Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

Summary: A tale about the beginning of the friendship between Eärendil and Eönwë. Darkness stronger than the mere absence of light lurks somewhere still, and it hungers for light...

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

Prologue

The Sea was restless, whipping the sharp rocks with a salty breeze. The man sitting on the shore didn't seem to mind it.

The roar of the Sea drowned out the quiet steps on the beach. "Eärendil..."

The Mariner turned sharply, with his hand ready on the hilt of his sword – even here, in Valinor, as the visitor sadly noticed. The Mariner's other hand was in a sling.

"Oh..." Eärendil let go of the sword quickly when he recognized the visitor. "Lord Eönwë," he bowed hastily.

The Maia sighed to himself, but decided to omit the issue of the title for now.

"You have been hunting again..." he stated quietly.

"Yes, my Lord. Those harpies will not trouble Lady Varda's stars anymore."

"They could have killed you, Eärendil," Eönwë said, looking at the Mariner intently.

Eärendil averted his eyes. "It had to be done," he said defensively.

Eönwë nodded. "That's true. But you didn't have to attack them alone..."

"I became separated from Tilion."

"You could have waited for him. You..." the Maia paused, and with surprise Eärendil noticed the faint hurt in his voice. "...you could have called me..."

"I... didn't want to trouble you, my Lord."

Eönwë sighed sadly, and for a long while he just stood and looked at the man before him wordlessly. Then he nodded slowly, and with the next breeze of the salty wind, he was gone. A silhouette of a hawk crossed the sky in the distance, shading the setting sun for a moment. Eärendil watched it silently, and then he began to walk to his ship, preparing for the night's journey.

The hawk circled the sky long after a dazzling light left the shores of Valinor and ascended into the paths of stars. The air was cool as it stroked his feathers, his wings barely moving as he cut through it in elegant circles. Higher and higher, until the land reminded him of an ornate map drawn by the hand of Ilúvatar, and the air was freezing and thin. Hoar-frost formed on his feathers, and his breath formed small clouds of mist – every intake of it as sharp as knife. Finally, when he felt he could not fly any higher, he let go of the physical form, and soared freely on the streams of the spirit, where there was no cold, just calm...

He enjoyed the freedom of the wind, and the emptiness of the sky, high among the stars. It did not last long, though. The fire of his own spirit brought discord into the calm darkness. He was restless, and he did not know why. After he returned from the war in Middle-earth, it had been so wonderful to shed the physical form he had been stuck in for so long, like tainted clothes, and roam free in the unblemished lands of Valinor.

But soon he realized he missed something, something that was gone with that body. He knew it would never be the same as before.

Struck with a sudden idea, he took that form again – a tall warrior in bright armour, his hair flowing free like molten gold – just like the eyes of the hawk that dared to fly so high. The first feeling was cold – so cold it burnt... he could not breathe...

And then he began to fall. His hair whipped his face. The speed made his eyes water. Faster and faster! He felt the speed, and in the same time, he felt he was unmoving, weightless while the land below neared. Faster... faster... and what awaits there? Pain, or even death? Can an Ainu die? For one dangerous moment, he was curious. He was falling head first, like a majestic bird of prey descending upon its game.

And he laughed.

The sharp rocks neared with vertiginous speed. Every crack, every small pebble was visible... And he laughed.

The bottom. The end of the fall. But instead of a crash, a majestic hawk ascended from the ground in a graceful curve, stroking the rocks with his feathers.

And in that moment, Eönwë suddenly understood Eärendil.

A/N: With thanks to Lirulin-yirth-k'aio and openmeadow for the roleplay "Undying Lands" - an undying source of inspiration =)

"Eärendil, wait!" Tilion's call echoed among the stars. The swan-ship before him slowed, waiting for her hunting companion. When they were in the same level, Tilion leaned over the rail, and shook his head. "You are doing it again..." With displeasure he noticed that Eärendil's dragon-bow was ready within his reach, although his hand had not yet entirely healed from the recent fight.

Tilion sighed. It is you who are too eager, my friend... But he just nodded. "Try to keep near me, please. I wouldn't want to get separated again..."

Eärendil nodded shortly, and turned away again, searching for any dark creatures that might have slipped through the Doors of the Night when Morgoth was thrown out.

Tilion shook his head. It was getting ever more difficult to keep an eye on his hunting companion. He was brave, and a skilled warrior, but still he was a mere Half-elf, not even an Ainu...

He stopped his musing immediately when one place caught his attention. Only darkness was there, but... he squinted his eyes. Did something move there? He moaned inwardly. Not those again...

"The bats!" He barely had time to cry out the warning before a swarm of giant bats descended upon both ships like bloodthirsty arrows – but in that moment the ships dove in a perfectly synchronized manoeuvre, the hunters firing arrows into the swarm.

"Eärendil! Cover yourself!" Tilion cried out, knowing that the Mariner wouldn't be able to fire the dragon-bow for long. But Eärendil didn't heed his warning – just as he feared. The bow was a gift from Eönwë, made from Ancalagon's horn as a trophy, Tilion knew. But right now he would prefer if Eärendil would cease gaining new trophies with it and turn his ship toward retreat - he noticed fresh blood seeping through the bandages on his hand. There were several dead bats lying on the deck of Vingilot, each as big as a grown man. Eärendil manoeuvred his ship as if it were a part of his own body, and continued killing the beasts – Tilion had to nod approvingly between two shots of his own silver bow.

But soon what he feared happened. Eärendil hissed with pain and the bow fell from his trembling hand. Immediately he drew his sword, wielding it one handed and waiting for the first bat to reach his deck.

Stupid Peredhil! Tilion thought. They will swarm you before you kill one of them! "Get away!" he cried out, but had to turn his attention to his own fight, to keep the bats away from both ships with his arrows. But the Mariner seemed deaf to his warnings, fighting like a wolf drawn into a corner and manoeuvring the ship so that he faced only one enemy at a time. Black wings blocked Tilion's view for some time. He gritted his teeth. Why didn't they withdraw before the light of the Silmaril? They hated the light – they should fear it, and yet they circled around it like moths around the flame. No, like moths intent to extinguish the flame!

"Back! Back!" Tilion shouted. Too late... While Eärendil fought, they grasped the lantern with the Silmaril in their claws, squeaking with pain is it burned them but not letting go. The Silmaril hung on a firm chain on the mast. They pulled it, yanked it... it didn't yield. Shadows of giant bat-wings danced wildly on the deck of Vingilot in the swaying light of her lantern. Finally Eärendil saw what was happening and ran to the mast, blocking the attacks attempting to stop him. The chain held still... The mast cracked...

Eärendil looked up. The blood drained from his face from his face. At the last moment he jumped away.

The next cry froze on Tilion's lips. Eärendil lay under half of the broken mast. He didn't move...

"No!" In a bold manoeuvre, Tilion flew over Vingilot, trying to knock the bats of her deck with his own ship. With broken mast and no guidance, Vingilot was beginning to lean dangerously. They fled before the vessel of the Moon, but as soon as he turned, they returned, aiming for the Silmaril laying on the deck now – still attached to the broken part of the mast.

Tilion cursed. Never did the evil kin of Thuringwethil behave so. They should fear the light – not try to steal it! He flew over Vingilot's deck again, but more bats came from somewhere, swarming him so that he could barely defend his own ship. He knew they were too far for anyone to reach them in time... despite that he cried out for help desperately; knowing also how much was at stake.

A giant hawk turned sharply in the air, leaving a cloud of softly clicking hoar-frost behind. He clapped his wings mightily, hurrying to the place from whence the call came, faster than the wind, a golden hunter.

He saw the fight from afar. Vingilot was leaning heavily to one side, Eärendil lying unconscious while Tilion fought desperately. Eönwë folded his wings as he descended upon the bats like a golden shadow of death, his beak and claws glistening sharply. He flew right into their middle. Mad whirling of wings. Still the bats didn't let go of the chain holding the Silmaril.

Finally the chain yielded. In that very moment the bats flew away as quickly as they could. A golden shadow pursued them. Eönwë plunged into their swarm, pursuing the precious light –he could not fail!

Kee! Kee! the bird's call sounded like a war-cry as his claws tore the black wings.

Kee! Kee! he tasted their dark blood, and it was like wine in the thrill of the battle.

For a moment Tilion saw only a scrimmage of wings and shadows, flashes of gold against black. Falling black shadows... and a flash of bright light as the golden hawk broke the wall of black wings, crowned with a Silmaril.

The bats seemed to hesitate, but when he turned against them again, they fled before his anger. He almost leaped into the air in pursuit... then he remembered the two ships. He realized Tilion had been crying his name for some time.

Eönwë looked after the fleeing bats once more, and then he turned and hurried to Vingilot's deck. Right before landing on it he returned to the form of a golden-haired warrior again. It was much warmer and easier to breathe there, but Eönwë paid no attention to it. He ran across the swaying deck to the madly turning helm, and with great force he managed to stop it. The ship evened, and began to move slowly, brokenly like a wounded animal.

Eönwë glanced quickly at Tilion, but he saw the Maia had enough work with his own ship – his sails were torn by the bats' claws, and very hard to control. Vingilot seemed to gain her balance again. Eönwë sighed in relief... and tensed again, realizing it was too soon for relief – for all this time, Eärendil had not moved.

“Eärendil!” Eönwë tried to rouse the unresponsive Mariner, but didn’t dare to leave the helm. No answer. Eönwë shook his head in frustration. He would have known if Eärendil were in Mandos, but still the situation was worrisome... and he didn’t know much about ships, either. But Vingilot was no normal ship. Eönwë could almost tell she was afraid – wounded and afraid. He had troubles keeping the helm steady. She didn’t feel her captain’s hand, and wanted to shake off the unfamiliar touch. If a ship could be worried, he would say she was worried for Eärendil just like him.

He let go of the helm tentatively, and took a step towards Eärendil. The deck was even for a moment... but then it shook and jumped, losing altitude suddenly. Immediately Eönwë reached back for the helm, and tried to even the flight. “Easy... I’m trying to help him...” he tried to calm her, although he wasn’t sure if she understood. Again he took a step away... and this time, there was no sinking.

Avoiding the dead bats he reached the figure lying under the broken mast. Eönwë held his breath for a moment, and then hequickly removed the piece of wood. He surveyed Eärendil. There were many scrapes and bruises, but the only serious wound seemed to be on his head, bleeding profoundly. The ship shook again. Eönwë held his breath, prepared to jump to the helm if necessary. The shaking ceased after a while, but he didn’t want to risk more.

After he assured himself that there are no broken bones, he lifted Eärendil carefully, and carried him to the helm, where he could even the ship if necessary while tending to the Mariner. Maybe there were some healing supplies in the cabin, but he didn’t want to risk leaving his place again. He would have to use what he had... Quickly he bound the wound with a piece of his tunic to stop the bleeding.

“Eärendil!” he called. “Wake up!” In that moment he had to reach for the helm again, but he didn’t cease speaking to the Mariner.

“Wake up, please...” Eönwë sounded ever more urgent. “I don’t know how to land...” He just hoped the ship didn’t understand his words.

Something in the hull screeched. Maybe she did... But with that sound, Eärendil finally opened his eyes. With a moan, he shut them closed again.

“No!” Eönwë put his hand on the Mariner’s shoulder. “I know you are awake! You cannot sleep now!”

“Oh.” Eönwë realized the problem. “The light is too bright, isn’t it?” Quickly he turned the lantern with the Silmaril away from Eärendil.

Tentatively, the Mariner opened his eyes, and tried to find out who had been calling him – he could not remember where he had heard that voice. He had seen that face, also....

Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares... yes, there it was...

“Lord Eönwë?” he asked. “What...” he tried to touch the wound on his head, and immediately gasped in pain. The ship trembled, as if she could feel that pain also.

“Easy... breathe...” Eönwë took his hand and guided it away from the wound gently. And breathing was the only thing Eärendil could do.

“What h...happened?” he asked through gritted teeth after the pain subsided a little.

“You were attacked. The bats... don’t you remember?” Eönwë looked around.

Eärendil watched him without comprehension, although bat carcasses were lying all over the deck.

Eönwë sighed. “I should look at your wound.” He glanced at the cabin across the deck, but shook his head. He didn’t dare leave the helm, and so he tore a piece of cloth from his tunic.

“It will hurt now...” he warned, and first wiped the blood away from Eärendil’s face. Then he cleaned the wound lightly. Despite his gentle movements, Eärendil was biting his lips in pain. Eönwë didn’t allow himself to stop. He has seen much suffering in the war, but this time, it was very hard for some reason. Finally, when the wound was bandaged as best as Eönwë could, he looked into Eärendil’s face. The Mariner was pale, and cold sweat covered his brow.

Eärendil turned to one side shakily, trying in vain to hide his face from Eönwë as he threw up in a painful convulsion. When the heaving subsided, it left him feeling shaky and even weaker – and ashamed, as he distantly realized whose hands are supporting him. He leaned back exhaustedly, and tried to smile.

“Seasickness...” his voice was barely audible, but Eönwë had to chuckle at the attempted joke from the most famous mariner of the whole Arda. He could feel the tremors running through Eärendil’s body under his fingers. Eönwë put down his own white cloak, and covered the Mariner. The trembling ceased, but Eärendil’s eyes were closing again. “No! You cannot sleep now!” Eönwë squeezed his fingers.

