I own nothing.
The boat (or ship, as Eärendil insists on calling it) rocks back and forth, back and forth, and if she did not have so much else to think about, Elwing suspects she would be sick. On the sea, there is nothing for her to do. She can not even stare into the depths of the Silmaril, for he has wheedled it away from her.
After a long day, the sky is turning dusky red, and Elwing leans no the railing, staring out on the water. She struggles to dredge memories up in her mind—she had silver hair, she might have been laughing…
It hurts to remember. Elwing gives up after a moment. But she knows, deep in her bones, that Nimloth didn't love the sea either.