Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Professor Tolkien.

Beta reader: Cairistiona

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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

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