The half-closed eyelids opened again. “I’m sorry... my Lord...” he breathed out.

“Sorry for what?” Eönwë frowned. “And do not call me Lord. We fought together in the war, didn’t we?”

At last Eärendil focused his sight at Eönwë. He looked ready to protest, but then he stopped. The memories of the war brought the pictures of the recent fight to resurface again, it seemed.

“There were... bats...” he looked at the broken mast and a shade of pain crossed his face that had nothing to do with his wounds. “They tried to take the Silmaril...”

The Maia shrugged slightly. “I drove them away with Tilion.” But then his look hardened, and reminded Eärendil very much of the earlier conversation on the beach. “They could have killed you...” Eönwë even used the same words as before.

Eönwë sighed and looked away. To Eärendil it seemed his words had an unexpected effect. He didn’t see the golden hawk, attacking against the odds of the bats without fear. His vision was getting clouded again, but he struggled to stay awake to hear the Maia’s reply. However, it was a question instead.

Eärendil looked at him in surprise, and his eyes confirmed what Eönwë suspected.

“You do,” he said quietly. “The war is over, and your biggest task is fulfilled. You feel imprisoned in the peacefulness of Valinor – and so you risk your life to feel a purpose again.”

“Maybe... But Eönwë...” he whispered sadly, addressing the Maia without a title for the first time. But if Eönwë noticed it, he said nothing, unable to avoid the Mariner’s gaze. “That’s why... you were flying so high that you could come to our aid?”

“I know...” Eärendil said softly. Suddenly he could see Eönwë not only as a Chief of the Maiar and herald of Manwë, but as someone who shared his feelings, who fought in the same battles, and faced the same doubts. He reached his hand to the Maia... and Eönwë took it in his strong palm, and for a moment, he felt like before again – in Middle-earth.

“Do you feel useless too?” Eärendil asked, overstepping by far the boundaries he had set for himself when speaking to any of the Ainur.

Eönwë looked at the stars passing by, and then he nodded slowly. “I led armies. I fought against Morgoth himself. I fought, and I lived with the Children of Ilúvatar for a short time, like one of them. It is hard to return....”

Eärendil squeezed his hand weakly in understanding, but his eyes were closing again, his strength spent by the conversation.

“Eärendil?” Eönwë asked in alarm. “You cannot sleep now! Speak to me!”

There was authority in Eönwë’s voice, and Eärendil struggled to stay awake, like obeying an order in battle. He focused his eyes on the Maia’s face. “I... know it’s hard...” he whispered. “I tried... but still I belong there... where I can’t return. It’s hard to live in peace when the life I left calls to me every night...”

Eönwë had no answer to that, so he just laid Eärendil more comfortably, making him lean against himself, and was strangely pleased when the Mariner didn’t protest – just yesterday he would, Eönwë knew. And at that protest he would feel the hurt in his soul deepen, because that was what he missed so – the friendship of Ilúvatar’s Children, a camaraderie that could be forged only in the heat of a fight.

For some time, the journey was peaceful, the ship sailing easily with the gentle wind. Talking was too exhausting to Eärendil, and so Eönwë spoke to him about the battles of the past, and battles they fought together. Suddenly the tone of his voice changed, sounding more urgent. “We are nearing the harbour!”

Eärendil tried to sit up, but his head spun immediately, and a wave of pain forced him to sink back.

“But how?” Eönwë asked, but then he realized that the words didn’t belong to him. Eärendil was speaking to the ship... and Vingilot obeyed.

“Keep the course straight...” That order was for Eönwë, and the Maia tried to fulfil it as best as he could. The ship began to sink. Eärendil’s eyes, closed in concentration as he tried to control the damaged ship with his thought, opened suddenly in alarm. “We’re sinking too fast...” He looked at Eönwë. “Help me... to the helm... please...”

Eönwë bit his lip, but helped Eärendil up, and supported him when he swayed. The Mariner took a few deep breaths, obviously fighting the nausea again, but then he reached for the helm with trembling fingers.

“Shhh... Easy, my Foam-flower... you can do it...” he encouraged the ship, but it was clear that she was at the end of her strength – just like him. Sweat was beading on his brow, but the descent slowed a little... and then a bit more...

But as she evened her flight, and the descent became steady, Eärendil grew even paler, and he was trembling heavily. Eönwë supported him, but soon he was carrying all of the Mariner’s weight. Eärendil’s hand slipped off the helm.

“Eärendil! Eärendil!” Eönwë tried to rouse him again, but his eyes didn’t open. “Eärendil! Wake up!” The ship creaked, and began to sink immediately again. “Wake up! You cannot sleep now!” The sea below neared.... faster and faster...

Eönwë felt panic rising in him. Can an Ainu die? He was not curious anymore. The sea was closer and closer.... A fall from such height will be crushing... death awaits in the waves! He could fly up if he wanted, a lonely hawk in the sunrise... maybe he could take Eärendil in his claws... but would the Mariner survive the loss of his ship?

“No!” Eönwë cried out defiantly. He lowered Eärendil on the deck gently, and where a golden haired warrior had been standing just a moment before, a majestic hawk leaped into the air, the rising sun glistening in his eyes. But he didn’t fly up. Instead, he took the remaining piece of the mast into his powerful claws and flew, flew with all his strength. At first the fall accelerated, but then, when he could hear the hissing of the foam on the waves, the speed evened, and then began to slow...

His wings burned, but he knew he couldn't stop now! Faster and faster, he forced himself to fly to the borders of his strength... The fall slowed, but the water neared dangerously – will it be enough?

The impact knocked him off the mast. Salty water washed over the deck and everything swayed dangerously. The hawk turned to a man before he hit the deck. Even dazed, Eönwë tried to find Eärendil in that chaos. The hull cracked, but it held, and the ship didn’t sink. The swaying ceased after some time, and the deck evened. Everything was quiet. Eönwë’s muscles burned with weariness, but he was still looking for Eärendil. He was there! Eönwë sighed in relief, and hurried immediately to the Mariner’s side. The impact had sent him over the deck, but the rail had stopped him from falling over it. He was pale, and his clothes were dripping with seawater.

Eönwë checked his breathing quickly, and sighed with relief for the second time. But they were still half a mile away from the harbour, and Eönwë was too exhausted to fly again. He could only hope somebody would come for them with a boat. He secured the anchor, and he sank beside the Mariner wearily. He leaned on the rail, and took Eärendil into his arms. They could only wait...

The Sea rocked the wounded ship slowly, like a child in a cradle. It was calm and quiet in the blue embrace, with the white shore glistening on the horizon – near, and yet too far for Eönwë. He was exhausted, and it was tempting to shed the physical form with all its weariness. Or just leave himself being rocked on the waves contentedly, the warm rays of rising sun dancing on his closed eyelids... but Eärendil needed help, and so Eönwë opened his tired eyes.

"Eärendil?" he asked quietly, checking the Mariner's breathing, and thinking wryly that he should probably ask lady Estë to teach him a few things if they are going to be friends. The ship screeched on a wave, and Eärendil moaned.

"Easy..." Eönwë took his hand. "Soon somebody will come..." He followed the horizon with sharp sight. Certainly somebody must have seen Vingilot's hard landing. But so far no boat could be seen.

"I'm sorry we must wait," he sighed. "I would carry you myself, but I have no strength to fly anymore."

Eärendil opened his eyes slightly. "Elwing... will come..." he whispered with certainty. Driven by that certainty, Eönwë looked up instead of following the sea, and lo! he saw a white gull circling in the sky, its feathers like snow on the highest peaks of the mountains in the pale dawn.

"You are right! She is coming," he smiled to Eärendil, and looked up again, following the bird with his sight. Her circles grew smaller, until she almost touched the broken mast with her feathers. Then the bird landed, and when her feet touched the deck, a beautiful woman stood there, clad in a dress of feathers.

At first she paid no attention to Eönwë. She ran to the Mariner, and knelt at his side.

He smiled at her and closed his eyes – escaping the following angry look so that Eönwë received it fully.

"What have you done again?" she asked, and her look could compete with any Valie in anger.

"Some... bats attacked us, lady..." Eönwë found himself answering in a small voice.

But she was looking at Eärendil, not at him. "Why do you always risk so?" she asked bitterly, and Eönwë could feel the deep love and worry behind her anger. She touched Eärendil's cheek with a tenderness denying her tone.

First then she turned her attention to Eönwë. She stopped for a moment, and then bowed. "I'm sorry my lord, I didn't recognize you, I was so worried, I..."

"I understand," he interrupted her gently. "I tried to help your husband, but I fear my healing skills are not sufficient, and I couldn't leave the helm to fetch any supplies..."

"Err... yes..." Eönwë suddenly didn't know what to say to not make it even worse for the poor Mariner.

Elwing was quiet for a while, looking at Eärendil. "Thank you for bringing my husband home, my lord..." she said, and then she turned quickly, and left for the cabin.

Eärendil opened one eye. "She's angry, isn't she?" he whispered, and not knowing how his head must hurt, Eönwë almost chuckled at the fear in the Mariner's eyes. Eönwë knew there had been none when fighting the bats.

They had no more time to speak, as Elwing appeared on the deck again, carrying the healing supplies. But Eönwë noticed that this time Eärendil didn't try to escape by closing his eyes.

She sighed, and began unwrapping Eönwë's makeshift bandage. Eärendil gritted his teeth in pain. Elwing said nothing, but concentrated on treating the wound fully.

"I know you're sorry," she whispered then, and with surprise Eönwë noticed that she was on the verge of tears. "But you will do it again... Is it not enough away every night? I have to worry that one time you may not return, and I will be alone again."

Eönwë caught her hand suddenly. "My lady," he said quietly. "We must get to the shore first, please?" he embraced her soothingly. She froze, and then began to sob. She cried on his shoulder for a few moments, but then she lifted her head. "You are right. We should get him to bed. He has to sail in the evening again." So strong she was, and yet so frail, swallowing her pain, that in that moment, Eönwë wanted to assure her that he will convince Varda, that he will sail himself instead of Eärendil if necessary... but he knew it was not possible. Such was the doom of the Flammifer – till Moon should fade, an orbéd star... He sighed, and looked at her. "I will take care of him, my lady."

She gave him a long, curious look, but then she nodded shortly and leaped into the air, turning into the white seabird just above the waves, a shining arrow rising from the foam. Eönwë watched her for some time, and then returned to Eärendil. The Mariner's head was neatly bandaged, and his eyes were open, following the bird too.

"I... I don't want to worry her. If I could do something differently, I would. But I am a wanderer. She knows it..."

"She does," Eönwë confirmed, looking after the bird on the horizon. Then he looked Eärendil into the eyes. "But you don't have to wander alone..."

Eärendil was quiet for a few moments. "I just... don't want to be useless..." he said then quietly. "She speaks about our sons so often. Middle-earth still bears the scars of the War. I can't live in peace while they strive, while the land I love is not cleaned from all evil..."

Eönwë looked to the East. "The land I love..." he whispered to himself. Then he sighed, and smiled at Eärendil sadly. "Maybe you are right," he said slowly. "I... oh yes, I love it too..." There was a slight surprise in his voice at the realization. Was that why he felt so confined in Valinor? He shook his head. "You have your light," he said, looking at the Silmaril in the ship's lantern. The glass was scratched deeply, but the light burnt as brightly as ever. Why did the bats want to steal it – steal the light they feared?

Eärendil nodded, forgetting the wound on his head – and grimaced in pain immediately. "Is..." he closed his eyes for a moment. "Is it enough?" he asked when the pain abated.

"They are too far. I can hardly recognize the people – and it's even harder to understand what is happening below. It took me years to see if my sons are safe with Maglor. I was so worried, but I couldn't tell Elwing..."

"Oh..." Eönwë bit his lip, remembering the sight of the land from above through his hawk eyes. "I didn't know that."

In that moment a flock of birds appeared above the sea. As they neared, Eönwë saw a gull leading a flock of white swans. Elwing landed on the ship, and disappeared in the cabin. Soon she returned with a rope, and seeing her intention, Eönwë hurried to help her fasten the rope to the prow. The swans took it into their beaks and flew forwards with a whirling of white wings. It didn't take them long to drag the ship into the harbour near the white tower, and Eönwë carried Eärendil inside despite his protest that he could now walk. "Save your strength for tonight," the Maia whispered.

Inside Eönwë sat in the kitchen while Elwing prepared a healing tea, feeling like an intruder in their house.

"He will sleep until evening," she said then, returning with an empty glass. She sat down across Eönwë. The Maia didn't know what to say to that, and the silence felt uncomfortable.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked finally, and Eönwë nodded thankfully. That seemed to exhaust the conversation topics for some time. But when Eönwë was sipping the tea, Elwing looked at him indecisively, but finally she gathered her courage. "My lord?" she asked.

"I... I think I'll need help with repairing the ship, and Eärendil can't do it now..."

She blushed slightly, but then stood up resolutely. "She needs a new mast. There are a few suitable trees in the nearby wood."

They passed through a cleft in the rock face behind the tower. There was a forest of high, straight trees, their white branches singing in the wind about stars and light. Eönwë looked around in awe. "I didn't know about this place..." he whispered.

Elwing smiled, and put her hand on the smooth bark of one tree. "It has been blessed by Varda and Yavanna," she said reverently. "The trees grow here for Vingilot."

