In the North he lifted his voice
And the rill danced all the way to Belegaer.
I heard it, too, for Ulmo took to his theme
(The charmer no less charmed, I think)
And rumbled it back to me; and the waves,
Who have a sense of humour at times,
Played the continuo.
I dove from the crosstrees to hear it better.
There, in the cool shadow beneath the keel,
I dreamt his face, the prophetling, for the first.
He seemed strong and fair, but my heart quailed.
Can the veins of a Man bear so much salt?
The vision darted away and I saw only blue water
And the cloud of my hair, cuttlefish black.
He went to the mountains and I back to my ships:
The melting snows told me of laughter in Gondolin.
I laughed, too, and fostered laughter.
Later, the rivers ran with tears and ash.
When the willows bent their boughs in sadness
And the flaglilies let their petals fall,
He returned to the sea, leading his city’s children.
I clasped his wrist and kissed him,
Kissed his golden wife with the starfish eyes,
Took them to me, bid them cleanse their hurts and
Ease their sorrows. But he, god-beloved and scarred,
Would stand at the feet of Uilos ere he died.
But too long he tarried, and then fever came,
Fierce as Ossë, and I saw how it would be.
And so, I clasped his wrist once more.
Two currents may meet, each baffling the other,
But the same ocean rules us all.
We were long since brothers, he and I, servants
Of the subversive god. Not even Ulmo dreamt of this.
His spirit pounded through me, wordless, shocked,
But my prayers, storm-soaring gulls, winged high above.
Sea-Wing sailed; he perched on the crosstrees,
She a fury of love at the stern. I stood long
On the strand and watched the tides. I sang of heart’s uplifting
And the waves obligingly played the continuo.
Who can prophesy the tides of that inland sea, the heart?
Who dares sing of the salt-glittered sand?
I know not the final verse. I need not ask.
***
Notes
As they came to the gates Círdan the Shipwright came forth to greet them. Very tall he was, and his beard was long, and he was grey and old, save that his eyes were keen as stars. ~ The Grey Havens
That's what started it. Círdan snagged my attention on my first reading of LotR, and I've been irritated and intrigued by him ever since. Whaddya mean, "grey and old?" I self-inflicted a Challenge to explain him. Escaped thrall? Doubtful. Aged by care? Nah; he certainly wouldn't be alone. Mortal blood? Wouldn't we have heard about it?
He built a great ship, and he named it Eärrámë, which is Sea-Wing; and with Idril Celebrindal he set sail into the sunset and the West, and came no more into any tale or song. But in after days it was sung that Tuor alone of mortal Men was numbered among the elder race. ~ Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin
That's what started it. Círdan: the one Elf who aged. Tuor: the one Man who (maybe) did not die. An odd pair of dots to connect, but the idea tugged at me until I went to The Silmarillion to see if the necessary stats lined up.
Yet by Sirion and the sea there grew up an Elven-folk, the gleanings of Doriath and Gondolin; and from Balar the mariners of Círdan came among them, and they took to the waves and the building of ships, dwelling ever nigh to the coasts of Arvernien, under the shadow of Ulmo's hand. ~ Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin
Why, how convenient. What else have we got? Well, both characters are deeply embrangled in the plots and schemings of Ulmo, whose domain is not only water, but...
The spirit of Ulmo runs in all the veins of the world. ~ Valaquenta
blood.
Ulmo's a subversive guy; champion of various visionary lunatics such as Finrod and Eärendil.
'But behold!' said he, 'in the armour of Fate (as the Children of Earth name it) there is ever a rift, and in the walls of Doom a breach, until the full-making, which ye call the End. So it shall be while I endure, a secret voice that gainsayeth.' ~ Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin
Círdan himself is very close to Eärendil, and helps him in his search for Tuor. Giving, quietly but incessantly, seems to be what the Shipwright does best. Rings, rescue ships, daycare service, you name it. He founds havens, fosters royalty, maintains the Middle-earth Coast Guard, he's at Elrond's back at Orodruin, on the White Council and apparently in everybody's confidence, and at the end of it all, he's the one waiting to bring them all home. Hero material? Yes, I should say so.
I went hunting in Unfinished Tales for extra Tuor goodies, and I'm glad I did. Ulmo's prophet is incredibly charismatic – easy to love, especially for someone already bonded in love of the Lord of Waters.
Heedless of the peril of his clear voice alone in the waste he sang an elven-song of the North for the uplifting of hearts. And even as he sang the well at his feet began to boil with great increase of water, and it overflowed. ~ Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin
By the way, Sirion had flaglilies, did you know?
Certainly there are problems with my little borderline AU. For one thing, Tuor "was joined with the Noldor, whom he loved" (Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin), and Círdan, darn it all, is Telerin. For another, the theory's just plain cracked; im/mortality doesn't work that way, and besides, we'd have heard all about it from the gossips, not to mention the joglars. But I don't think he'd have told many people, if he told anyone at all. And those who knew would have found it too private a thing, or else simply too strange, to sing about. Salt, Blood and Song – who knows; it all happened so very long ago. Consider yourself Challenged to write a better explanation.