It's been a year and three days since I last posted a drabble. ._. I'm pathetic. Sorry, guys! (Though you probably weren't dying of anticipation.)
This is (probably) the final Elwing drabble. I think parts of this might come across as somewhat comical, but honestly, turning into a bird is a pretty unusual event, even in Middle-earth. XD I wrote it as seriously as possible. Also, I'm not sure how much Elwing knew about her husband's prior intent to reach Valinor, so, yeah.
Word limits are hard to deal with. I'm always knocking the limit with these, and that's after whittling them down.
#62: I Am Flying!
I know that in reality it has only been moments, but time is stretching eternal, like the sea, like the cold, like the relentless thump thump thump of my heart. My hands and feet are growing numb and useless. A wave swamps me, and I choke on saltwater, coughing and spitting to clear my lungs. The ocean is getting rougher. How much more time can I have left?
Please just let it end.
A bigger wave than any I've seen comes into view. Automatically, I take a deep breath and brace myself; my vision's so blurred with stinging salt that for a second it actually looks as though there's the form of a person in the wave.
But before it can crash over me, I begin to rise, borne up on a new wave crest. The wave moves higher, higher, lifting me unnaturally, and in spite of myself, something like hope springs in my breast. Is it-
A voice speaks, calm and sonorous, and the Silmaril about my neck flickers with white radiance. "Do not be afraid, Elwing."
Can it really be the Lord of Waters himself? Before I can say anything, there's a sudden tingling, on my torso at first but then spreading outward, all over my arms and legs and face. It's such a peculiar change from the wet cold, but not painful. What's happening? I lift my arms up and find suddenly that they aren't arms at all.
Wings. Valar, I have wings.
And... and... oh, Valar, I'm a bird. Legs and feathers and everything. A bird. I try to say something, but it comes out only as a muffled squeak.
"Do not be afraid," the voice repeats. "It is I, Ulmo. Fly. Seek to the West and find your husband. Therein lies the only hope for all of Arda."
Then the wave in front of me melts harmlessly into the sea, and the wave bearing me up does the same.
Is this possible? I examine my body - it truly is that of a bird. Strangely, this suddenly becomes of minor importance in the face of something larger: I have a task now, given to me by Ulmo himself. But- if I can find Eärendil, how are we to set things right? Does Ulmo... does he mean for us to approach... the Valar?
Elrond and Elros's small faces appear before my eyes as if they're really there in front of me, and something inside twists and hardens all over again. Come what may, I must do this. For them. And that means finding Eärendil and fulfilling the task Ulmo has appointed.
Experimentally, I flap my wings, and in a moment, without even knowing how, I soar above the tossing waves. The feeling of flight is indescribable, and it might bring me joy if not for the heavy weight already on my soul.
I linger a moment in the air, looking back one last time at the cliffs in the distance. Then, resolutely, I turn westward.