In that moment, wind whispered in the green crowns, and the leaves seemed to repeat the name. Vingilot. Vingilot... Eönwë closed his eyes. It felt so familiar... so similar to the feeling he had when holding Vingilot's helm.

"My lord? Here!" Elwing's voice came from ahead, and Eönwë realized he had fallen behind her. He hurried forwards, and found Elwing standing at a fallen tree, straight and smooth, likely meant for the mast of a ship. He shook his head in wonder, and Elwing smiled. "The trees fall when their time comes, but they do not die. They live further in the ship..."

Eönwë nodded, understanding suddenly the familiar feeling. "Forgive my question, lady, but... are you not jealous of her?" he asked the question that came to his mind in that moment.

But Elwing only laughed. "Oh no, of course not! I know that Eärendil loves her – in a way. But if he would have to choose, I know he would choose me over her. He has chosen me over the life of his father's people. And she always brings him home safely... although with your help today. No, I am not jealous of Vingilot."

"Yes..." Eönwë said thoughtfully. "He would choose you..." He smiled then, and began cleaning the future mast from branches. Then he took it alone despite Elwing's protest, and carried it to Vingilot.

It was almost evening when they finished their work, and Vingilot looked like new again. Often Eönwë was left to work alone as Elwing went to check on Eärendil. But there was no change – the Mariner slept still... until the moment when they stepped back to admire their work. With surprise they suddenly realized that Eärendil joined them, and was looking at the ship with a smile.

"Thank you, my love," he kissed Elwing passionately, and Eönwë saw she really had no reason to be jealous.

Eärendil grimaced. "It hurts still, but it could be worse." His expression grew serious. "If you weren't there... Thank you, my lord."

Eönwë shook his head. "He's a little better, and already he has forgotten my name..." he told to Elwing with a feigned offended expression. Then he turned to Eärendil. "I think we agreed that it's Eönwë for you, no lord."

Eärendil cast his eyes down, not sure what to say. He toyed with the cloth of the cloak between his fingers. Suddenly he stopped, and looked at the cloth closer. It was snow-white, and felt unusually soft between his fingers. It was not his cloak... Then he remembered. He put the cloak down, and handed it to Eönwë with a bow of his head. "I believe this is yours. Thank you."

Eönwë took the cloak into his hands, and smiled slightly. Then he put it around the Mariner's shoulders. "Keep it. It is a gift."

Eönwë only rolled his eyes the repeated thanks and title. "Better check if the mast is all right... I have never repaired a ship before."

Not knowing what to say, Eärendil turned his attention to the mast. It held firmly, as thought it had been a part of the ship from the beginning. There was only one thing left to do. He reverently took the lantern with the Silmaril, and fastened it on the chain hanging from the mast. Then he pulled the chain, and the Silmaril rose above the ship like a flag – the brightest banner of hope. Soft light flooded the deck like a liquid, bright and yet not blinding. No one interrupted the silence as it rose to its place – even the seabirds seemed to fall quiet. Eärendil was the first one to speak. "It is almost time..." he said, looking at the setting sun.

Elwing sighed resignedly. "Let me look at your wound first. And you should eat something at least."

Eärendil did not protest, and she led him back to the tower. As if suddenly remembering, she turned after a few steps, looking a little ashamed for forgetting her guest. "Would you like something to eat too?" she asked Eönwë, but the Maia declined politely. "I will stay here for a while."

"Well... as you wish..." Elwing left, and Eönwë stayed alone on the shore, looking at the waves of the sea. To anyone who might have been watching, he seemed to bein deep thought. But those thoughts didn't belong to himself only. In his mind, he spoke with the Elder King and his lord, Manwë, and it was a long discussion, although it didn't need words.

When the pair joined him again, Eärendil was looking a little better, although there was still sorrow in Elwing's eyes. Eönwë put his hand on her shoulder lightly. "Do not worry, my lady. I will sail with your husband tonight."

Eärendil just stared at him in mute surprise. And to his even bigger surprise, Eönwë grew a little sheepish at his look. "Unless... he would prefer to sail alone..." he murmured.

Eärendil smiled broadly. "Oh no, my lo... Eönwë. It will be an honour to have you on my deck."

"And I will know that you are with someone who has at least a bit of sense," Elwing looked at the Maia gratefully.

"Err... perhaps..." Eönwë smirked, and turned to Eärendil. "Any orders, Captain?"

"Well, if you want it this way, then... Get on the board, and try to stay there," Eärendil smiled. He was looking forward to this flight.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

4. The sons of a star

"Ahoy ship!" Eönwë called, and Eärendil smiled. The Maia seemed to really enjoy the flight, and it was contagious.

Tilion waved back at them. "It's good to see you and Vingilot in one piece, Eärendil! And what are you doing here, Eönwë?"

"A deck-boy," the Chief of the Maiar grinned.

"Well, as you like..." Tilion smirked, but then grew serious. "The sky is quiet since yesterday. Be careful; I have a bad feeling about it."

Eönwë nodded. "We will."

But the entire journey over the Sea and Númenor was peaceful, and there was no trace of any bats or other dark creatures. When they reached the shores of Middle-earth, Eönwë looked eagerly over the rail. But the land he longed to see was veiled from their sight. Heavy clouds divided them from the ground, and it felt as if they were the only living things in a world of silence. Eönwë tore his eyes away from them with a sigh, and glanced back at Eärendil. He should have done so sooner, he immediately berated himself. Eärendil was pale, and looked very tired. Eönwë approached him. "Sit down for a while and let me take the helm..."

Eärendil gave him a long, surprised look. Eönwë realized this must be the first time anyone had offered this to the Mariner. Eärendil then hesitantly nodded. Eönwë had to wonder that he accepted so easily – it seemed he felt even worse than he showed on the outside. The Maia reached for the helm, but Eärendil shook his head, wincing slightly. He stayed at it for a while yet, and Eönwë noticed he was whispering something to the ship. Then he took the Maia's hand, and put it on the helm. For a moment, their hands were touching on the smooth wood of the white trees from Varda's and Yavanna's grove. When finally Eärendil withdrew his hand, Eönwë felt something entirely different than the last time he had guided the ship. Then it was a reluctant cooperation, but now – now it was acceptance.

Eärendil smiled at his astonished expression. "Maia or not, if you break something, you better run!"he threatened in jest, and then sat down and leaned on the rail with a relieved sigh.

Eönwë chuckled, and stroked the white wood. It was Eärendil's ship, and he felt honoured that Eärendil entrusted it to him. He glanced at the Mariner, and noticed that he was looking down over the rail, his eyes searching for something. Eönwë tried to estimate their position, more from the feeling than navigation. This was Middle-earth, and he knew how the land felt here, how it smelled... He shook his head, and concentrated. They should be near Gil-Galad's court, shouldn't they?

"Just clouds..." Eärendil sighed resignedly, and leaned back again.

Eönwë looked at him sympathetically. "You miss them, don't you?"

Eärendil looked up in surprise.

"I have met your sons..." Eönwë said quietly. He saw Eärendil tensing, his eyes almost pleading to hear about them, and so he continued.

"I brought them the choice of the Peredhil..."

The memory of the dark-haired twins was before his eyes as he spoke. They had the fair features of their father, and the dark hair of their mother. On the outside, they were almost impossible to tell apart if not for the different clothes they wore. But deeper, under the surface, Eönwë could see their differences clearly - and he knew he would bring them pain with the choice.

"Again they suffered because of me," Eärendil said bitterly.

"No, Eärendil!" Eönwë protested immediately. "The choice allowed them to become fully what they were in their hearts. And I feel it will shape the history of the world, when the time comes..."

Eönwë remembered another picture. The brothers were sitting on the shore close to each other, their foreheads touching, their faces wet with tears.

"Do you really wish to die?" Elrond asked desperately.

Elros firmly embraced him. "That is my path, brother... My fate lies with the Edain," he whispered.

"But why, Elros?" Elrond sobbed.

Elros sighed shakily. "I am a captain of the Edain, and they need me whole... just like Gil-Galad needs you." He paused. "When you look at the trees in autumn, what do you see, brother mine?"

Elrond looked at his twin. "The trees that will surpass the winter, and awake in a new spring..."

"And I see the beautiful colours of the leaves that will never live again," Elros said quietly. "I feel this is not my home, Elrond. And I'm looking forward to knowing that true home..."

"I love Arda," Elrond replied sadly. "It is my true home."

"I know..." Elros put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Will we ever meet again, brother?"

"I'm not dying yet," Elros smiled slightly, but then he sighed. "But after... I don't know... I hope that when this world ends, we will all meet again, and nothing parts us anymore."

"I will hope too," Elrond replied. "And if you or your descendants ever need help, I will be there for you."

Elros nodded solemnly. "Thank you, brother." Then he looked at the sky, and pointed at one star. "Do you see the star of our father? When we are far from each other, look at it, and know that I'm looking at it in some other part of the world – me, or my heirs." He smiled slightly. "Give him my greetings when you meet him."

"I will..." Elrond nodded, and embraced his brother firmly.

In that moment, Eönwë left them quietly, never acknowledging his presence.

Some time later, the brothers stood in his tent, their faces pale, but determined.

"I choose mortal life," Elros said firmly.

Elrond looked Eönwë into the eyes. "And I choose to be counted among the First-born."

"So be it." Eönwë's word affirmed their choice. "Your father would be proud..." he smiled at them then.

"They were so brave, Eärendil..." Eönwë finished his tale, looking at something Eärendil couldn't see. "They have taken the right choice."

Eärendil blinked away the tears in his eyes. "Thank you for telling me, Eönwë..."

Eönwë reached for his hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. "They are proud of you, too."

Eärendil leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the pictures of his sons as Eönwë had described them paint pictures of what could be behind his eyelids. Soon he fell asleep.

Eönwë smiled a little sadly, and let him sleep. He kept one eye on the sky. Everything was quiet, and now that he was left to guide the ship alone, the silence made him nervous. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was watching them, although nothing moved above the clouds. Despite his misgivings, the journey was peaceful, and when they were passing over the Sea, Eärendil woke and took the helm again, refreshed more by the news of his sons than by the short rest.

Near the shores of Valinor, a white seabird flew to greet them, the rising sun colouring her wings pink. Eönwë averted his eyes as Eärendil and Elwing kissed, because he knew it was considered polite among the Children. Despite their happiness he couldn't get rid of the bad feeling and in the next days he sailed with Eärendil as often as his duties allowed.

Yet nothing happened in the next weeks, and the sky was quiet and peaceful like in the days of Trees. No dark creatures were seen there since the attack of the bats, and after some time even Eönwë was beginning to believe that they would not return. But he sailed with Eärendil further, because he enjoyed the journeys and the Mariner's company – with every sailing, their friendship grew as they watched Middle-earth together, remembering how it felt to be there and have its soil beneath their feet.

But one night when he couldn't sail with Eärendil, he felt that uneasiness again, and as the morning neared, it grew even worse. Anxiously he looked out for the returning star. Finally it appeared on the horizon... He sighed with relief. Yet still something was not right. Eagerly he flew at Elwing's side to greet the ship – a gull and a hawk in the sunrise. But when they reached the ship, Eönwë's heart froze. The deck was empty...

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

5. The last flight of the swan

"Eärendil!"

No. There was no answer. The deck was empty, and the sight frightened Eönwë more than anything he could find. Elwing knelt in the middle of the deck, the long dark hair falling into her face like the veil of a widow. Eönwë clenched his fists. She's not a widow yet! Not while he can do something! And what brought him to those thoughts at all? "No!" he cried out aloud, and she jerked and looked at him. "I will find him!"

In that moment, Vingilot shook, almost like in pain. Eönwë ran to the helm, but hissed in dismay when he found it broken. And yet the ship flew of her own will, headed to the harbour. The Maia touched the broken wood, and winced immediately. Pain, fear, darkness... "Where are you, Eärendil?" he whispered quietly.

Shhhh... It will be all right. Everything will be all right... he thought intently, as he tried to soothe the ship, realizing it was their only connection with Eärendil. Yet he wasn't sure if he believed it himself. Deep scratches were on the deck, and if they were traces of claws, then it was something big – as big as a dragon. A dragon... What if Eärendil was already dead? No! Eärendil shook his head resolutely. Again those thoughts... The Silmaril shone still in the lantern. In its light, he forbade himself to lose hope. Instead, he concentrated on surveying the deck again. The sails were torn, and there was something sticky on the rail – and hanging from the mast also. Sticky threads... like a cobweb... Eönwë gulped. So no dragon, but...

The hull croaked painfully, and Eönwë gritted his teeth. Hold on, Foam-flower! Soon we will be in the harbour... But where was Eärendil? There must be some clue, something... He half-hoped that the ship would show them somehow, if they manage to repair and calm her. He learned to think about her as if she were alive. He could sense her fear. He glanced at Elwing. She was touching the deck with both hands, and trembling. She felt it too...

They neared the harbour, and Vingilot began to descend. Eönwë reached instinctively for the helm, but then he remembered it was broken. Immediately he leaped into the air and turned to a hawk, prepared to stop the fall with his wings again if necessary.

The ship, however, descended slowly, although brokenly, like a wounded swan trying to land for the last time. She touched the water and remained rocking on the waves as safely as if Eärendil's hand had guided her.

Eärendil's hand...

Eönwë turned to his usual form immediately, and even before his feet touched the deck, he called: "Elwing! Eärendil is guiding her!"

