Then Ulmo arose and spoke to him and for dread he came near to death, for the depth of the voice of Ulmo is of the uttermost depth: even as deep as his eyes which are the deepest of all things. And Ulmo said:
O, Tuor of the lonely heart!1
Give up your glades and gentle springs;
Your journey here was but the start
Of what your future brings.
A Noldoli shall come to you,
A precipice will show you in;
This early summer hence you two
Shall enter Gondolin.
Confer with Turgon in his hall
Become my voice, so he may hear:
Escape, or watch his people fall—
The Iron Hells draw near.
Trust neither men nor beasts of prey—
By Melkor’s curse they stay enslaved;
Go straight to Turgon: Tell him they
Must hasten to be saved.
Among the waves you may return
When once our enterprise is done;
And Turgon’s daughter, you shall learn,
Will bear your only son.
I know the Willows warm your heart
I’ve watched you stalk their sylvan path,
But scramble now, begin your part
To stop the War of Wrath.
Don’t worry, I’m still very much working on my longer project. The Thanksgiving holiday ate up what little time I have outside of work, and this is not an easy project to complete, so time is what I need to see it through. I could have whipped up a quick update to stay on track, but since the story isn’t quite ready, I didn’t think that would be fair to you. Story over schedule, so please know that next week we’ll return to the westward forest and the land of the Huntsman.
My subconscious has zero chill, however, so even when I’m trying to take a holiday break, ideas will sometimes tap me on the shoulder. I was reading more of Tolkien’s Fall of Gondolin over the long weekend, and this scene in particular really struck me. Ulmo, King of the Sea, Lord of Waters, and Dweller of the Deep, comes face to face with Tuor, a human refugee. The encounter alone nearly killed him.
Ulmo gives him a strange directive: go find the hidden entrance to an elvish city no one’s allowed to enter, speak to the lord of the land and tell him to leave it behind to save his people.
Incredibly, Tuor was successful, but it did nothing to save Gondolin from its downfall. Turgon didn’t heed Tuor’s advice, thinking the city’s defenses sufficient against the evil machinations of Melkor. Ultimately, treachery from within thwarted Ulmo’s plan to save the city.
For me, it seems that missed opportunities led to the devastation that marks the end of Middle-Earth’s First Age. Had Turgon heeded Tuor’s warnings, had Tuor stopped and spoken with his cousin Túrin in the forest, or had Túrin listened to the advice of those close to him along his quest of avenging his father, the Second Age may have been very different. The War of Wrath might never have happened, and Beleriand may yet reside above the waves.
It didn’t happen that way of course, and through unrealized encounters, slipped chances and narrow hearts, many years of darkness followed.
I also think about how spectacular this event with Tuor and Ulmo must have been. I wonder if I myself would have survived it. Its significance seemed deserving of its own verse, so I gave it a go in between helpings of leftovers. The first line of the poem is straight from the original tale, along with the brief prologue preceding it.
J. R. R. Tolkien. The Fall of Gondolin. HarperCollins, 30 August 2018.
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