Flight Through The Dark by Tyelca

Chapter 1

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The light in her hands was bright and pure and blinding, and she jumped. During the fall wings unfolded and white feathers covered her body, which was now lighter than the foam cresting the sea and whiter than the stars. She soared, higher and higher, and the land beneath her shrank until it was nigh invisible. She flew until night fell and since Tilion was tardy, there was utter darkness all around except for the light of the Jewel. The stars had not come out yet. There was no way to gauge direction and the winds tore hard at her fragile body, but she felt the warmth of the Silmaril pulse on her chest, like a heartbeat that was just out of sync with her own, and she knew she had to continue.

She did not look back as more and more miles appeared between her and her sons, both still so young and so innocent. She had condemned them to death, she knew, for the Sons of Fëanor knew no mercy. She cursed their name, but knew their fate would be worse than hers and took solace in that.

There was a part of her that remembered the slaughter in Doriath, however young she’d been when it happened. They weren’t really memories, more like flashes and impressions, or something like a dream. She had been too young to understand what was truly going on, but now that it happened again - now that they did it again - she understood all too clearly.

The warmth of the Silmaril she carried flared up into an uncomfortable heat before subsiding again, and Elwing almost believed it had heard her thoughts, but that was impossible and she quickly discarded the idea. It was but a stone, after all; nothing more than a piece of rock. Elwing couldn’t comprehend the lengths the Kinslayers went to in order to retrieve it; willful slaughter of many Eldar, not once but thrice, tearing apart families and leaving children alone to die in the woods. Her brothers come to mind, their hair dark and faces pale, the last memory she has of them. There have always been rumors they survived, fled into the forest, but never was any proof found. And there are also the other whispers, telling of how the Kinslayers went looking for them and burned their corpses in a bonfire that reached to the heavens.

For a moment Elwing forgets to breathe, forgets to flap her graceful wings, and for a few seconds she plummets, down into the deep. Then she regains herself and corrects her course. She is tempted, oh so tempted, to turn around and return to Sirion, where she had sent her boys into hiding. She had never actually checked whether they were concealed well, only assumed; for her mind had been on the Silmaril, on the promise she had made her father to never, ever, let it fall in the hands of the Kinslayers.

From her earliest youth she’d been told about the evil they wrought and the Doom that lay on them, but now she wondered; was that Doom solely connected to those who slew kin? Or were those who let kin be slewed equally guilty?

Was she just as obsessed with the rock that even now adorned her neck as those who were prepared to kill everyone who stood between them and their prize?

Her body grew heavier with her thoughts and her wings lost their powerful rhythm, and against the wind she moved only slowly. Suddenly she felt the fatigue from using muscles she hadn’t possessed before for many an hour and she scanned the darkness around her for a place to land, to rest, but she saw nothing.

She longed for the comforting embrace of her husband, that single piece of space where everything was okay and no evil could find her; but she feared his reaction upon learning she’d abandoned their sons to the mercy of those who had none. And so she cried and her tears were made of pearl and softly fell down into the deep, where they remained until the unmaking of the world.

But Elwing flew on through the night for she had no other choice, and when the Arien rose behind her and colored the waters beneath soft shades of pink and orange she spotted a sail in the distance. Her heart jumped with hope as she approached and could make out the silhouette of her beloved. He turned and just for a moment their eyes met, and during that moment everything in Arda was alright. Then it was over, but a gentle smile covered Eärendil’s face and Elwing knew that as long as he was at her side, there was nothing they could not overcome.

For a moment the Silmaril that hung around her neck, and all its complications and implications, were forgotten.

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Chapter End Notes

The one thing that's always bothered me about Elwing is that she abandons her twin sons, who were only six years old at the time (Elrond and Elros were born in F.A. 532, while the Third Kinslaying took place in F.A. 538), for the sake of a Silmaril, that should not ahve the same connotations to her as it does to the Sons of Fëanor; yet she chooses to keep the Jewel even after Maedhros warned them. She of all people should know the horror of a Kinslaying, and thus do all that she can to prevent another one, especially when her children are in danger.