She looked up, not understanding, not daring to hope.

"He can guide her with his mind!" Eönwë explained excitedly. "We must repair the ship and let him know we are here. She can lead us to him!"

Elwing stood up, astonished. "Eärendil..." she whispered, her lips barely moving. Then she knelt again, running her hands along the wood. She trembled, and Eönwë bit his lip, suddenly realizing the reason. The darkness, the pain and fear... it was not only the ship. It was Eärendil who felt them in this very moment...

Eönwë shivered, but looked up determinedly – and then he quickly paced along the deck, securing the ropes as he has learned from Eärendil. After some time Elwing stood up also, drawn by his determination, and together they worked on the repairs, planing the wood, replacing glass, sewing the torn sails. Even some of the mithril parts of the ship were bent and damaged; what could have such strength?

As they worked, Elwing talked, seemingly to herself. But when Eönwë listened more carefully, he could hear her speaking like a healer, explaining what was they had to do, as though calming a patient. "We will repair the sail yard now. It will not take long, I promise..." she whispered. Was she speaking to the ship, or to Eärendil, assuring him that they would come soon, Eönwë wondered. Maybe both... Soon he found out he was doing it too.

Finally the necessary repairs were done. They looked at each other. The seas held their breath, as if missing their lover. Eärendil... Eärendil... the foam whispered. Or did Eönwë only imagine it? He missed his friend. Was it he who whispered the name? "Eärendil..." he breathed out. "Can you hear me?" No, of course he can't, he answered to himself. He is far away. But there was a connection... Eönwë put his hand on the repaired helm. I'm here, my friend... His physical body seemed to grow transparent and less material and a golden glow enveloped him as he willed the feeling of his reassuring presence into the wood.

Immediately he was met by a wave of darkness – darkness so black it had no memory of light. And yet he didn't recoil, because he sensed Eärendil's presence there. Faint and weak, but it was there, like an eclipsed star. Eönwë reached for it slowly, afraid to move too quickly lest he extinguish the frail light. He could feel it burning more brightly under his touch... he could feel the darkness assaulting it. The pain... I'm coming, Eärendil! Please show me the way! He felt he was slipping away, unable to maintain the contact through the veil of darkness. Guide me to you...

The bond was severed. Only slowly Eönwë regained the shape of his physical body and adjusted his senses to it. He could hear a horrified gasp – Elwing's, he realized. Then he could feel – the ship under his feet was trembling, as if trying to sail against a strong current and managing just barely to stay in place. Quickly Eönwë loosened the ropes and waited, biting his lip. You can do it, my friend... He put his hand on the helm in an encouraging gesture.

Slowly, torturously slowly the ship began to rise. The sea kissed her in farewell, and then the waters released her from their embrace. She struggled for every fathom of height, but ascended steadily. Eönwë met Elwing's worried eyes. "He will show us the way," he said to reassure her, but inwardly, he shared her worry. How long will Eärendil be able to maintain the bond with the ship?

They sailed among the stars. The ship moaned in the wind, and the ropes whipped the sails with a crack that made Eönwë wince every time he heard it. Every time the ship sank suddenly, he thought of Eärendil, in the middle of darkness and maybe injured, struggling to maintain the connection. That darkness... it was a solid, terrible thing. Not just the absence of light – it had a mind of its own, evil and malicious. And Eärendil was a star... He had borne the light of hope for so long that he had became something more than just its bearer. How long can he prevail against such darkness?

They sailed west and south – out of the reach of any help from Valinor to arrive in time... Eönwë followed the dark sea beneath them anxiously. He stood at the helm, motionless with an outward calm, only slightly touching it – not guiding the ship; just encouraging her and hoping Eärendil could feel it too, wherever he was. But inside, he longed to jump into the air and fly, fly as quickly as his wings could bear him. Eärendil was in pain – its echoes ran through the ship and made her shudder. But Eönwë couldn't fly to him. Only the ship could guide them, and she flew from the last bits of strength, much slower than the Maia's wings. He wanted to scream his frustration, to slam his fist into the wood – but he knew he could not. It was not a dead wood. And so he could only wait, and try to look calm and confident for Elwing. Oh, but when they finally reach Eärendil! He will fly through the darkness like a golden arrow. He will snatch him away from its claws. He will take his revenge on anything that hurt him. He will carry him to safety... and then he will spank him for his recklessness!

Elwing's cry pulled him out of his thoughts. Immediately he saw what she was pointing at. The bats! They were here again! Eönwë opened his mouth in awe. They were so many... the entire sky behind them seemed to be covered with leathery wings. He prepared for fight, drawing his great sword. If he fought as a hawk, there was a danger that he would lose Vingilot in the turmoil. He waited. The sky was full of their terrible shrieks. With gritted teeth Eönwë blocked them, levelling his hearing to that of an Elf's, but still his head hurt with the piercing cries. The silence was even worse, as the rustle of the black wings behind and above them was the only sound in the ominous darkness. Elwing shivered, clutching the rail. But the bats didn't attack... Eönwë turned around to keep them all in sight. None tried to come closer. They kept a steady pace, even with the ship. Eönwë gulped when he understood what they are doing. The way back was blocked...

But they did not want to fly back. Eärendil was ahead. Eönwë wouldn't turn now, even if he could. Yet it seemed Eärendil thought otherwise. Vingilot suddenly reared liked a wild horse, with a strength born of panic. Up she flew – a rising star, a silver flame against the wall of dark creatures. The bats immediately descended upon her in a whirl of wings. They tore her sail with their claws. And yet she flew up, madly, a deer weaving its way among the wolves. Eönwë hit a few bats with his sword, but then he just had to hold fast on the rail, to not get knocked off the deck in the mad swirls. It seemed they would make it... They almost broke through. There were stars on the sky...

And then time stopped. A moment of weightlessness. Eärendil! Eönwë cried out in his mind. He didn't feel the Mariner's presence anymore. Something must have happened. It was gone, and only a feeling of loss remained – a terrible, aching emptiness in one's soul. Then – falling. Eönwë held fast onto the rail. There was no place for the golden hawk to spread his wings among the bats. He felt the ship crushing the leathery wings on her way down. Wind whistled around his ears. Can an Ainu die? Does it even matter if he's not able to save his friend?

But then he caught Elwing's terrified look. Falling. Descending to uncertainty. Suddenly he realized that for her, it was not the first time. She had no wings then. No hope. And yet she jumped into the angry waves for the light she bore... and a seabird had risen. Many times had he thought about asking her why she jumped. Why she left her sons. Now he had no time for questions anymore. It wants the Silmaril – he realized. Whatever controls the bats, wants the last of the holy Jewels.

"Fly!" he called to Elwing. "Take the Silmaril and fly!" She watched him for a moment, eyes wide with fear, like a terrified bird. Then she nodded shortly, and rose. Like a silver arrow she flew, a flicker of quick light among the whirling darkness. Where a hawk couldn't spread his wings, a small seabird could weave her way between... Eönwë watched her anxiously even as he was falling with the ship. But she disappeared from his sight. He didn't know if she managed to escape. He could leave this body and follow her in the spirit, get to freedom... yet he stubbornly refused that, not willing to abandon the small hope of finding Eärendil. Darkness enveloped him, thick and heavy. He choked in it. He felt the light of his spirit dwindle. Now he couldn't leave his body, even if he would want to. That was it? The death? The nothingness?

The impact.

The darkness entangled him, and he knew no more.

TBC

Note: "The seas held their breath, as if missing their lover." – Eärendil means "Lover of the Sea" in Quenya

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

Warning: This chapter is not suitable for those who are bothered by reading about violence and for arachnophobics.

6. A star in a cobweb

It was dark. It was so dark... Eärendil could not move. Where was he? Was he... still alive? So dark... He could not feel his body. There was only darkness. All-encompassing, black, choking darkness. And silence. Deep. Unnatural. As if he were out of time, out of space in some place that was not really a place. It felt like... the Void... He wanted to break the silence, to hear his voice, to assure himself that he was still alive. He could not open his mouth. So dark...

Sssssssss...

A sound. Close? Far? He could not tell. Echoes came from everywhere. There was space, there was time. But there was no hope. Something menacing was in the sound. He shivered. Maybe the silence was better... Darkness everywhere...

Smell. Purid. Nauseating. Rotting corpses of hateful years. A smell choking him with despair with every intake of breath... Filling him with darkness. Darkness all around... darkness inside. It suffocated him. He couldn't breathe. He had to. With every breath he felt tainted. His head spun...

A touch. It pierced the dizziness, penetrated his blurry consciousness like a poisoned arrow. Light but sharp, like claws running slowly along his arm... or bristles of some large insect. He tensed. Fight! Flee! – something very deep in him screamed. But he could not. He could not move. Something was holding him, something sticky entangling his body. He could feel his neck hair standing up in disgust. His body mercilessly claimed his attention. He could feel it. Distantly, at first – hanging on sticky threads in darkness. And then he could feel everything. He wished he wouldn't.

Pain. For a moment there was no sound, no smell, no other feeling... just pain. After it chewed him and tore him to pieces with its sharp teeth, it retreated into distinct parts of his body – left arm, wrists, head... It was only pain. Nothing new. He has been injured before. But here, in this darkness, even a minor injury was overwhelming until he willed the pain back, where it belonged, together with the rising panic. He was alive. But where was he? And how did he get here?

He felt the touch again – a light caress from something that could tear his flesh like paper. He gritted his teeth, unable to flinch from it. There was another sense... not hearing, not smell... not even touch or pain. He could not see – but he could feel the darkness, like a solid, physical thing. It emanated from a huge shape looming above him. He struggled with his bonds, wanting to flee, anywhere, away from this place... It was a spider. A gigantic, hideous form looming high above him, touching him with one of its long legs... The bonds holding him were firm, and cut into his wrists with every movement. They would not yield. It was a cobweb...

"Ssssssssssssss..."

It was the spider making the sound, hissing like an angry snake. The sound changed suddenly.

"...sssssssssssssso the fly got stuck in the web..." a low, female voice said, dripping with poison. There was no spider anymore. Before him stood a high woman, standing strong and queenly like Varda, but emanating darkness instead of light. She was clad in cobwebs, and her nails were long and sharp like claws. Her eyes were big and cruel, expressionless like the eyes of some insect, and four pupils were in each of them. She was beautiful, in a way, but it was the beauty of a maelstrom, luring and devouring.

She ran her nail down his arm slowly, and it felt just like the touch of the spider. "What an unexpected visit..." she murmured. "Oh indeed..." her fingers caressed his shoulder sligtly. "I didn't want to catch YOU!" with the last word she dug her nails into his flesh. He cried out in pain before he could stop himself. "Where is your light?" she fastened her grip, and with the question, memories rushed back through the pain.

The bats. The sky covered with leathery wings. They did not attack, but drove Vingilot in one direction, far to the west and south where he never sailed. He stood at the helm, following the sky before him, ready to fight his way through the bats if something worse appeared...

But he did not try, knowing the small chance of success of such attempt. He never knew what he crashed into. There had been nothing ahead – just the dark sky. Too dark... Suddenly the ship was trapped in a mass of sticky threads, a giant cobweb! The bats flew away like a startled flock of birds. Something more terrible neared... Darkness in the form of a spider.

Eärendil draw his sword and began hewing at the threads. They wouldn't yield. The spider neared... No time! He hit the cobweb with all his strength. One of the threads snapped, hitting his hand painfully. He hissed, but continued with renewed strength, encouraged by his success. He didn't look back. He could feel the approaching darkness. It climbed the ropes of its own net, nearing. No! You won't get it! He hit the rope furiously. The front legs of the spider touched the ship. Eärendil shuddered in revulsion, as though feeling them on his own body. He hit the rope one more time with a desperate cry – and it yielded, strained by the weight of the spider.

Despite its size, the spider nimbly caught another rope, and began to climb up again. Vingilot shook in her sticky prison, eager to fly away. The movement strained the web, and with the help of the ship Eärendil was able to quicklycut the threads imprisoning her. The last ones broke under her pull, and she was free! Fly! Fly away, Vingilot!

But in that moment the spider jumped after the ship, sinking its giant claws into the white wood. "No!" Without thinking, Eärendil rushed to the spider, hewing at the monstrous legs with his sword. "In the name of Ilúvatar! You won't get the light, creature of darkness!" Maybe it was the name, or the blows of his sword, but the legs pulled back. Fly! Eärendil cried at the ship in his mind. She struggled against the spider's weakened grip for a few moments, but then she jumped forth. The spider swung his legs one more time in a futile attempt to catch the light. Eärendil didn't look back. He was looking forwards, to the free sky. He didn't see the swinging leg. It knocked him off the deck, and then... he didn't remember anything more. There was only darkness.

The pain brought him back to the present. "Where is the light?" the spider-lady asked, digging her nails into his arm. He didn't answer. A suspicion began to grow in him. He knew who she was... No, never would he give the Silmaril to her!

Ungoliant.

The queen of Wights. The one who killed the Trees, and almost killed Morgoth, too, when he denied her what she wanted. The Silmarils... The holy Jewels to sate her eternal hunger for light – to devour it and turn it to darkness, to weave webs of Unlight around her... Unlight... that was the choking, solid darkness all around. But she had not got them then, and she would not get the last remaining jewel now.

It must get away from her! Vingilot...

