic form rose, casting a pale glow upon Ilarion's face.
"What is it, Huan?" Ilarion asked, perplexed. Not only did Huan's behavior seem strange, but so did the crystalline rose that Yavanna had given him. A threat lurked over the Noldor fleet.
"Father!" Ilarion suddenly stood up. His brothers reacted—some looked at him in confusion, while others, knowing how sensitive he was to danger, grew worried. "Something is wrong, Father!"
Fëanor looked at his son, and upon seeing his agitation, a flicker of fear crossed his stoic face, though only for an instant. Ilarion noticed it, but he did not care. Just as he was about to warn of the impending danger, the wind cut off his words.
The sky, which offered the dim light of the stars, darkened, plunging the Noldor's sight into shadows. The waters retreated and surged forward, causing waves to rise and crash against the ships. The air grew heavy and sharp, cutting into the fearful faces of the Noldor.
Fingolfin and the others held on tightly as waves battered their ship, denting its structure. The fierce wind tore through the ships' sails, and the sea roared in vengeance.
The rain fell like sharp crystals, striking the elves' faces as they clung desperately to anything that could withstand the storm's fury. The cries of men and women soon filled the air, prayers and pleas drowned beneath the thunder and crashing waves.
"Great Ulmo, forgive this blind fool!" one of the Noldor prayed, his eyes shut tight as he curled up in a corner of the ship, clinging to an oar with all his might.
"Help! Help me!" a Noldor woman cried, clutching the edge of the vessel. The waves, like living colossi, pummeled her back, forcing agonized screams from her lips. But despite the pain, she did not let go.
A thunderclap illuminated the desperate faces of the Noldor. The smaller vessels groaned, yielding under the relentless assault of the waves. Planks gave way, and with them, the ships were swallowed by the sea.
One by one, the boats were consumed by the raging waters, but only one remained stable, Fëanor's vessel, shielded by a faint green light that repelled both the waves and the lightning.
Ilarion watched in stunned horror as the ships vanished, one after another. Desperation surged in his chest, this was clearly Ulmo's vengeance upon the Noldor.
The crystalline flower of Yavanna glowed, protecting Ilarion and his brothers from Ulmo's wrath. Aware of this, Ilarion, for the first time, unsheathed his sword. Silmacil vibrated with exhilaration, and the storm-winds gathered around his ship.
"No one shall perish behind you when I am drawn. Those who fight by your side shall rise with renewed strength and battle until victory is theirs. Let those who stand against you weep and tremble, for neither time nor fate shall break you. In your hand, you shall wield my blade, and with it, the will of those who follow you."
A majestic voice resounded within the raging storm. For a brief moment, the winds and thunder fell silent, as if even the slightest movement would be heresy before such a sacred and mythical event. The waves of Ulmo receded in reverence; the waters stilled, and with them, an unfathomable will spread, instilling renewed hope in the hearts of those who had succumbed to despair.
Ilarion closed his eyes, and in that instant, a vision unfolded within his mind: a colossal presence, whose mere existence dwarfed him, rose in majesty, benevolence, and power. Melodies danced in the air, weaving harmonies older than the world itself. His face, concealed behind a radiant light, remained an unknowable mystery, for none could dare to behold the true essence of the one who revealed himself.
Driven by the vision, Ilarion opened his eyes, and as he did, his irises shone with a silver brilliance, as if the light of that sacred being still resided within them. They were no longer mortal eyes, but celestial orbs in which stars danced, where stellar nebulae unfolded in an ethereal glow, as though the primordial beauties of the universe now dwelled within him.
In that instant, Ilarion understood that his gaze would never be the same again, for with it, he had been granted an impossible gift, the power to see beyond words and appearances, to behold the bare hearts of all living beings.
***
This fic is not dead, it's just that I have taken some time to read the silamarillion since I had forgotten a lot of things, the next chapter will be uploaded on Sunday along with the lord of the rings fic.