-General-
In the depths of the ocean, Ulmo watched. His colossal silhouette was barely discernible in the vastness of the sea. He remained still, not for the bodies drowning in the waters, no, but for that divine presence that fixed its gaze upon Ilarion. Ulmo knew who he was.
The raging waves receded, afraid to approach Ilarion, and even Ulmo feared that any action against one who had been seen by Eru might provoke His wrath. He abandoned his attack. The sea had already claimed enough lives in vengeance.
Beside Ulmo stood Ossë, his hands raised, stoking the fury of the sea. His face reflected the wrath of every crashing wave. Next to him, Uinen remained silent, grief and sorrow etched upon her features. Small tears trickled down her cheeks, mourning the fallen.
Then, a voice, deep as the abyssal depths, spoke.
"Enough," said Ulmo. "We must not trouble the Noldor any further. Their departure has already been foretold, and I do not wish to anger the One who stands above us."
---
That put an end to the storm, but its consequences were plain for all the Noldor to see. Countless wrecks drifted aimlessly, and dozens of Noldor lay in the sea, some dead, others still clinging to life. A few had the fortune of being washed ashore, their pale, cold bodies bearing witness to the sea's vengeance.
Ilarion's ship sailed among the wreckage, aiding those who could still be saved. Thanks to his intervention, many Noldor survived. The ships following his lead imitated his actions, rescuing their brethren. Some even threw themselves into the water in a desperate attempt to save the unfortunate.
In the distance, beyond Ilarion's vessel, an elf emerged from the waves, Fingolfin. With a desperate gasp, he inhaled the salty air and forced himself upright. The seawater stung his eyes, his soaked hair clung to his face, and his armor weighed upon him like a slab of stone. The waves battered him relentlessly, and his chest burned as the saltwater seeped into his nostrils.
The sea was swallowing him. He had to act, or he would die. With a final, desperate effort, he kicked with all his remaining strength, propelling himself toward the light. His head broke the surface as he spat out seawater and gasped for air. His hands searched for something, anything, to hold onto.
Then, a firm hand grasped him and pulled him up in a single motion.
Blinded by water, Fingolfin could not see his rescuer, but the concerned voice that reached him left no doubt.
"Breathe, uncle. You're safe now."
Ilarion, having spotted his uncle struggling to stay afloat, had not hesitated to act. He leaped from ship to ship until he reached the closest one to Fingolfin. His rigorous physical training allowed him to move with ease, and in that moment, he silently thanked Tulkas for instilling in him the importance of pushing his body to its peak.
Despite his exhaustion, Fingolfin immediately straightened, turning his head frantically from side to side. He did not thank Ilarion, his mind was racing in desperation, searching among the wreckage and floating bodies for his brother and his sons. Then, he saw them.
Fingon and Turgon were struggling not far from the ship. Their faces were contorted with effort, despair consuming them. Fingon, in particular, fought with all his strength, holding his brother tightly as he tried to keep them both afloat. But then, a powerful wave struck them, separating the two brothers.
There was little they could do, the current dragged them apart. Turgon, weaker, gasped for air, his feeble strokes failing against each crashing wave.
The sight alarmed Ilarion. His cousins were hanging by a thread, and if Fingolfin jumped into the water in his state, exhaustion would drag him to a certain death. Without hesitation, Ilarion grabbed two ropes.
"Row as close as you can," he ordered the elves. "You two, hold onto these ropes."
With those instructions, he dived into the water. The ship would take too long to reach them, and the brothers were running out of strength.
Ilarion swam as fast as he could, heading first toward Turgon, the closest. His arms cut through the water with every powerful stroke. Then, as if the sea itself recognized something sacred in him, the waves stilled. The tempest gave way to an unexpected calm, offering the brothers a brief respite from the relentless fury of the ocean.
"Hold on!" Ilarion shouted as he reached Turgon. He wrapped the rope around his cousin's waist and signaled to the ship. The elves pulled with all their strength, dragging a relieved Turgon toward the vessel.
"Ilarion…" Turgon gasped. "My brother… please, save him."
"Don't worry," Ilarion assured him.
With one last glance at Turgon, who was being lifted onto the ship, Ilarion dove back into the water and swam toward Fingon. With the last of his strength, Fingon pushed forward, reaching out his arm for Ilarion to grasp.
Ilarion seized him firmly and, without wasting a second, wrapped the other rope around his cousin.
"Pull him up!" he ordered, holding tightly onto Fingon.
This time, the elves pulled them both. It took little effort to haul them aboard. Once they were safe, the elves rushed to aid the exhausted survivors.
Fingolfin, his hands trembling, embraced his two sons tightly. They gasped for breath, finding solace in their father's arms.
But Fingolfin's worry did not fade. After ensuring that Fingon and Turgon were safe, his desperate gaze swept across the sea, searching for his daughter, Aredhel. There was no sign of her. A knot of terror tightened in his chest. He feared the worst.
"Father!"
Hope surged in Fingolfin's heart. For a fleeting moment, the crushing fear dissipated. Recognizing his daughter's voice, he turned frantically, his eyes scouring the sea for Aredhel.
"Aredhel!" he called, his voice thick with anguish.
"I'm here, Father!"
It was not until another ship approached that Fingolfin could finally exhale in relief. His eyes locked onto the boat, and there, among the figures drenched by the sea, he saw her—Aredhel. By her side stood his brother, Finarfin, and Finarfin's sons, all trembling and soaked, but alive.
The remaining ships saved as many as they could. Once it was certain that no more Noldor remained in the sea, they set sail for the shore.
They had to regroup. The weight of Ulmo's judgment bore heavily upon many Noldor, who, filled with regret, longed to return to Tirion.
A decision had to be made, for the deaths of so many weighed upon their hearts.