Eärendil reached to his ship in his thoughts. It was there, in the sky. Flying lost and alone, avoiding the bats. He called her, caressed her with his mind, trying to detach himself from the pain and darkness. Vingilot... fly home... he guided her with his thoughts just as he would in battle, when he needed both hands free. But never before had he tried to do it at such a distance. It was exhausting, and he almost swooned, but he managed to keep his concentration even when the claws dug deeper into his flesh. To find the way home... Oh how he wished he were on her deck now!

"The light! I want it!"

"You won't get it!" he cried out defiantly, still keeping a part of his concentration with the ship.

Suddenly she withdrew her hand. "I always get what I want..." she hissed, her eyes glistening dangerously. Eärendil shivered at the words. They were true, except for one thing: the Silmaril. She wanted it so badly just because she had been refused it. "I always get..." she whispered, caressing his cheek. Her body was so close to him... She emanated darkness. Her eyes bound him, he was unable to avert his gaze, although he could not really see anything – yet he saw her in his mind, her cold gaze looking at the very bottom of his soul.

She was terrible and yet irresistible, binding his will to her cruel beauty. But one part of his mind was still with Vingilot, and that part screamed at him that was just a trick, a wicked spell! At her touch, he felt revulsion. But he could not move, and her lips neared his... She leaned in as though to kiss him. She breathed in slightly, and he felt his strength leaving him, leaving emptiness and darkness... his head spun... the putrid smell filled his lungs again.

"Bah!" she backed away. "You half-mortals are so weak! One could kill you accidentally! That is what will happen if you don't give me what I want, my lovely fly... I will devour the light of your soul instead of the one on your ship. It tastes almost the same..."

Eärendil was shaken to the very core of his spirit. Never before had he felt something so terrible. Only the bond with his ship kept his will away from despair, as hard as it was to maintain with so little strength left. Would she really do it? The very thought made him shiver. But no... he tried to convince himself. She needed him alive. It was the Silmaril that she really wanted, and only he could tell her where it was, on its way home... And he would never tell her that, even if she tried to devour his soul.

"Oh? You don't want to talk?" she purred. "Hmmm... maybe I should ssssssstop being nice... Again she changed her shape to a spider, looming above him in her hideous form. He tried to not think about her, not to look. Vingilot would be home soon...

The bristly legs touched him again, and he gritted his teeth. He almost cried out when something sticky touched his bare chest. She was wrapping him in a cobweb, he realized with horror, while a small part of his mind wondered what happened to his tunic, and most importantly, to Eönwë's cloak. He did not want to lose the gift... It was absurd – he would probably never see the Maia again, and here he was, worrying about his cloak. But it was better than thinking about what was happening to him...

Suddenly the threads around his body tightened, drawing a cry of pain from his lips. He could feel them cutting his skin, the warm blood trickling down... Almost there... Almost there... he reminded himself, maintaining his bond with Vingilot through the haze of pain.

Shhhh... It will be all right. Everything will be all right... Eärendil almost sobbed when the words touched his mind. Eönwë? Could it be? Or was it just an illusion of his weary mind? He clung to those words with all his will, not caring if they were real or delusion. The threads of the cobweb cut deeper and deeper into his flesh, and then began to shift like snakes... like black poisonous vipers crawling beneath his skin... He screamed. It didn't help...

Hold on, Foam-flower! Soon we will be in the harbour... Eönwë's voice strengthened his will. Yes, the harbour... Soon Vingilot will be there... He must hold on! He... must...

Another presence brushed his mind like a fresh gust of sea breeze. Elwing... He gritted his teeth, locking the screams inside. Just a little while longer...

He could feel Vingilot touching the waves of the sea, the cool water washing his wounds... Rest... And a wave of despair when he realized he was not there, but trapped in the webs of darkness. As though to a last ray of light, he clung to the connection with his ship. He would stay with it to his very last moment! But the thought of dying alone in darkness was so terrible for the bearer of light...

Where is the light? I WANT IT! Even in the spider form, the demanding thought cut into his mind like a jagged blade. It was getting ever harder to resist it... But somewhere in the distance, he could feel a gentle hand giving him strength. No, not to him. Someone was repairing the ship...

I WANT! the darkness assaulted him again, almost tearing the bond in his mind.

But amidst all the darkness, there was suddenly a memory of light, like the golden flame of a candle behind a thick black veil. I'm here, my friend... Eönwë! He could hear the Maia's voice, and reached for it desperately, like a child scared by a nightmare.

I'm coming, Eärendil! Please show me the way! The voice was getting weaker, sounding from a great distance. Guide me to you... were the last words Eärendil could hear before the darkness weighed him down again. Guide me to you... Eönwë was the mightiest warrior of Arda. He can save him... He can defeat the spider...

Maybe... maybe there was still hope that he would not die in the darkness...

With all his mind Eärendil reached for that hope. One more journey... oh, did he have the strength to do it? The ship was repaired now, but guiding her cost him so much! Would he have any strength left to resist the darkness? Would he not send the Silmaril into her hungry maw? He refused to give up the only hope he had. He tried to lift the ship up... He cried out in pain from the strain. The web tightened again. He could not breathe...

You can do it, my friend... he felt Eönwë's presence, although the voice was so distant. Yes, he can! He must! He gritted his teeth, and felt the ship rising slowly, gaining height...

The journey was a struggle of will. During the worst pain, he fought to remain conscious and maintain the connection. During the assaults of darkness into his mind, he fought to keep the bond with light. It could have been hours that passed... it could have been days. He longed for a release, but there was none. Only the faint feeling of Eönwë's presence strengthened his will to endure. But he knew the worst trial was still ahead...

He could feel the ship nearing... The bats would be there... But Eönwë could fight them, Eärendil knew. He led the Maia to this place, but he would not let him fall into Ungoliant's trap! With all the strength and will he had left, he turned the ship and let her fly up, away from the web of darkness! His body shook in a convulsion, making the threads cut even deeper into his flesh, but Vingilot flew up, like the ray of sun, quicker than the bats...

A cry of rage assaulted his mind like a destructive wave. Ungoliant saw the light nearing her web... she realized what he was doing! No!

Eärendil put all his will into the ship. Fly! Fly! The spider's head lowered to him. He could feel her stinking breath. Fly! One of her teeth pierced the skin on his neck. He felt her poison entering his veins – terrible burning darkness! He cried out, trying to maintain the connection. Dark flames were devouring him. The bond was slipping, melting in the fire. No! He could not hold it any longer. The light was wrenched from him by a brutal darkness. He felt a fall... No! Oh no... She will get what she wanted. And she will get Eönwë...

In a sea of burning darkness, Eärendil moaned in despair. And then all light and thought left him...

A/N: Ungoliant's humanoid form isn't mentioned anywhere in Tolkien's works, it's just a creative liberty. If you can't imagine her, look at this picture

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

Warning: Another chapter that's not for arachnophobics...

7. The spider

It was dark. It was so dark... Eönwë opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything. Not even with the inner sight of an Ainu! He almost panicked. Never before had he been in such darkness. No, it was not mere darkness, he realized gravely. It was Unlight – the darkness that can swallow light like a flame of a candle can dissolve normal darkness. It was not absence of light, but something ancient and terrible, existing long before Arda came into being. This was the work of a being who did not have the Flame of Ilúvatar but another flame, dark and devouring. Instinctively Eönwë reached for his sword, but he realized he could not move. Sticky threads of a cobweb were holding him in place. He struggled against them furiously.

Sssssssssssssss...

He froze at the sound. The ancient menace in it made the hair on his neck stand up. He stayed perfectly still... don't move... don't breathe... maybe it didn't notice...

CRACK!

Rage and fury. Something breaking... The sound tore Eönwë's heart. Breaking wood. Tearing sails. Moaning spirits of white trees... Vingilot. The spider hadn't noticed him yet – it was venting its rage on the poor ship. Eönwë was glad he couldn't see it. The sounds were bad enough. In the journeys with Eärendil, he had learned to know and respect the ship as much as the Mariner, and now... he felt tears streaming down his face. Oh, when Eärendil learns about this...

And then the terrible realization struck Eönwë. Not when, but if. Where was Eärendil? There was so much pain and darkness before the bond was severed. Was he still alive?

He tried to not think about what was happening to Vingilot and began struggling with the cobwebs again – slowly, carefully trying to free his hand without making a sound. He wished he could change his form and escape from the trapped body, but the darkness bound him just like the webs and did not allow him to free himself in that way. He gritted his teeth, and instead of thinking about what he couldn't do, he concentrated on what he could. The threads were thick, and yet sharp. He felt the blood from his wrist trickling down his arm. The blood made the web less sticky... he managed to get one hand free!

A moment of silence. The spider sensed something... Eönwë froze and held his breath. A moment passed... another... And then the sound of tortured wood sounded again. Quickly Eönwë continued freeing himself from the web – with one hand free it was much easier.

Where are you, Eärendil? he thought then, desperately. If he hoped for an answer, none came. Darkness was all around. He closed his eyes – they were useless anyway – and concentrated on the darkness. It was like a solid, physical thing, stretching endlessly in every direction. But there was one place where it was just a little thinner – such a slight change that Eönwë wasn't sure if it wasan illusion. But there was no other direction for him, and so he began climbing the web, down to that place. Many times he froze, listening. Could the spider feel the vibrations of the web? But it seemed it was too occupied with the ship to pay attention to anything else. Poor Foam-flower...

As he reached for a thread, he felt something else beneath his fingers. A fabric... It was torn, and stiff in places, like with dried blood, but he would recognize its texture anywhere. It was his cloak... The gift he gave to Eärendil. Eönwë bit his lip. It meant that the Mariner was really here, but on the other side – it didn't bode well for him...

It seemed like eternity to him, but finally he climbed down, and his feet hit firm ground, although sticky with a thick layer of webs. It seemed to be a cave. Eönwë shuddered. The spider's lair... and yet the monolithic darkness was weaker there...

"Eärendil?" Eönwë whispered, hoping for an answer despite all odds.

No answer came. Eönwë took a few steps deeper into the cave, feeling like a rabbit entering the wolf's den. He drew his sword, but the familiar feeling of it in his hand didn't calm him this time. The stale, putrid smell almost made him sick. Sticky threads brushed his face as he passed them unseeing. He tried to ignore all those feelings, and the rising panic of being trapped. There was a place where darkness was thinner ahead...

He moved the sword into his left hand, and reached for the place with the other hand, tense with worry. Something wet and warm. Blood... and soft flesh under his touch. He withdrew his hand quickly, holding his fingers before his eyes as if he could see them. He could feel the blood on them, mixing with his own. "No..." he breathed out.

Then the spell broke, and he frantically reached forward again. He could feel the body hanging from the webs... the sharp threads wrapped around it tightly, cutting deep beneath the skin... His fingers trembled, when they touched the face... the familiar features... so cold...

"Eärendil! Eärendil!" In that moment, he didn't care if the spider can hear him. "I'm here, my friend... do you hear me?" He tried to find a pulse, any sign that the Mariner was alive.

A weak moan. Eönwë held his breath, not sure if his senses were not cheating him again. "Gil-Estel?" he whispered with trembling voice.

Another moan, almost sob. Eönwë embraced the man immediately, assuring him about his presence and trying to give what little warmth and comfort he could. He could feel the Mariner's fear and pain, like a terrible darkness burning in his veins. "Shhhh... I'm here..." He began cutting the bonds, careful to not cause more pain. But it seemed Eärendil was beyond caring about the pain of his wounds – the dark, devouring flames were all he could sense.

"E... Eön...wë..." the voice was weak and laced with pain, but there was a warning in it. Immediately Eönwë turned with his sword ready.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk..." he heard a female voice, low and dangerous. "Whom do we have here? Another fly? The Chieftain of Maiar even! Tassssssssty, tassssssssty..."

"Ungweliantë," Eönwë said coldly. The pieces fell into each other, and hatred surged in him for what she has done to the Trees. For what she has done to Eärendil. With a cry of rage, he charged the place from whence her voice sounded, but his sword cut only cobwebs.

"Missssssssed..." her voice sounded from somewhere above now, dark and mocking.

Eönwë jumped up, directing a mighty cleave at the place. Again he hit nothing. Cobwebs entangled him. He shrugged them off, but lost his balance as he fell back. He staggered... in that moment he felt hot breath on his neck, sharp claws scratching his shoulder...

He thrust the sword behind him. She was not there anymore...

"Hmmm... Should I kill your first? Or would you rather watch your friend die?"

Eönwë gulped, and remained perfectly still, listening. She was toying with him, making him exhaust himself... He could hear scratching of claws, hissing, from many places at once. He waited, pushing all thoughts away. The fight, the sword, his movements and his enemy – that was all that mattered now. A warrior's trance... it was hard to achieve here, in the darkness, trapped in this body. But Eönwë was the first and mightiest of warriors. The spider's steps... the mocking voice... no, it was not real! It was just a thought she forced into his mind!

The real Ungoliant stood between him and the exit from the cave, in the form of a hideous spider, a bulging belly hanging between a dome of many-jointed legs. One leg lifted, joint after joint, and moved forwards in perfect silence. Another leg... She neared slowly, while he was chasing the illusions, like a beast sneaking on the prey. Eönwë waited, not acknowledging that he had discovered her trick. Another leg lifted... slowly... slowly...

Suddenly she jumped! But just like he had before, she found herself hitting empty air. With lightning speed Eönwë avoided the sharp, poisoned teeth, and cut at her leg, severing it from her body in one mighty cleave.

