A/N: This chapter and the next deal with the destruction of Númenor and the aftermath of that cataclysm on the shores of Middle-earth. Of necessity, they involve earthquakes, great waves, and death. I believe that I have written this important event with tact, but if such images upsetting for you, you may wish to skip this part. Chapter 10 will move on to other matters.

- The Silmarillion

Chapter 8: Upheaval

"Run!" Ossë bellowed into the morning, the brightness of the clear day shattering in the swell behind him.

The Maia had stood in awestruck wonder as he watched Valinor ripped to the heavens, and Numenor buried in the depths. He had stretched forth his hands in joy, exulting in chaos the likes of which he had never seen, not even when Beleriand was destroyed, and laughed amid the roaring waves.

"Gorthaur!" he had shouted gleefully to the shade above him, now fleeing east, but his companion of old had not stopped. Ossë distantly envied his brother's ability to inspire such turmoil in the world, but Uinen wept for her lost Númenor, and Ossë would heed his beloved's tears. And so, though he would rather have flown in the wild wave, he ran before it to shout a warning to the elves on the shores of Middle-earth. Forfeiting a roiling encounter with this singular upheaval was a bitter blow he would brood upon another day, but he did not want to lose his more of his Quendi to Mandos and Valinor. Ossë promised himself that if he relinquished chaos today, he would create such waves himself in the future. Only Ilúvatar could change the world, but perhaps someday when Ulmo was occupied, Ossë would attempt to rock it. Later.

"Run!" he shouted, tearing through the tide-pools and bays, raising his mighty voice above the roar at his back. Somewhere across the sea, Ulmo called out in disapproval: interfere not! He said. Ossë ignored him. Perhaps the Valar and set aside their governance of the world, but they had not consulted him. The Valar had been angry with him before, and would be again; what harm then was it to save his Quendi? Moreover, 'twas hypocrisy, for Ulmo himself had already warned Círdan.

He lifted his voice again to the little lives on the shore, and howled the one word that could save them.

"Run!"

"Thank Ossë that this was not worse," a tearful shipbuilder said beside him. "We felt the earth shake, but elsewise would have had no warning of the wave until it was upon us."

Celeborn nodded in mute agreement. He had been pulled to abrupt wakefulness at dawn by Galadriel's cry, her eyes dark with distant sight. No sooner had he scrambled blearily to his feet then he was thrown from them. The earth thrashed beneath his hands, and he felt the vibration of its agonized moans in his chest, a sub-harmony too low even for elvish ears. Outside, the trees howled in terror and pain, holding to the earth for they had no choice, and through them he felt a sudden, horrible wrongness in the world. He thought distantly that they should flee the house, lest the quake shake the structure down, but the trees' voices had wrapped him with a panic and nausea that held him bound, and Galadriel was only peripherally present, witnessing events on some far shore.

As abruptly as the quake had begun it stopped again, and for a time -- minutes or hours he could not say -- Celeborn lay flat on the floor, gasping. Galadriel was no better; indeed, she looked worse.

"What was that?" he asked, finding the strength to shakily sit up after several failed attempts, his voice overloud in the deep hush. "Galadriel?" he probed when she did not answer.

"Valinor and Númenor are gone," she whispered brokenly, her head in her hands. "And all of Arda is bent."

He gaped at her, and wondered if he had hit his head, or if she had. It did not seem possible, and yet Middle-earth was sobbing inconsolably. He could feel it in his very soul, for he was made of the same mighty and marred dust. Indeed, the whole world felt curled around itself, somehow, gravely injured, and he shook with its descant of pain. "The Valar did this?" he growled bitterly.

"Nay, the Valar have not such power," Galadriel answered with a false calm, and, paling further, leaned forward to vomit.

Celeborn blinked in surprise, then pulled himself to his feet, groaning as his battered muscles protested, and collected a towel and some water. He knelt carefully beside her and turned her face toward him with concern. It was ashen as the moon, and he could feel her shaking beneath his fingertips, but her eyes were tracking on his face and it did not look as if she had injured her head. Her reaction had come from another source, then. One thing at a time, he decided.

"What do you mean 'gone?'" he asked, and pushed the chalice into her fingers before moving to clean the floor.

"I apologize for that," she answered ruefully, regaining her equilibrium, if not her dignity.

"How many people did you just watch die?" he asked quietly. She closed her eyes in pain, and he had his answer. If he was the dust of Middle-earth, she was the white sand of Valinor, and he wondered what the sundering had done to her, if indeed her home had vanished.

"'What do you mean 'gone?'" he repeated, more gently still, but before she could answer he raised a finger for silence. "A voice!" he cried. They looked at one another in mutual recognition.

"Ossë!"

"Run?"

"Ai, Varda! The sea!"

Celeborn caught Galadriel's hand and pulled her to her feet, but she staggered against him, and he swept her into his arms and carried her to the west porch. The day was clear and fair, and from there, on their secluded bluff above the waves, they watched the water peel away from the shore, baring it in an instant beyond the lowest tide.

"By Elbereth," Celeborn whispered in horrified realization, and the sea snarled back toward them with rumbling fury. "Edhellond. Pelargir. Mithlond." They lurched as the massive wave hammered the hill beneath, shaking the earth again with a thunderous clamor, and for a moment Celeborn was reminded of the horrific cacophony of Beleriand shattering under the weight of the Valar.

"Are we high enough here?" Celeborn asked tensely.

"You picked this place," Galadriel answered with gallows humor, and leaned into his shoulder. "Celeborn the Wise," she continued when, to their surprise, they lived. A spray settled around them, stirring the leaves of the agitated trees, but the wave had not crested the rise. Only later, when Celeborn had more courage, would he inspect the stone cliff that supported their home, and by the marks on its face learn that the top dozen feet had prevented their deaths.

