The Carriage held but just Ourselves by StarSpray

Elwing

It took less than a second to make her Choice. Life, always always she would choose life. The terror of the destruction of Menegroth, the sacking of Sirion, had not left her. Death was violence and blood and swords; it was fire and terror in the night and water rushing burning cold into her lungs. When Elwing had jumped from the cliffs into the sea she had expected to die, but she had not welcomed it. She just had not seen another way out.

Now she stood on the cool green grass beneath the sun in Valinor, in Elvenhome where the Enemy no longer had a hold, breathing the sweet fragrances of flowers and hearing the bells in Valmar in the distance, and farther away yet the calls of eagles circling over the mountains. Eärendil stood beside her, warm and solid and alive. They had lost so much—their parents, her brothers, their sons—but they were together and they were alive, and so there was still hope. There was always hope in life, where Elwing had never been able to find any in death.

Out of a nearby cluster of bushes a lark sang out, and took off in flight, its yellow breast flashing for a moment before it disappeared into the woods beyond the path that wound down through the flowered hills from the Ring of Doom to Valmar proper. Eärendil took her hand, and they made their way down it, to see what life in this new and strange land had in store.