She shrieked in pain and rage, and flailed with her remaining legs in a wild convulsion. Eönwë could not avoid them. One of the legs hit him in the chest, and sent him flying across the cave from the force of the impact. It knocked the sword from his hand...

Immediately she was above him, towering like a mass of darkness, pinning him to the ground with terrible force. His head spun. He could not breathe... The spider changed to a woman, but the strength of her grip didn't change. He could see her in his mind – cold, cruel eyes with four pupils looking at him mercilessly. Black lips, nearing... In her breath was the cold emptiness of the Void. He struggled against her spell, knowing the legends about a Wight's kiss devouring the victim's soul... But he couldn't move. The darkness bound him...

-oOo-

Through the veil of pain, Eärendil could hear to the sounds of the fight. He burned in a dark fire. His body. His spirit... He struggled to remain conscious. Eönwë... he led him here... he was helpless... The Silmaril... He tried to imagine its light. The darkness weighed him down so heavily. He longed for light. With all his heart, he longed for it. He heard the clang of Eönwë's sword on the floor. Terrible darkness... light! The Silmaril... He needed the light to fight... Eärendil's thoughts were muddled, but always they returned to the Silmaril. There was a memory of it, somewhere deep inside, covered by the weight of darkness. Flames... Dark flames... Terrible pain... Light... beneath it... Fight! Reach for it! He tried... reached with his mind through the darkness. No strength... he had no strength left... he had to... Flames... Eönwë! His body arched in pain, in a great, shivery scream. The light was there. It shone... shone... so... bright... so...

-oOo-

There was light. A scream of pain – and light, like a glorious tone in the middle of chaotic noise. Like a sword it cut the darkness. Ungoliant hissed in pain as it stung her eyes. She was exposed, without the cover of Unlight. The light... she hated it. She wanted it! For a moment she loosened her grip...

Like a flame of hope the light lit Eönwë's heart. He could see the woman above him, the ashen skin looking like the one of a corpse without the cover of darkness. He could see his sword... She turned for a few heartbeats, searching for the source of the light with a hungry expression. He reached for the sword... just a few more inches... he touched it with his fingertips... a little further... He had it! Without hesitation, he slashed with it. She turned in the last moment. He could see the surprise in her eyes, overcoming the eternal hunger just for an instant. Then the eyes froze, as cold in death as they were in life. Black blood streamed from her neck, where her head had been just a moment before. Shakily, he pushed her body away from him, and stood up.

The brilliant light abated, as if it had exhausted itself. But the darkness tore, too, and the shreds dissolved like the mist in the morning. Dusk remained... Eönwë could see Eärendil's silhouette in it, hanging brokenly on the threads of the cobweb, lifeless. "My friend..." he whispered, and ran to him, covering the distance between them in a few steps. He felt tears welling in his eyes. "Eärendil..."

There was no sound, no sigh that the Mariner was yet alive this time. Eönwë laid his hand over his heart. Nothing... No, that cannot be! "She is dead! Her darkness is no more! You cannot die now! Damn you, Peredhil! Stay with me!" the last words were stifled by a sob. "Stay with me... please..." Then Eönwë noticed the mark of the poisoned tooth on Eärendil's neck. "No... Oh no..." he remembered the Trees – poisoned, dying. The silver and golden leaves falling to the ground. The branches trembling, like in pain... "Not this..." Two tears fell from his eyes.

But beneath his hand... he felt something! A weak, frail flutter of a heart struggling to beat. Eönwë froze. "Gil-Estel! Oh, my friend! Hold on..." He had no time to lose now. Quickly he cut the threads holding Eärendil, but didn't remove them yet – first they must get out of this horrible place! It stank of death. He gently wrapped Eärendil in the cloak he found, and lifted him like a child. Avoiding the webs, he walked out of the cave.

A giant cobweb loomed over him, the darkness already dissipating from the threads. Bats circled in the sky, looking lost and without purpose. The ground around was barren and covered with bones – bats, mostly, but also other animals... and Elves... How many did she devour in her insatiable hunger? Eönwë looked up. There was Vingilot. The once proud ship was now just a heap of rubble hanging like a fly in the cobweb, pieces of mithril and white wood, torn sails. He could see the swan's head. The eyes were turned to him, and to Eönwë it seemed as if he saw tears in them. He was glad Eärendil couldn't see it. But he would feel it, if he awakened... no! When he awakened! Eönwë looked at the broken ship one last time. The darkness dissolved, and stars shone in the sky.

Eönwë carried Eärendil further away, and stopped when he saw the first patch of grass. He felt a great weight lifting from him then, and breathing was easier. There he laid his friend on the grass. It seemed Eärendil was also a little better away from that place, although his face was still deathly pale. Worried, Eönwë followed the black veins spreading from the wound on his neck. He couldn't do anything against the poison. He wished he at least had water to wash his wounds and moisten his lips. But he had only his sword and clothes. Quickly he tore his shirt to bandages, and carefully began unwinding the threads cutting into Eärendil's skin. He bandaged every wound immediately, but still he had to wonder how much blood the Mariner already lost. He found himself talking to his friend about everything he had to do, although Eärendil couldn't hear him – just like when repairing the ship with Elwing, he realized. He wondered where she is, and if she managed to escape...

Eärendil moaned. Immediately Eönwë leaned over him, forgetting everything else. "Eärendil?"

The Mariner opened his eyes, but it seemed he didn't see Eönwë. His face contorted in pain. "So dark... It...burns..." he whispered almost inaudibly.

Eönwë took his hand. "Shhhh... I know... It will be good again. You will see, everything will be good again. I promise..." Yes. He promised. He knew there was little hope, but still he promised. And he knew he would try to fulfil that promise with all his might. He didn't know if Eärendil could even hear him – his eyes closed, and it seemed he lost consciousness again. Eönwë wrapped him in the tattered cloak – still it was warm and soft, and he knew it was dear to Eärendil. The cloak can be repaired... but what about its owner? He sighed, and took Eärendil into his embrace.

Thus the first rays of dawn found them.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

8. A darkened star

Eönwë held Eärendil in his arms. So he could feel the weak heartbeat, the faint rising and sinking of his chest, and know that the Hope was not extinguished yet. A few times Eärendil regained consciousness, but it was hard to tell if he recognized Eönwë. Pain was in his eyes, and fear of darkness. Once Eönwë thought he recognized a word that passed through the cracked lips. Vingilot...

Feeling his heart breaking, he embraced the Mariner closer. Oh my friend... you feel she is destroyed, don't you? His presence was all he could do for the Mariner, and so he willed his heart to beat, his wounds to close... He had asked Estë to teach him a few things about healing in the last weeks, but it was not enough. There was a dark poison circling in Eärendil's veins — the same poison that killed the Trees — and against it every Vala was helpless.

Arien lit the sky with her searing flame. The tearing cobwebs tattered in the wind like the last shreds of a nightmare. But for Eärendil, the nightmare was not over yet... Eönwë looked up, to the sky, wondering once again what happened to Elwing. Maybe she escaped... Oh, if she only could bring help! Eönwë felt he could change his form now, but he was too exhausted to try. And Eärendil needed him... He was afraid to break his embrace, afraid that the heart beneath his hands might cease to beat...

Tilion was in the sky still, maybe trying to get a look at his beloved Arien again. Eönwë followed his journey sadly, thinking about Vingilot, who would never sail at his side again. After some time, he had the impression that the vessel of the Moon was nearing... He blinked a few times. Yes, he could already see the little figure at the helm! Tilion! Tilion, we are here! he called mentally.

Eönwë! Oh, thank Ilúvatar I found you! the relief was evident in Tilion's voice. I'm coming!

Eönwë closed his eyes, feeling suddenly very tired. They will get away from this place. They will get home soon. But... was it not too late for Eärendil? Eönwë waited for the moon vessel to land a few yards away from them. For a moment he thought he would not be able to stand up – never before had he been this tired, not even during his time in Middle-earth. Never before had he been so worried, either... Before Tilion could notice, he forced his legs to obey him, and carried Eärendil to the ship. The light of the flower of Telperion was almost blinding after the murky light of this place, and so it was a surprise to him when the voice that greeted him was not Tilion's.

"Oh no..." a woman's voice gasped.

Elwing is here... Eönwë realized when he heard it. She must have escaped the bats, and found Tilion on his night's journey. At least one of his worries was gone. But the one for Eärendil remained. It was the same worry that he heard in her voice.

"He is alive, my lady," he said as reassuringly as he could. The question "how long" remained hanging in the air between them. Somebody caught his elbow. He looked at Tilion, his eyes slowly adjusting to the bright light. "You can lay him here," the Hunter said quietly, pointing at a makeshift cot of furs and blankets. Eönwë just nodded, and carefully laid his friend down. He wanted to remain close to him, but he knew that place belonged to another now. He sighed, and stood up, allowing Elwing to embrace her husband.

"Eärendil! My love... " she called him, and Eönwë felt tears threatening to well in his eyes. He shook his head and turned to Tilion. "Do you have any water?" he asked.

The other Maia nodded, and handed him a silver bottle. "It's from Varda's well... I hope it helps..."

"Thank you," Eönwë tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt. He knelt at Elwing's side, and put his hand on her shoulder. "Here... Try to wash his face, and make him drink a bit, if he awakens." He handed her the bottle. Then he sat down a few feet away, and watched Eärendil's motionless face as Elwing's gentle hands washed the grime and blood away. It was so pale. The images of the Trees flashed in his mind again. Dead wood... broken branches... dried fountains...

He felt a light touch on his shoulder. "My lord..." Tilion addressed him formally, as his chieftain. "Will you allow me to care for your wounds?"

"My...?" Eönwë looked at him without understanding. Finally then he realized that his wrists were still bleeding, cut by the threads of the cobweb. Several other pains made themselves known, also. "Ah..." he nodded absentmindedly. He didn't even watch as Tilion washed and bandaged his wrists. Eärendil was awake again, calling the name of his ship. Elwing managed to make him drink a gulp of water, but he didn't recognize her, and fell unconscious again, his face contorted with pain. The black veins were spreading even further from the wound on his neck. Eönwë only realized that Tilion was finished when he felt something warm being wrapped around his shoulders. He turned his head. "Your cloak?" he asked Tilion dully. "Why?"

"It seemed to me you are cold... And you still didn't get a new one, after..." Tilion looked at the torn cloak that covered Eärendil.

"Thank you," Eönwë whispered, and inadvertently pulled the edges of the cloak closer about him. Oh yes, he was cold, so cold... But the cold was in his spirit, and no cloak could help that. Despite Elwing's presence, Eärendil was getting worse. The fever was rising, and he moaned and tossed without truly regaining consciousness again. His friend was suffering, and he could do nothing to help him...

Eönwë sighed brokenly, and looked at the flower of Telperion. It shone brightly, but it was only an echo of the glory of the Trees. Their last fruit and flower... Suddenly another image flashed through his mind. The light in the darkness. He was back in Ungoliant's cave, pinned down by her weight, and the black lips were nearing for a kiss of death. But then the light shone! And it was not the light of the Trees, not even the light of the Silmaril. Not a memory trapped in a jewel, but a living flame – such as only the Children of Ilúvatar possessed, a light older than the Trees. It was the Flame Imperishable, and Eärendil was not only the bearer of the Silmaril. He was the light himself, a living star of Hope...

A darkened star... living?... barely... just like the Trees. But here was the flower of Telperion, shining brightly. On the other side of the sky, the fruit of Laurelin was rising on its daily journey. There was still hope for Gil-Estel... The tears of Nienna and Yavanna's song cured the poison in the Trees. Still they died, because Ungoliant drank their sap before, and there was only enough left to give birth to the last flower and fruit. But the light of Eärendil's spirit she did not drink. It was still there, quenched by the poison...

As if in a dream, Eönwë stood up, and knelt at Eärendil's side again. Elwing was weeping... No, she was not Nienna. She was just a woman. A woman who loved... Eönwë closed his eyes for a moment, and then began to sing. His song washed the deck of the ship like a golden wave. It was a song about light, about friendship... The tones danced in the wind, sorrow and hope entwined. In the song, the light shone through the darkness, and a golden hawk flew freely at the side of a star.

For hours Eönwë sang, but time did not matter to him. His song struggled with the dark flames, reached through them to find the faint light beneath. It retreated deep beneath the flames – almost too far for the song to reach. But the song did not give up, and sounded ever stronger, battling the flames with a steely resolution. Finally, with one mighty swell of music, the flames were quenched! But the song continued, gentle and encouraging now, with a few wistful tones mixed into the melody. It called to the light, like a tamer calls to a wild animal, patient and reassuring. And the light was lured to the song, longing for the clear, soft tunes. Then finally, when the shores of Valinor were finally in sight, Eärendil opened his eyes.

"Eön...wë?" he whispered hoarsely, recognizing the singer of the song. His eyes were not looking at the Maia, though.

"I'm here, my friend... And Elwing is here..."

Unable to speak for the moment, Elwing clutched Eärendil's hand.

"It's... so dark..." Eärendil sobbed.

"Shhhhh..." Eönwë soothed. "The spider is dead, and we are away from there. Soon we will be home."

Eärendil breathed out a sigh of relief. "Home?"

Elwing smiled fainly. "Yes, my love. Home." She put the silver bottle to his lips then. "Here... try to drink a little, please..."

