By Thalia Weaver
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is Tolkien's.
A/N: I love Ulmo, for the record. ADORE him. And I haven't seen enough with him, so I decided to write something eminently screwed up and pointless for reasons unfathomable. :)
Ulmo listens, always, deep in the dark waters of the world. It is his voice that can be heard in the babbling of streams, not nonsense but instead an everlasting song, for his voice is never silent. He has never abandoned the world, never stopped his life-giving waters from flowing through the land like veins, bringing refreshment to the parched and life to the weary tendrils of life that grew from the most ancient times, even when the world seemed darkest.
To the others of the Valar were given companions, to walk with them in the dark corridors and to give them strength in their weariness. But to Ulmo one was not given, Ulmo the lonely, who above all else loves the mortal beings that walk the lands of Middle-Earth. His sadness can be heard in the crashing of the sea, that is ever forlorn, the endless smashing of the surf, his impotent rage. It is said that the music of Ulmo's horns of shell, the Ulurin, instill in the hearts of Men and Elves the desire for the sea, and ever within them sadness blooms, wilting their souls like the crashing of tides within their sad hearts.
Why did Eru decree to Ulmo everlasting loneliness, the most deserving of the Valar? For what was he condemned to spend all of eternity alone? For if the sea-longing brings such sadness to the hearts of Eru's children, surely the Ainur suffer no less...
Ulmo waits ever, alone. The futile tides echo in him, mockingly, the grottoes of the ancient world his tears of sorrow. Stories have been told of shades, women who lie on water-carved rocks and sing their hearts out, a haunting song of loneliness; perhaps these songs were merely Ulmo's tears, his loneliness ever seen in coral and black water, and waves that toss with wild abandon. Storms rage within the hearts of immortals, this one who never tires and never gives up, alone, alone, always alone. He has cried enough tears to fill oceans; he has filled the oceans, let them spill trembling over to clear streams, to rivers, to brooks. Peace in his sadness comes, clear running water that is no longer tearful, running beneath colored leaves in forgotten valleys. The Elves have passed, and still He sorrows, Ulmo the lonely.
Never, forever, black petals decaying on the floor where lovers once danced; the leaves are falling in the stream, the river flows away. The mallorns have fallen, and lie perishing in the forgotten forests of Caras Galadhon. Who remembers a lonely Vala, whose tears run forever? When will they overflow?
A/N: ...sheer, utter crap.