What if the Sleeper in the Tower of Pearl were an Orc by Himring  

What if there were an orc who was terrified of drowning? It would be the fear of Ulmo and the Music instilled on purpose by Morgoth, of course, but in this particular orc it would spiral out of Morgoth’s control and work against him, ratcheting up to such a degree that towards the end of the War of Wrath, our orc disobeyed Morgoth’s urgent summons to help defend Angband, slipping away from the jeers of their fellow orcs, and instead climbed up to the highest peak above Taur-nu-fuin to escape the coming flood? If on that high peak they built a raft, because they did not know how to build a boat? And finally, with the waves already spilling over and through the sinking range of the Ered Wethrin in the distance, they tied themselves to the raft.

The great dark green wave thundering towards them up the slope and splashing against the peak, seizing the raft and tearing it away. The orc being so terrified that they might throw themselves off the raft to drown more quickly if they were not so securely tied, yammering and squalling and vomiting and hiding their face in their claws—because, wouldn’t you? Osse grasping the raft in his strong grip and tossing it westwards, Uinen catching it in a sling of her hair and dropping it more gently on the shore of one of the Twilit Isles, but still with enough force to shatter the raft.

Our orc, dizzy and drenched and hurting all over, crawled free. When the roaring of the Sea in their ears died down a little and they revived enough to perceive their surroundings, they realized they were alone on a small island in the middle of the ocean. And there they might have died of hunger and thirst, because fear still clouded their thinking, but a couple of curious Wingildi were watching. They saw that the orc did not know how to gain a living from the sea or the rocks of the island and, approaching cautiously at first, they brought them shellfish and eggs from seabirds. Later, when they saw the orc was responding well, uneasy but unthreatening, and even with some clumsy show of gratitude, they guided them to fresh water and showed the orc how to look for edible things in rockpools.

Slowly, the orc grew stronger and learned to find out things for themselves. They taught themselves about seaweed, which kinds to eat and how to make nets to fish with. And they learned to speak with the Wingildi and an unlikely friendship grew up between them. For a while—for quite a long while, in fact—all seemed to be going well with the orc on the little island.

But one day, the Wingildi came to Ulmo and said: ‘We are worrying about our friend the orc. They seem to be growing sadder and sadder and sometimes, when winter comes and the days grow short, we cannot rouse them at all.’

Ulmo consulted Nienna, and Nienna came and spoke at length with the orc.

Then Nienna admitted to Ulmo: ‘I do not know what to do. This is by far the best recovered orc I have seen. But they are not so well recovered that they can survive much longer alone on that island, even with the friendship of the Wingildi. However, we do not know yet how to heal this kind of hurt in Lorien. Nor can we send them back to Middle-earth. The pain of Morgoth would fall again on them there, without the shield of Valinor and your ocean, and much worse, nor will they fit in again among their former kind, on whom the grip of Morgoth has eased less. Even were they to enter Mandos, they would not find healing there yet and not soon—we have had less success so far with the dead than this orc shows, living. What is to be done?’

Ulmo spoke to the Wingildi. The Wingildi, with others of their kind, built a small tower of seashell and mother-of-pearl on a dark rock on the island. And when the time came, the orc said farewell to their friends and with slow steps climbed to the top chamber of the tower, where Nienna awaited them beside a bed and on that bed the orc laid themselves down. And Nienna sang the orc to sleep.

Much time has passed, and the orc still lies sleeping. But their friends, the Wingildi, have not forgotten them, and nor has Nienna.

Ever and anon, she considers whether the Ainur have learned enough in the meantime and whether it is time to wake the orc up, but she regretfully concludes: ‘Not yet.’

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