He drank deeply, feeling suddenly a terrible thirst. Before he was satisfied, the bottle was pulled away. "That's enough for now."

He sighed, and closed his eyes without ever looking at her or Eönwë.

"Sleep, my friend..." Eönwë stroked his hair lightly. "It's over now, and you can rest..."

But when the Mariner's breath evened in sleep, he looked at Elwing gravely. Her look revealed that she, too, realized the terrible truth.

Eärendil was blind.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

A/N: I apologize for the delay in the story caused by NaNoWriMo, and wish you all happy Holidays!

9. The hawk and the eagle

This day, the vessel of the moon did not land in its usual harbour. The brilliant shine of the silver flower danced on the waves in shimmering reflections, and illuminated a white tower on the end of a strand of diamond dust. From the brighter light, another one separated, smaller but no less bright. It headed to the tower while Tilion waited at his ship, knowing that he could not be of any help. He followed the sad procession with his gaze. Elwing walked first, clutching in her hand the Silmaril she managed to protect from the darkness that had been reaching for it. After her walked Eönwë, with Tilion's cloak still wrapped around his shoulders. Tilion doubted he even realized he still had it... at least he didn't have to persuade Eönwë to keep it for now. The herald of Manwë cared only for his friend in this moment. Like Elwing, he was carrying a precious burden in his arms.

Eärendil hadn't wakened during the entire journey. His breath was even and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. If only he could sleep until everything is all right, Eönwë wished sadly. If he could wake and find Vingilot waiting for him in the harbour... If he could wake and see her waiting there... But the reality was like a dark weight pressing him down. Vingilot was destroyed, and Eärendil was blind. There will be no Star of Hope in the sky anymore... No sign to those in the Outer lands that the Valar had not forgotten them. And for Eärendil, no goal, no purpose... What will become of him, a blind bearer of light with no wings to bear it?

Eönwë sighed, and gently laid Eärendil on his bed. Lost in thought, he observed his face. So peaceful... How could he look so peaceful after all the horrors he had endured? The sweet oblivion of sleep... maybe his spirit was too exhausted to dream and relive the events. "Rest, my friend," Eönwë whispered. "Rest while you can..."

"You should rest too, my lord," a quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up. Elwing was still clutching the Silmaril, as if it represented everything that Eärendil was until now – hope, light. She didn't want to let go of that, Eönwë knew, but the decision was not hers. Her words reminded him of his weariness, however, and for once he admitted it.

"You are right, my lady... I just wish I could be here when he wakes," he sighed. But in that very moment he heard Manwë's voice in his mind, sounding very concerned. He bit his lip. "I must go. Please call me if he wakes. Send any bird and I will be here in a moment."

Elwing nodded.

He touched Eärendil's hand lying on the sheets and then turned to leave, knowing that his friend was in good hands.

"My lord..." Elwing's voice stopped him, and he turned.

"I... thank you for my husband's life," she said quietly. He smiled gently, and left. As soon as the doors closed, he allowed his shoulders to slump. This weariness... was it the Singing that exhausted him so? Or the darkness that had sapped his strength? It was not his physical form that was weary, but the very core of his spirit that felt like it bore a heavy burden, mixed with grief...

"Eönwë!"

He lifted his head immediately. "My lord," he bowed. "I... didn't expect you right here..."

"Where else should I be? I sensed you were in mortal danger, but there was a veil of darkness around you, and I couldn't sense where you were." Concern was clear in the Elder King's voice, and he frowned even more when he saw Eönwë's state. There were bloody bandages around his wrists. The wounds of an Ainu should heal quickly, but it seemed Eönwë had no strength left even for that. "What happened to you?" Manwë asked quietly.

Eönwë looked into Manwë's eyes, and for the first time since Vingilot returned empty, he let his grief show. He revealed to Manwë, in his thoughts, everything that happened, all his fears and worries for his friend...

"Ungweliantë..." Manwë's eyes darkened when he saw her death through Eönwë's eyes, and the battle of Eönwë's song against her poison. "Oh, my hawk..." he whispered, and took Eönwë into his embrace.

The Maia finally gave up to his weariness, and leaned on Manwë. "She is dead," he whispered brokenly. "Why can't it be a glorious victory?" Manwë said nothing, but Eönwë himself knew best that no victory is glorious. Every victory comes with a price. He wished he was the one bearing it, and not Eärendil... "What will be of Gil-Estel? Vingilot is destroyed, and he... he is blind... And I promised him that everything will be good again..."

"Shhh, my hawk," Manwë stroked his hair. "Tell me where Vingilot is, and I will see what can be done. Maybe she is not destroyed beyond repair... just like Eärendil's sight..."

Eönwë imagined the place and its location the best he could, and Manwë nodded. "I will send my eagles for her. But you need to rest."

Before Eönwë could say anything, a giant eagle had taken the Elder King's place, cradling him gently in his huge talons. The eagle spread his majestic wings and took off. It seemed just a short while before he landed in the halls of Ilmarin. Eönwë was already half-asleep, but he felt warm hands carrying him instead of talons. He opened his eyes, and wanted to protest, but one look from Manwë silenced him. The worry in his eyes matched his own for Eärendil, and Eönwë realized just how concerned the Elder King was when he sensed the darkness enveloping him. He relaxed, and let himself be carried to his bed.

But he could not rest... Too many memories of the last day, and worries for the days ahead were on his mind. "What if Eärendil wakes while I'm not with him?" he protested.

"Elwing is at his side," Manwë said soothingly. "And he will sleep long, I think. His strength is almost spent." As is yours, he thought to himself. "When he wakes, he will need a friend who is not dropping with weariness," he smiled gently.

Eönwë sighed, but the worries from his mind would not lift.

Manwë touched his temple gently. "Sleep," he whispered. "Forget your worries for a while..." And such was the might of the Elder King that Eönwë's eyes closed immediately, and he fell deep into the soothing waves of a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Sleep, my son..." Manwë whispered with a sad smile, and then left to call all his eagles to Ilmarin.

Soon the sound of many mighty wings rustled in the air above the Timeless halls, and a squadron of great eagles took off, led by the greatest of them with a crown of feathers on his head.

It was already getting dark when they returned. But no Star of Hope would rise in the sky today. The light of the Silmaril remained in the white tower, shining like a flicker of hope where it was most needed. The silhouettes of the eagles were dark against the sky, carrying pieces of white wood and silver metal in their talons. Manwë, for he it was in the form of the greatest eagle, carried the scratched figure of the swan, carefully cleaned of cobwebs. They landed in the grove near Elwing's tower, and put their burdens down in a clearing among the white trees. The trees whispered sadly in the wind, singing a lament about broken wings. The eagles took off, stroking their leaves with soft feathers. Only one of them remained, and in the next moment Manwë stood in the middle of the clearing, and called in his mind.

The air shimmered, and danced with little stars. The stars formed a figure... Varda Elentári stood there, looking with tears in her eyes at the remains of the proud ships.

"How is Eönwë?" her spouse asked when she appeared fully.

"Still sleeping," she answered. "As is Eärendil." It seemed she was keeping watch over them in Manwë's absence.

The Elder King nodded. "Let's see what we can do with the ship," he sighed.

In a flash of gentle green light, like the sun shining through the leaves, Yavanna appeared, followed by Aulë her spouse in the reflections of many-faceted gems and crystals.

That night, the Powers worked, and the small clearing shimmered with thousands of points of light. By hands just as by Song, they mended the pieces of the old wood to the new planks taken from the fallen trees in the grove. Many had fallen the night when Ungoliant's claws tore the wings of the ship... By hands and by Song Aulë shaped the pieces of glass and mithril to connect with the wood. By hands and by Song Varda wove the wings from dust of stars and the feathers of swans from Alqualondë.

Then, for a moment, everything silenced. A ship stood in the middle of the clearing, the proud prow looking at the trees with the eyes of a swan. But was it Vingilot? Manwë put his hand on the helm and closed his eyes. He heard a faint song in the wood. About hope, about stars and flying... He smiled. Yes, it was Vingilot. Most of the wood has been replaced, but the spirit of the ship remained the same, and the trees in the grove echoed her song. Then Varda lifted her hand in blessing, and the wings of the ship spread in all their pristine length. Up she flew, over the treetops, and landed into the rocking waves of the Sea, in her harbour.

She waited. She wanted to fly, to spread her wings and fly across the sky bearing the light of hope. But there was no light to bear. There was no hand to guide her. She missed Eärendil... For a moment it seemed as if a hand from the seawater gently stroked the wings of the ship. Ulmo was there, although he hid his presence from those in the tower. He also missed his favourite Mariner...

In the court of Gil-Galad, Elrond looked at the sky. He was looking for something, trying to find a star that did not appear on the sky tonight. In Númenor, Elros had the same worried expression on his face when he looked to the stars, wondering what could make their father to abandon his nightly journey. A bad omen, the people of Middle-earth thought, when Gil-Estel didn't appear in the sky. The Valar are angry with us... they have turned their face away from us...

But Eärendil knew nothing of it, lost in deep sleep that allowed the wounds of his body to heal. What of the wounds of his soul, no one could tell...

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

A/N: This should be the last chapter, but I had to devide it in two parts for its length. I will post the second part within a week.

10. The news of a finch

Tap. Tap, tap.

Tap.

Tap, tap.

Slowly Eönwë opened his eyes. Bright rays of the sun fell through the window. It was almost noon, but which day, he could not tell.

Tap tap tap.

The Ainur rarely slept, and his mind was slow to catch up with events, still a little disoriented from the unusual rest. He looked around, searching for the source of the sound.

Tap tap.

A finch sat at the windowsill, looking at him with impatient beady eyes. The little bird seemed content that it finally got his attention. It ruffled its feathers first, and when it was sure that Eönwë was fully awake, it chirped, "Elwing sends for you," and flew away.

Elwing...

The realization struck Eönwë. Eärendil was awake! He opened the window and leaped into the air, the golden hair flying in the wind. Before he began to fall, arms turned to wings, stroking the wind in a graceful curve. How long did he sleep, he wondered. Eärendil was awake! He flew like a golden arrow, flew to the white tower.

There, dancing on the waves like an impatient horse ready to run, a white ship waited for the Mariner. Eönwë almost didn't believe his eyes. It was Vingilot! He made a sharp turn in the air and touched the ship lightly with his wing. The hawk's cry was joyous as he soared in the sky again. Vingilot! It was really Vingilot! Did Eärendil know? Surely he felt it... but... he was not here. In one foolish hope Eönwë thought that when the ship has been repaired, everything is going to be just like before, and he would find Eärendil on Vingilot's deck, ready to sail. It was not so, however...

Eönwë circled around the tower a few times, and then landed before the door. He knocked, but nobody answered. He waited for a while, and then he entered with an unpleasant feeling. The feeling grew as he climbed the stairs. Soon he heard voices. Or... just Elwing's voice...

"She is dead. The darkness is no more, my love... you are home," she repeated over and over.

Eönwë jumped the last steps, but stopped before the door and hesitated for a moment. Then he knocked lightly and opened it without waiting for a reply.

The picture he found was one he feared, and yet expected. Eärendil was curled on the bed, shivering. Elwing was near him, repeating the soothing words. She did not touch him, although her hand was just a few inches from his shoulder, hesitating, but not daring to cross the line. She noticed Eönwë and turned her gaze to him. She had been weeping, the Maia realized.

Quietly he came nearer. He knew now that, unlike the repairing of the ship, there had been no miracle here. Eärendil was still blind. He thought they never left the dark cobweb, that Elwing's touch was just an illusion of his tortured mind. Eönwë felt a lump in his throat when Elwing looked at him pleadingly. He nodded, wishing he could give her some assurance that he would indeed help. He stepped closer, but did not touch his friend.

"Eärendil," he called quietly. "It's me, Eönwë..."

But the Mariner did not react to his calling, did not perceive him, although Eönwë put all his authority into his voice.

The Maia sighed and knelt at the side of the bed. "Oh, my friend..." he whispered and reached his hand to Eärendil, but stopped just before touching him.

"It's dark, I know," he continued quietly. "But it's not the Unlight, trust me, please. You showed us the way on Vingilot, and together, we defeated the darkness. You pierced her with your light, don't you remember? Trust me, Gil-Estel. I am your friend. Remember the light..." his voice broke.

But Eärendil turned his head slightly. "Eönwë?" he whispered, and reached out with his hand, weakly.

"Yes, my friend," Eönwë immediately took his hand, and squeezed it encouragingly.

Eärendil sobbed. "It's dark... Why is it so dark?"

Eönwë gulped, and looked at Elwing.

She averted her face. "You... you are blind, my love," she whispered brokenly.

Eärendil turned his head, following her voice. "Blind?" he asked weakly, as if to assure himself, but fearing the answer in the same time. Elwing however, was not able to repeat it.

"Ungoliant is dead," Eönwë said quietly. "But her poison..."

Eärendil shivered. "Blind... In darkness..."

Eönwë embraced him. "The darkness is gone. You brought light to it."

"But... I cannot see it." Eärendil tried to turn away from him, but Eönwë held him firmly.

"We don't know if the damage is permanent. There is still hope."

"Hope..." Eärendil echoed faintly.

"Yes, hope," Eönwë smiled through the tears. "Did you not bear it every night?"

"I did. But now..."

"You will again," Eönwë said firmly. "For Middle-earth. For your sons. And... for yourself."

