[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Well, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and George Orwell had already been done . . . Wait: I know he’s not a writer, but how about The Lord of the Rings by Peter Jackson?

Oh, brother.

Thought you wouldn’t like that. Oh, well . . .

The Voyage of Eärendil by Tom Clancy

“Talk to me, Randy,” said Eärendil to his sonarman.
“Possible contact bearing one-three-two,” Aerandir said quietly. His mind churned inside his cool demeanour. Who could be chasing them? “It sounds like a giant wave, or some disturbance on the surface of the water . . . ” They continued to look at the waterfall display, where the contact was displayed as a yellow dot slightly larger than the other specks in the black background. The dot grew to a splotch.
“Definite contact.” Aerandir pressed his earphones to his ears. “He just increased speed.”
The captain walked over to the intercom. “Mast room, all ahead full.”
“All ahead full, aye,” answered Erellont as he increased the sail’s surface area. Eärendil felt Vingilot surge as she accelerated to thirty knots.
“Target just increased speed! Range under one thousand yards!” the sonarman shouted.
“S***!” He walked back to the intercom. “Erellont! Increase to flank!”
“All ahead flank, aye.” It is not generally known that a ship sometimes exceeds its known maximum speed, due to unexpected engine efficiency or some other factor. In this case, the sails fully unfurled gave Vingilot an additional five knots of speed.
“Sir, the b****** just kicked full throttle! Estimate speed at forty knots.”
Eärendil rushed to the bridge. “Helsman, right full rudder!”
“Right full rudder, aye. No course given.” Falathar turned the control wheel all the way to the right. “Sir, my rudder is right full.”
“Bridge, sonar. Contact just turned to starboard . . . ” There was silence over the intercom for a few seconds. “New contact! Low frequency rumbling, bearing five degrees on either bow, three-five-five to zero-zero-five. Sounds like rocks crashing against each other.”
“That’s Helcaraxë. Ignore that for now. Tell me about our stalker.”
“Sir, range to target under five hundred yards.”
“Helm, left full rudder. Return to base course three-one-two.” He hoped to confuse their tail.
“Bridge, sonar. Contact matched our turn to port, and his speed increased to fifty knots. Range to target under one hundred yards!”
“Sound collision! Brace for impact!” shouted Eärendil as he left the bridge and rushed to the stern of the boat. He saw a giant wave bearing an illuminated figure. Before he could make out what it was, the wave crashed down on Vingilot, and Eärendil found the figure sitting atop him. It was Elwing, unconscious, with the Silmaril on her breast.

I'll be back with more, possibly an Alexandre Dumas fils.

Whatever. Just something we'd understand.