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The first time Andreth dreams of the great waters, it is on the first day of spring, when the blooming heads of poppies paint the hills around Aeluin in gold. Gold as the Sun that warms the surface of the lake. Gold as the fair tresses she has loved for so long. The waters come from the West, and spill themselves across the length of Ard-galen. Then they rise, higher and higher until even the old woods on the highlands are uprooted by the currents. The water carries all, cleanses all: grasses, trees, and golden flowers float away until all the land is overcome. There is no Ard-Galen, no Dorthonion, only an ocean of all that she once knew.
When she wakes beneath the shade of a tall pine, Andreth feels the strength of that current within herself — a voice growing deep within her and surging up her spine, flowing through the blood in her veins.
She knows then, that she carries a new life.
*
Over the years, as Ereinion grows, and his laughter fills Andreth’s heart with joy bigger than she has ever known, the dream grows with him too. Andreth sees fragments of it even in her waking hours. Great battles are fought, and fire erupts from the Iron Mountains, the grasses grow and burn again, but in the end, the water claims it all again.
Andreth does not grieve this loss. For she knows these waters to be not of evil, of drowning without mercy, but of cleansing, of a new world rising — like a seed sprouting when the last of the frost is passed.
She speaks little of it to Aegnor, but she needs not do so. Aegnor reads her heart better than any, and he too sees something of things to come in his own dreams. Wordlessly, they prepare for the inevitable. They teach Artanáro, as his father calls him, the ways of Elves and Men both. Taliska, Sindarin and Quenya mingle in their home. The stories of Finwë’s house live side by side with the lore of Bëor’s people. Their son is taught the healing of mortal bodies even as he learns the singing of power that is his father’s inheritance.
Ereinion Artanáro shall be a leader of both their kindreds.
*
A day comes when Andreth knows that her son has no need of her any longer. His father’s spear he has wielded for many years already, he is skilled in many arts, his voice is strong, and the people trust him. Andreth herself has aged, her body refusing to keep up with her mind, but her son it seems, remains ever in the grace of his youth. His destiny lies with Aegnor’s people.
When spring comes again, Andreth bids Ereinion join Finrod, his uncle, in Nargothrond. Aegnor has spoken much of Ulmo's power that lies in his brother's city, cradled by the waters of Narog. And it is water that has always called for her son. With him she sends the knowledge she has gathered: recipes, drawings, and tales told by the wise-women of Bëor and Marach’s houses, and those of Elves too. She also gives him her silver ring, the one she only once put on her finger, the day she exchanged promises with Aegnor and has worn, ever since, hidden beneath her shirts. Ereinion smiles brightly at her, his grey eyes clear as Aeluin’s waters, and promises to return to her with the ending of winter.
But deep in her heart, Andreth knows there won’t be another spring for her. She kisses her son on both his cheeks, and bids him goodbye.
That same winter, when the peaks of Thangorodrim burst and spit their fire, consuming the vastness of Ard-Galen, Andreth dreams of water one last time. The waves rise high above the mountains of Beleriand, and swallow them whole. When it is all over, and the world is quiet again, she floats, carried by the currents somewhere far away, and all around her, the spring blooms of poppies paint the surface gold.
The flames cannot touch her; Andreth is free.