Chapter Text
The whales have ever danced at the edges of Círdan’s world, like great, joyfully-groaning cousins from the deep. Their songs ring with Ulmo’s many voices: the low rumble, the crackle, the stinging treble cry. They mount the waves with the energy of children, of mountains. The foaming churn of their passage shines against the sky.
With Valinor finally in sight, there is no need to maintain his ancient dignity. Círdan slides over the rail with his arms wide open, calling. The sea splits beneath him as the great, blue body rises. He whoops and clings, leaning into the wild ride.