Eärendil sobbed, and then wept in Eönwë's arms for the light he had lost, frightened by the image of eternal darkness more than by any foe. Eönwë held him, and rocked him gently until he fell asleep in exhaustion.

Elwing remained at her husband's side, and stroked his hair. When she saw he was asleep, she sighed shakily. "If he fears anything at all, it's the darkness," she whispered. "But now he cannot see light..."

Eönwë nodded gravely, remembering the first thing he perceived after he woke. There was light from the window... Manwë left the curtains open, and maybe there was a reason. Eönwë imagined waking and finding himself in darkness again. Maybe he would have panicked just like Eärendil had, to find himself in eternal darkness... He shivered, and held Eärendil closer.

A few hours passed before Eärendil wakened again, and not once did Eönwë leave his side.

"You are home... I'm with you, and Elwing is here too," he spoke gently as soon as he felt the Mariner waking. Despite that, he felt the tension in Eärendil's body, the short seizure of panic when he opened his eyes and saw nothing. But Eönwë's voice and the words he spoke helped him realize the truth. Not relief, but weary acceptance loosened the knots of panic.

"Home... and blind," he whispered. Not bitterly, only as if reminding himself. It was quiet for some time, as neither Eönwë nor Elwing had an answer for that.

Eärendil closed his eyes, as there was no difference to keeping them opened. He tried to sit up, but was still too weak from his wounds and the poison. Eönwë helped him, but Eärendil paid no attention to him. He turned his head, as if listening to something.

"Vingilot," he whispered disbelievingly, and his face brightened. "She was broken... destroyed in my dream. It was a bad dream..."

Eönwë smiled. "She was, but is repaired now, and awaits you."

"But..." Eärendil averted his face. "But I can't..." he did not finish the thought. "Is she really repaired?" he asked instead, already knowing the answer as clearly as he could hear the song of the ship.

"She is," Eönwë affirmed. Elwing had tears in her eyes. She had not left Eärendil's side, and she could not hear the song, so the news was a ray of light in the darkness for her. But even more was it a light to Eärendil. Determination appeared on his face.

In that moment Eönwë knew that the poison had not broken Eärendil. He recognized his friend, who refused to give up no matter what happened, who sometimes needed a friend to remind him not to take more on his shoulders than he could bear. And Eönwë was prepared to do just that.

"You will sail again," he said firmly. "But first you need to rest and get your strength back."

"...and eat," Elwing added, already on the way to the kitchen.

Eärendil turned his head once more in the direction where Vingilot's song came from, but then he nodded with a resigned sigh, and sank back to the pillows.

"Elros, I am afraid..."

The king of Númenor turned to his wife, and took her cold hand into his. "Don't listen to the people, my love. I worry for my father, but it is not a bad omen for us. Something has simply delayed him..."

"It has been weeks," the queen sighed. "And the people will see it as a bad omen if our child is born without the blessing of the Star of Hope," she protectively put her hand on her bulging belly.

Elros sighed, and looked at the sky. "Where are you, father?" he whispered.

In the next weeks, Eönwë visited in the white tower as often as he could. Never more did Eärendil mention his blindness. He had been taking short walks. At first just the distance from the bedroom to the kitchen was too much, but soon he walked on the shore – always the same route, which became familiar to him, ending at Vingilot. He walked it with such certainty that if one didn't know, he would not realize that Eärendil could not see where he was going. Only when something changed in the path, when the Sea washed ashore a log or loosened a stone, did he stumble. Every day he spent more time on Vingilot, learning the position of everything on the deck without the use of sight. "I will sail soon," he always told Eönwë when he joined him on the ship, and the Maia nodded. "I know you will."

But when the day came, there was no joy in it. "Allow me to go with you," Eönwë tried again, but Eärendil shook his head. "I'm sorry my friend. I need to do this alone."

Eönwë knew he was right, but he also knew he would try to persuade him until he actually took off. It did not take long, however. Eärendil headed to his ship with a purposeful, quick step, and did not waste time looking back.

In the moment the white ship took off, almost shaking with eagerness, Eönwë looked as if he might fly after it, and just for a moment, his shape danced somewhere between the hawk and the warrior. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, though. Elwing shook her head slowly, and Eönwë sighed. "I know... he needs to do it alone..."

Elwing sighed again, and looked Eönwë into the eyes. "It is permanent, isn't it?" she asked suddenly.

"We do not know..." Eönwë began, but Elwing shook her head. "It has been weeks already. He may be the bearer of Hope, but I am not."

Eönwë looked after the ship, disappearing on the horizon. "He... he is strong," he said, but his own voice betrayed him.

Elwing sighed sadly. "He would be, if he could see just one ray of light. One little spark to free him from that darkness. He is still there, Eönwë. You are not with him every time he wakes from sleep into the bright light of the new day, and panics, for all he can see is darkness. You are not the one to assure him every time that there is light – but not within his reach. He has nightmares, and in eternal darkness, it is so hard to drive them away. Before you, he tries to be strong. But I know what he cries out in his sleep. I fear the light will fade soon even from his memories, and then..." she shivered.

Suddenly it seemed to Eönwë that the light of the Silmaril at the sky did not shine as brightly as he remembered it. It was hard to recognize it among the other stars. "No," he whispered. "I will not allow this!" he leaped into the air and sped away as a hawk, not in the direction where the white ship sailed, but in the direction where Manwe and Varda sat on their thrones in Ilmarin.

It was dark everywhere. With practiced movements, Eärendil guided the ship across the sky. He listened, trying to discern the way he should take. The faint clinking sound that he rarely perceived before were the crystal vessels of the other stars, sailing in their given and steady paths. The Sea whispered below. Just the waves caused by the wind, with white crests of foam that sounded like the rustling leaves in a forest of aspens in autumn. It was not the sound of the waves against the shore yet. He felt the brush of air on his face. It was too high here to be the salty sea-breeze, but there was a faint hint of a warmer wind – the Sea was growing colder more slowly than the land, and while the colder wind from the land streamed to the open sea near the surface, at this height the warm wind rose and hurried to take its place. Eärendil adjusted the course slightly, and followed the wind.

There were sounds and smells and the feeling of the wind. There was no light. He tried to not think about it. For weeks he tried to occupy his mind with learning to sail again, so that he would not have to think about it. But now, when the course was steady, and the flight peaceful, when he finally achieved his goal, there was nothing to keep him from the unwanted thoughts. The Silmaril was in its place. He knew it, for he had put it himself into the lantern, the familiar smooth surface of the many-faceted jewel warm to the touch like a living thing. He was bringing the light of Hope... but not to himself. He could not see its light, and the darkness lay heavily upon his soul. Every night it returned in nightmares and threatened to devour him. Every time he woke, the nightmare continued, for there was no light to dispel it. He tried to hide it before Eönwë. But Elwing suspected something, he knew. In the loneliness of his heavenly path, where nobody could see him, he allowed two tears to fall from his eyes. The light of the Silmaril must light them with thousands of reflections, and yet all he felt was their salty taste. Eternity stretched before him. He will sail every night. He will be the Flammifer, the Messanger of Hope. But for himself, there was no hope left. Could he still bring it to the others? Doubt was in his soul.

"Yes, I can do it," Manwë said, and looked at Eönwë intently. "But is it really what you want?"

Manwë saw that nothing he could say would sway the Maia in his determination. He sighed heavily. "Do you... want to fly for one last time?"

A shade of hesitation appeared on Eönwë's face. But then he shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Do it now... Father." He looked Manwë straight into the eyes.

The Lord of winds nodded, and Eönwë spread his arms to became wings for the last time. Manwë stroked his soft feathers regretfully, and then, closing his own eyes, covered the eyes of the hawk with his hand.

The golden bird shivered slightly, but did not wince. But when Manwë withdrew his hand, he staggered, and beat with his wings into the empty air.

"Shhhh..." Manwë embraced him, and held him until the bird calmed. Tears were in the eyes of the King of Arda. "Easy, my little hawk..."

The King of Númenor stood at the window, eagerly looking at the sky. For weeks Gil-Estel could not be seen. But this night... This night was special. This night his heir would be born. Elros was not allowed to the chambers of his wife, and so he stood on the balcony, and looked at the stars – a sight that used to calm him when the Star of Hope appeared in the sky... the sight that gave him strength after his way separated from the one of his brother... until a few weeks ago, when the star he sought disappeared. Now he watched the sky anxiously, needing its light more then ever. The queen has been sickly in the last days, and he was afraid for her, and for the child. It would be a bad omen if the Star of Hope did not shine on the birth of his heir. A bad omen for the entire realm, but what he wanted to see most in this moment of anxiety, was not just a star, but his father...

He held his breath. There was a star! It did not belong to any of Varda's constellations, but sailed the heavenly streams in a free path. But it was too pale, too weak to be the star of his father. Elros squinted his eyes, unsure if he should believe his sight. The light was somehow familiar, close to his heart... but it did not give him hope.

The star crossed the sky, and the time passed. The king paced to and fro. Had something gone wrong? How long yet? His anxiety grew. And it seemed to him that the star weakened on its journey. It was getting harder and harder to discern it in the sky. And still no news...

Suddenly, like a newly lit beacon, hope flared in his heart. His gaze was driven up, and there, he saw a flash of brilliant light. Gil-Estel shone brightly, and the light was like the memory of ages long past, the reflection of the Two Trees before the Darkening. Hope returned... And in that moment, weeping of a child sounded from the chamber behind. For a moment Elros stood frozen, looking at the star, but then he turned and hurried inside.

A while later, the king stood at the window, clutching a whimpering bundle on his arms. "I have a son..." he proclaimed to the stars with a hint of astonishment in his voice. "His name is Vardamir, for Elbereth is the one who created the stars..."

In the sky, Gil-Estel glimmered, and in that moment Elros Tar-Minyatur knew that his father was looking at him. He smiled. "Your grandson, father..." he whispered.

Manwë's sight was turned to the distance. "The Star of Hope returned to the sky," he whispered to the hawk in his arms.

"That's right," Manwë nodded. "What if you return to the form that he could shake hands with?"

"No but," Manwë silenced him, and suddenly the authority of the King of Arda was in his voice. Eönwë knew better than to disobey that, and so the soft feathers turned to golden hair and silver armour.

Eönwë laughed in relief, but then grew serious again. "For a moment... I knew how he felt. The darkness returned..."

Manwë nodded heavily. "But now he has the sight of a Maia, just like my eagles. He can see everything on the ground below him when he sails through the night. He can see his sons... and their descendants."

"Yes," the Elder King nodded. "Elros's son, and many more that will come. You gave him a great gift, Eönwë."

Tha Maia smiled, and quickly stood up. "I must go! I need to be on the shore when he returns!" For a moment he hesitated, when he wanted to leap into the air to be there quickly... and realized it would mean to face the darkness again. He gave a last shy smile to Manwë, and ran away.

The Lord of Arda watched him, until he disappeared in the gate. "You have given him a great gift, my son..." he whispered. "But if it will be a gift or a curse to him... that yet remains to be seen..."

*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-* THE END *-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*-.,_,.-*

A/N: If it was a gift or a curse at the end, you can read in my story Gil-Estel, and the sequel Hope of a Star. I would like to thank my friends Lirulin and openmeadow for the roleplays that inspired this story (especially Lirulin who usually plays Eönwë in them), and big thanks belong also to Cairistiona for her help with English grammar and other things.

This story closes the cycle of my longer stories about Eärendil, although it's chronologically first in the series. My next story will be probably about Aragorn. Also, I used some theories that are not entirely canon in this story, so I will explain them here:

About Eärendil and Eönwë: It is not said that they were friends, but neither is said that they weren't. They are two indirect hints about their friendship: 1)Eönwë was the first person, who greeted Eärendil after his arrival to Valinor, and 2) they fought in the War of Wrath together. Eönwë led the forces of Valinor there, while Eärendil came flying with the eagles, and defeated the mightiest of Morgoth's dragons Ancalagon.

About wights: the word Wight is not mentioned in Silmarillion. So it's a non-canon term that me and my friend Lirulin use for these creatures (see his profile for more stories about them). The exact passage about Ungoliant in the Silmarillion is: "The Eldar knew not whence she came; but some have said that in ages long before she descended from the darkness that lies about Arda, when Melkor first looked down in envy upon the Kingdom of Manwë, and that in the beginning she was one of those that he corrupted to his service," and "A cloak of darkness she wove about them when Melkor and Ungoliant set forth; an Unlight, in which things seemed to be no more, and which eyes could not pierce, for it was void."
Our interpretation of it is, that she didn't come from the Halls of Ilúvatar, like the Ainur, but from the Void - the darkness about Arda. Her possession of the Unlight (opposing to the Flame Imperishable) is a kind of evidence for it. But everybody is free to make his own interpretation.

About Manwë and Eönwë: I like to portray their relationship like father-son. In Tolkien's earlier writings, Maiar are portrayed as the children of Valar. Manwë's son Fionwë became Eönwë, his herald, later when the idea of the Children of Valar was abandoned. But still I like the idea of them being a father and son, if not physically, then spiritually.

About Eönwë's hawk form: It's not canon either. It was inspired by a great story by TevildoCat "Envoi", and it seemed fitting to me that Manwë as a lord of eagles could turn into one, while his son/herald would be also a bird of prey.

A Hawk and a Star by Mirach