Daybreak Arrival

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 Cinnamon Raymaker and AelKennyr Rhiano

Onward, ever onward, flies Elwing, calling out every so often to the giant swan, Alqua, who is tracking their progress westward to the home of Olwe. Knowing she must be nearing the isle that she now considers her safe haven, Elwing peers ahead, her piercing bird gaze, through the heavy cloud cover in the hope that a sliver of sunlight will affirm her theory. The cold icy droplets of rain batter against her sleek feathered form as she begins her descent.

He spent a sleepless night after the talk with Estelin, and as dawn came, a thin grey sky, with clouds heavy and black, Olwe rises from his bed with a sigh, and shrugs into his hunting clothes.  He has been watching the weather, tracking the storms as there has been little else to take his mind from thoughts of his discourse with the Vala Ulmo, from the worry that gnaws at him as he still has heard nothing from his Cousin, Queen of the Sylvan elves.  Do not go to Sylvhara, Estelin had told him with the authority of a Vala. But how can he not go? How can he bear the silence from across the sea? A night has passed, and Elwing remains with the dwarf mother, Aztryd.  He settles the cloak about his shoulders, and deftly fastens the clasp.

After what seems forever, there comes into view the outline of a familiar looking coastline, together with the bright harbor lights of the Swanhaven, several leagues across the roughly churning waves ahead. Spirits rising, Elwing calls on her inner strength, and with renewed fervor, beats a path through the torrid weather, dreaming all the while of a hot bath and warm food and soft blankets.

The palace was quiet, still and quiet, as Olwe starts making his way down from his private chambers.  His brow furrows as he pauses on the second landing, and looks out over the expanse of the throne room.  For a moment, he can recall past days, seated upon the swan throne, the hall filled with the laughter and sometimes raucous voices of people who were well content with their life, their land, and he hopes, their king.  A thousand jokes were told in those days. A thousand recounts of the fish that escaped the nets, or the maid with the sea blue eyes, or the first steps of a babe. Now, there are only the ghosts of those times, walking in the memory of the Teleri king.

Calling out to Alqua to encourage the graceful beast, she banks left to beat a sway across the wave tops, grazing them with the tips of mighty wings as she fast approaches the shore. Skimming lower, and carefully and accurately judging the distance to the shore, she slows her pace and gracefully drags webbed feet through the water, slowing, slowing, until she reaches the safety of the inner harbor. Seeing her companion land safely beside her, she gracefully beats her wings and calls out to Alqua, "Rest well, my friend!"

Then she again lifts herself through the icy droplets of rain and heads for the palace balcony.  As she hovers above the balcony, she shimmers into her elven form. Bedraggled, cold, and absolutely drenched, she slips and slides her way across the balcony until she is out of the wind and rain. She must find her way to the room in which she knows her clothing is stored.   "Must, get dry! Must get warm," she chatters to herself as she shivers uncontrollably.

Olwe's feet touch the marble floor of the throne room just as the rains came pouring from the sky.  He looks up and across the room toward the balcony.  Another rain, another grey day. He turns in the direction of the kitchens, pausing to  look out across the smaller balcony in the direction of the harbor.  He stops, blue eyes widening, and stares, watching as a swan makes lazy circles, spiraling downward towards the waters of the dock. Alqua, he realizes. She has returned home. He continues to watch her as she descends, forgetting all about warmth, food, or remaining dry. He turns back in toward the throne room and hurriedly makes his way across to the larger balcony.

Elwing looks up on her way through the throne room to her own chambers and sees the familiar and welcome form of her uncle, King Olwe. On his part, he sees her and comes to a stop. Framed against the rain pouring forth from the skies, he takes in her bedraggled appearance, her body visibly shaking with tremors, her hair plastered to her head, and her breath expelling in warm puffs of mist. "Elwing," he says, and quickly unclasps his cloak to settle it about the delicate shoulders. "You should not have traveled in this storm," he admonishes as he rubs the serviceable woolen cloak across her bare arms.

"Greetings, Uncle," she gasps, appreciating the efforts of her uncle to remove the icy raindrops dripping from her form. "I had to return with Alqua immediately as there are strange happenings afoot at Aztryd's home. Indeed, Alqua was in mortal danger of being consumed by Aztryd's clan. I could not let that happen," she gasps, teetering on her feet.

Frowning with concern, Olwe reaches out and steadies his niece, looking down into her eyes. "Alqua in danger?" He starts to wrap an arm her and lead her across the throne room. "Come, we must get you warm.  You are soaked and chilled." The look in his eyes is one of old worry and uncertainty.  "What mean you about 'strange happenings?'"

 Elwing appreciates her uncle's concern and the look of worry in his brilliant blue eyes. She leans into the crook of his arm. "Uncle, all I can report is that Aztryd's home is devastated, the smell of charred remains pervades the air, her gammy was nowhere in sight, and the bustling clan home is almost silent. I do not know what to make of this."

Olwe's arm tightens around his niece protectively as he bobs his head at the news.  They walk in silence for a a few moments. "Charred?" he asks. "Did you see survivors? Are there survivors? What have they told you?" He leads them both in direction of the kitchen.  "Where is the little mother?"

Elwing nods her head tiredly and looks into her uncle's eyes, "There are survivors, Uncle. Several voices I heard. Several came back from a hunting party with food for the group. There may have been some I didn't see. Aztryd and Nizl are both safe. This I know as I listened to the voices before I left. All was calm. " Elwing lifts her head and takes a breath, looking around her.  Elwing hangs her head with exhaustion, teeth chattering and feet numb with cold.

Olwe open his mouth to ask another question, but feels the tremors run through his niece, beneath the cloak  in which she is wrapped.  He steers her toward the kitchen and opens the door. "I want to hear all you know, but that can wait, Elwing. Now  is the time for you to get warm, eat, and rest." He gestures for Elwing to proceed him into the room."I will stoke up the fire in the stoves and heat some of our port wine," he tells her, leading her to the table. "Then, rest for you, Elwing. We can speak of these matters after you have rested."

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