Disclaimer: I don’t own Middle-earth, however much I’d like to live there.
Cold pierced her very bones, and her nose and lungs burned with salty water as they longed for air, and she tumbled down, down into the depths of the Sea, dark but for the blinding, brilliant light of the cursed Jewel for which she had lost everything - her family, her homes, her sons...
And just when she thought she could not survive another moment, strange power encased her, and she rose with the Silmaril as a beacon on her breast, breaking through the waves on wide white wings.
Sirion burned behind her. Despairing, Elwing turned West, where somewhere Vingilot waited.