Sacrifice Angry waves tossed the small vessel, nearly oversetting it. One of the four companions had already been swept over the side and lost, a second lay unmoving on the low deck, unconscious since hitting his head resoundingly against the mast. The two remaining mariners fought to steer as near due West as possible into the teeth of the storm. “Lash him to the mast!” shouted the powerful figure at the helm, his bellowing voice barely heard over the raging winds. With the next violent gust, the grey sail rent asunder, flinging the tiny ship, now free of restraint, sideways, allowing the heaving wave to capsize it under a mountain of water. Only one man rose to the surface, clinging to a large section of the mast. With his last strength the man wound a tangle of rope about him, and then slid into darkness.

*****

Quiet voices roused him from timelessness and opening his salt-bleared eyes he tried to focus on his rescuers. Aching in every muscle and joint he yet attempted to raise his head, until fiery agony blossomed in his chest.

“Rest now, foolhardy mariner,” said the kindly voice, “Your body is gravely wounded.” Gentle hands rinsed brine and blood from his battered body and covered him with cloaks warmed by elven bodies, but he scarcely noted the care he received. Success as a messenger mattered more to him now than comfort.

“Where have I landed?” Amandil managed in a hoarse whisper.

“Landed? Nowhere. You were but found adrift on forbidden waters.”

“Then my errand must fail unless you aid me, fair folk,” Amandil uttered in sorrow.

“Man of the People of the Land of Gift, you are beyond our skills to heal. No longer do we venture to the East and cannot therefore return you to your own land. Neither are you welcome on the shores of Tol Eressëa,” stated the elf. There was no rancor in his speech, but likewise no other options.

“I beg you then to bind me to such bit of wood you will and let the Sea take me. Perchance I shall before my end come to the Shores of the Undying Lands to bear my message of forgiveness asked; not for myself, as I know it is my fate to perish, but for my sons and their sons and the few who keep faith with Eldar and Valar, holding dearest the will of Ilúvatar.” With that long plea spoken, he was seized by a fit of coughing that brought with it bright red blood.

“You may not even last to the next rising of Anor, Dunadan. None among us is healer-trained in the tending of Men, and you bleed within. The storm, the wrath of Ossë, has already sealed your doom, as we cannot halt the bleeding. Your time remaining in Arda is nearly at an end. The currents will not carry you further West regardless. Give up your fruitless quest as it will only hasten your dying,” replied the elf.

Tears streaked the weathered face of the mariner as with waning strength he lifted a hand to clasp the elf firmly by the wrist. “On my children, I implore you, have mercy. Refuse not this, my final wish.” Then dark again overtook him and he fell into a restless sleep.

*****

When next he woke it was full night and the murmur of waves washed along the side of the gleaming white vessel. Vaguely he was aware of the rocking ship beneath him and the reverent voices of the elven crew as they watched the parade of glittering stars pass overhead. Within his field of vision came the star of the Great Mariner. Shining voyager, Eärendil, the Silmaril on his brow, journeyed in unhurried flight into the West.

Stretching one hand skyward, Amandil cried out, “Messenger of Elves and Men, forefather of my House, hear my plea. For those faithful few that yet dwell in The Land of the Star, I beseech thee. As you once interceded for the Two Kindred, now I beg you bring word to the Lord Manwë. A remnant of the Edain, who have not forsaken the old ways, will perish utterly because of the wicked deeds of the many who now follow the counsel of Sauron. My life I forfeit to that end, since the Ban I knowingly defied in dire need, as no way else could word be sent.” He coughed weakly, and then continued, “Mercy I plead for those nine ships, and all that go upon them, which wait on the Eastern shore.”

A damp cloth blotted the sweat from his fevered face and a sip of cool clear water tipped into his mouth, but he was almost past caring. He slipped silently from life never to know if his message reached its destination.

*****

At the behest of Manwë, the wild-spirited Maia, Ossë, gathered his power to shield the nine ships as they were tossed about by the mountainous waves that flooded the Sea at the sundering of the lands of death from the Undying Lands. Though tempest torn and broken-masted, battered and ungovernable, all came safely to rest on the distant lands in the East.