"Edhellond. Celebrían." Celeborn whispered, shaken. "Pray Ossë gave them more time! Are you well enough to ride?" he asked his wife, and Galadriel nodded, her strength returning as the world's waters calmed. He assessed her condition, cursing again the weight of her useless burden, the unseen ring of water, and placed her carefully in a woven reed chair to rest while he fetched their horses. Normally they would sail across the bay to Edhellond, but not this day. It was likely their boat and dock were swept away -- it was likely that even the beach where the dock had rested was gone, but neither had the will to check, nor faith in the deceptive sea..

To their relief, they had found Edhellond's citizens wading in the wreckage, returned from a desperate flight inland. Ossë had gifted them with a half-hour's warning, but it had been enough. Celebrían herself and dashed though the streets, ordering the population inland. She had stopped many in the process of packing their possessions, and simply told them to run. The lady herself had not escaped in time, but the people had found a tree clinging to her when they returned. She had been swiftly rescued and calmly returned work before the Lord and Lady arrived. They had not been informed of the incident.

"Celebrían," Galadriel asked, turning toward her daughter. "Do you have any information on casualties?"

"Alas, some are dead," she answered sorrowfully, and Galadriel could see the weight of that failure heavy on her child. "Seventeen we know of, with another twenty missing. There are several injuries, although none look to be life threatening. We have moved them inland, and are working on a location for a temporary camp. It was all so sudden, so unexpected. From whence did this come? And why?"

Galadriel folded her hands in front of her. "Some earth quake deep in the sea, I image," she said, ignoring Celeborn's sharp glance. Celebrían looked between them and decided to leave it, for the moment. What they had seen and the secrets they knew would not undo this day.

"The temporary shelter is a wise plan," Celeborn said. "Indeed, I worry that we have come back to Edhellond too soon, for the earth is unsettled beneath my feet. There is no guarantee that these quakes are past; I would not have a second wave catch us unaware. In my mind, the nearest safe place may be on the bluff near our home. It was undamaged. The ground is dry, the injured can be sheltered, and there are enough supplies for a few days." Celeborn turned a circle, assessing the ruin. The patriarchs of most of Edhellond's families had gathered around them, and the lord looked over them with approval, vaguely grateful for past trials, which now imbued all with perspective and wisdom.

"First I want everyone accounted for. I would not leave any survivors trapped and alone. I need a list in an hour," he said, catching the arm of one of the men, who nodded at this assignment. Celeborn pointed at three others. "Assemble a team and scavenge what you can from the wreckage. Food, clothing, whatever is usable. You have three hours, and then I want it taken to the house, and a shelter and meal prepared. Brethil, Heledir, I want you to evacuate everyone not involved in a task. You have until this evening; I recognize that people will want to salvage their possessions, but I want our people off the coast as soon as possible. Tirith, see to the injured and the families of the dead. Limnen, I want you to take a troop along the coast and help any survivors, be they elf or man. They are welcome at our shelter; check Pelargir first, for I am deeply concerned for the elf-friends. Menel, ride to Greenwood and Lothlorien. Inform Amdír and Oropher of all that has transpired, and beg them for what aid they can send. Are there questions?"

"Lord," a young elf asked, holding tightly to the hand of a maid. "Will we rebuild?"

"Let us see to our immediate needs, and talk of the future tomorrow. Go now. We have much work ahead," Celeborn answered, and turned aside. The crowd paused, breathless under Celeborn's barrage. All felt the terrible need to be still, to find a song to fill the loss, to sift through the rubble for shards of meaning. But there was no time to mourn, no time to sit in stunned contemplation, no time to thank or curse the Valar, for the sea brooded at their backs. With a collective gasp, they shook themselves, and moved to organize and do.

As the people stirred Celeborn grasped Calandil's shoulder, pulling aside his mud-smeared friend for a private conference. "Is your family well?"

Calandil nodded in relief. "They were visiting friends in Imladris."

"Good. I want you to ride to Mithlond with all haste. I fear that Círdan's havens may be more damaged than our own; we at least were partially protected by the bay. Report to Gil-galad, and assess the situation. Use your judgment in offering or accepting aid. Stop in Imladris when you return, inform Elrond of all that has transpired, and request his help. He will probably already know more than I, but nevertheless … also, keep your eyes open for any survivors on the coast, particularly men. They will have suffered this even more deeply than we. And before you leave Lindon, press Círdan for any information that Ulmo has given him. Galadriel believes that both Númenor and Valinor are gone from the world; I need to know the truth before rumor begins to spread."

Calandil's eyes widened at the last. "Is that all?" he asked, summoning with some effort a glint of humor. Celeborn smiled and rapped his friend's head. "You are irrepressible. Also quite mad. Now go." Calandil bowed, and considered his first, individually assigned task accomplished.

"Will we rebuild?" Celebrían asked quietly when her father turned back toward them.

Celeborn sighed and spread his hands. "I know not. It will depend in part how badly damaged Círdan's havens are, for this will undoubtedly inspire some to sail. That is, if Valinor is still accessible."

"What?" Celebrían questioned in sharp disbelief.

"Ask your mother," Celeborn answered with a shrug.

"We will rebuild," Galadriel said, her back to them as she contemplated the sea. Celeborn and Celebrían shared the same look of longsuffering, and Celeborn abruptly pulled his daughter into a tight embrace. He kissed her hair. "Be where you feel you are needed," he said gently.

"I believe I will see to the dead," she answered, and her father released her with a sorrowful nod. He turned again and glared narrowly at the sea, a tranquil reflection against a perfect sky.

"Celebrían," he called softly over his shoulder, and she turned back toward him with a sad smile. "Do what you must, but please depart the shore as quickly as you are able."

a/n: Tweaked 1/25 to fix a timing problem.