Earendil
Círdan can sense something is up. He must see my inability to focus as I tell him what I want and he draws up plans.
“Is something on your mind, Ëarendil the Tall?”
I trace my pencil on the paper. “My wife is…quite disturbed at the prospect of me taking such a long journey.” I wince inwardly at the understatement.
Círdan pauses mid-stroke. “Oh. My sincere apologies, Ëarendil the Tall. If you do not mind it, may I express my surprise that she only knew…say, today? of your voyage?”
“No.” I snap, and then realize how ridiculous I sound. “I mean, yes, you may express surprise, but I just did not find a suitable moment to inform Elwing of my departure.”
Silence.
I look out the window and sigh inwardly. But when I turn my head back to Círdan, he is not looking at me with disgust. In fact, he isn’t looking at me at all. His golden head is bent over the paper, and his pencil is flying a mile a minute. He’s on to something. At least one of us is.
I leave him to it.
YOU ARE READING
Wanderer
FantasyShe never dreamed that she would have to give him up. He only dreamed of going. Earendil the Mariner is in love with the sea. It dominates his waking his hours and his dreams. It's beginning to take over his life. He's got to choose what's more impo...
