AelKennyr Rhiano
Olwe came awake with a gasp and a start, sitting up suddenly, his head filed with the harsh, triumphant laughter of the Voice ringing, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. His eyes looked past Elenwe, unseeing, drawn to the sliver of starlight filtering in through his cabin window. He swung his legs over the side of the bed quickly, too quickly, and hissed as pain streaked through his stomach and chest muscles and over the arm that he wrapped so protectively around himself in the dream. He looked, half expecting to find the fabric of the sleeve slashed and torn. Nothing. But he looked at his wrists and saw the dried, blood on one, where it had been slashed earlier.
Slowly, grunting with the effort, he rose and started to cross the room, to the door of cabin. Without a sideways glance, he raised an hand, as though to gesture Elenwe to silence, though, in truth, he had no idea if she uttered a word. The blanket with which the two Teleri had wrapped the elven lord slid off him as he rose and pooled at his feet on the floor. He reached the door, a look of dread determination on his face as he turned the doorknob and left his cabin, ascending to the deck of the graceful swanship.
Dimly, Olwe was aware of Nole's presence on the deck, Elenwe's somewhere behind him, but all his concentration was on the skies above. The moon was quicly completing its journey across the night sky, steered by Lord Tilion. Olwe's mouth curved into a gentle smile at the thought of his Beloved Maia. But the smile quickly faded, as his eyes scanned the sky for the ship of Vingilot, the morning star, steered by the husband of Elwing the White.
It was nowhere to be found. Olwe gasped and felt all the air rush out of his lungs. He leaned forward on the railing of the ship, grasping it, white-knuckled. The morning star was gone. There, just beyond the horizon, was the faintest of rosy streaks, betokening the coming mornting. The Lord of Alqualonde dropped his gaze, his head suddenly heavy. The Voice spoke not a word in his head. It was still, waiting, eager to taste the Teleri Lord's desperation. "Gone,' whispered Olwe, numb for a moment as the impact of the disappearance of the morning star hit him. "Gone," he repeated again, a little louder. "It was like the Voice said," he spoke to no one and everyone. Then, louder, with an hand pointing to where the morning star should have been, he repeated, "It is gone from the sky. Look, the morning star has been taken from the skies themselves!"
How his companions responded, Olwe did not know, for a despair, greater than the one that seized him after the Kinslaying, possessed his being, and he dropped to his knees and then onto his hands, on the very deck of the ship. "Blessed Eru,' he cried, his voice torn with fear, with loss, with grief. He closed his eyes, his head hanging down, his breath ragged. "Blessed Eru, do not leave us in darkness," he said, a cold deeper and sharper than any caused by a chill wind stole into the very marrow of his bones. He pushed back into a kneeling positiong and looked up into the lightening sky. "No, no, Blessed Eru! I beseech thee. Do not leave thy children in darkness, without hope."
Inside his head, the voice purred with satisfaction at his despair, but he paid it no heed, so great was his desperation. "Save us, I beg you." Olwe paused, and raised his arms in a pleading gesture. "Save my people, please, please, Father of All. Save all your Children. " Tears glittered in his eyes. "My own life is nothing, nothing. I will lay it aside, like a worn coat, if it is thy will."
A chill wind rippled across the ship, ruffling Olwe's hair. "Mighty Manwe, please, hear my words. I give myself to the Will of the Valar, but please, please, I beg on my bended knees, save the Children of Illuvatar. See my people home. I've failed, I've failed, but cast your eyes into the mists, find my people and see them home."
Then Olwe put his face into his hands and wept for his people, for the disppearance of the morning ship, for his lost people.
> Next > Next Morning Star
Slowly, grunting with the effort, he rose and started to cross the room, to the door of cabin. Without a sideways glance, he raised an hand, as though to gesture Elenwe to silence, though, in truth, he had no idea if she uttered a word. The blanket with which the two Teleri had wrapped the elven lord slid off him as he rose and pooled at his feet on the floor. He reached the door, a look of dread determination on his face as he turned the doorknob and left his cabin, ascending to the deck of the graceful swanship.
Dimly, Olwe was aware of Nole's presence on the deck, Elenwe's somewhere behind him, but all his concentration was on the skies above. The moon was quicly completing its journey across the night sky, steered by Lord Tilion. Olwe's mouth curved into a gentle smile at the thought of his Beloved Maia. But the smile quickly faded, as his eyes scanned the sky for the ship of Vingilot, the morning star, steered by the husband of Elwing the White.
It was nowhere to be found. Olwe gasped and felt all the air rush out of his lungs. He leaned forward on the railing of the ship, grasping it, white-knuckled. The morning star was gone. There, just beyond the horizon, was the faintest of rosy streaks, betokening the coming mornting. The Lord of Alqualonde dropped his gaze, his head suddenly heavy. The Voice spoke not a word in his head. It was still, waiting, eager to taste the Teleri Lord's desperation. "Gone,' whispered Olwe, numb for a moment as the impact of the disappearance of the morning star hit him. "Gone," he repeated again, a little louder. "It was like the Voice said," he spoke to no one and everyone. Then, louder, with an hand pointing to where the morning star should have been, he repeated, "It is gone from the sky. Look, the morning star has been taken from the skies themselves!"
How his companions responded, Olwe did not know, for a despair, greater than the one that seized him after the Kinslaying, possessed his being, and he dropped to his knees and then onto his hands, on the very deck of the ship. "Blessed Eru,' he cried, his voice torn with fear, with loss, with grief. He closed his eyes, his head hanging down, his breath ragged. "Blessed Eru, do not leave us in darkness," he said, a cold deeper and sharper than any caused by a chill wind stole into the very marrow of his bones. He pushed back into a kneeling positiong and looked up into the lightening sky. "No, no, Blessed Eru! I beseech thee. Do not leave thy children in darkness, without hope."
Inside his head, the voice purred with satisfaction at his despair, but he paid it no heed, so great was his desperation. "Save us, I beg you." Olwe paused, and raised his arms in a pleading gesture. "Save my people, please, please, Father of All. Save all your Children. " Tears glittered in his eyes. "My own life is nothing, nothing. I will lay it aside, like a worn coat, if it is thy will."
A chill wind rippled across the ship, ruffling Olwe's hair. "Mighty Manwe, please, hear my words. I give myself to the Will of the Valar, but please, please, I beg on my bended knees, save the Children of Illuvatar. See my people home. I've failed, I've failed, but cast your eyes into the mists, find my people and see them home."
Then Olwe put his face into his hands and wept for his people, for the disppearance of the morning ship, for his lost people.
> Next > Next Morning Star