Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 22/Twenty-Two: The Meeting

It had been a mere three and a half weeks since the funeral, but as the wedding day approached, Métimafoa was filled with anticipation, not mourning. It is strange, he thought, that despite the recent nature of her funeral, it was more of the closing of the book, then starting the epilogue. Though, I suppose it makes sense; I did mourn her for a hundred years, but even those I miss her, and I think I always will, I am more than ready to stop being alone. He looked at where Rainëwen slept in the bed next to him, and could not help but smile as the rays of sunlight began to rise over her side of the bed and illuminated her yellow hair into a net of the finest gold that the gods themselves could weave. He just lay there watching her, for nearly an hour, until the sunlight rose enough to shine through her eyelids and cause them to flicker open and focus on him.

"Could you shut the curtains?" she asked, rolling over and drawing the blankets to go back to sleep, which drew a chuckle out of him.

"I could, but we are on the morning shift at the tavern, so we have to get up anyway."

She grunted in response and sat up, her blonde hair in tangles, and the presence of sleep evident in her grey-blue pools. "And the tea isn't made yet? What do I keep you around for?" She teased, standing and walking to the kitchen.

He arose and followed her, placing a gentle kiss on top of her head as she filled up the tea kettle at the sink, before walking over and grabbing the tea leaves from their canister on the window sill. "That would be my sincerity and good looks, Rainëwen." He pulled two mugs out of the cupboard to his right and set them on the centre aisle. "And I keep you around for you dazzling charm and ceaseless wit." As he split the loose leaves up between the mugs, he smirked and concluded: "Tis why we make such a successful team."

She rolled her eyes, placing the kettle on the fire she had lit in their small stone hearth. "So," she said, letting the word drift off into nothingness before continuing. "I suppose we should finalise the last details of the wedding before we leave for work today."

"Why? We have already gone over it a hundred times. I think we get the gist of it, at least between the two of us. And besides, we still have time; the rings will not be done for another week yet, and we will probably have a day or two after that before we will wed. "

She rolled her eyes and said, "Only you would think overpreparation is a bad thing. "

They bantered back and forth for an hour and it was only when Métimafoa looked at his hastily built sundial that he realised the length of their discussion. "Rainëwen, we have to be at the tavern in three minutes."

She shrugged "Moorglen is not going to be pleased, but he'll also be drunk, so no harm; no foul." Métimafoa put the mugs into the sink and grabbed their coats. Helping Rainëwen as a gesture of chivalry, he opened the door and shut it behind her when she followed him out. They began to run along the river bank as they sprinted toward the town and tavern and the day that awaited them.

. . . 

The sound of the door opening was muffled by the falling rain and laughter of the two young lovers, Rainëwen and Métimafoa. Metimafoa let out another burst of laughter as he asked: "Who knew that the mayor was such a blast at a party?"

Rainëwen restrained her amusement behind a smile. "I certainly did not, but I now know where all of the city's taxes are going." She walked over to the kitchen and lit a candle on the table with a spark from her fingers.

Métimafoa smirked, "So, what did you think of your sandwich for break?"

"I actually didn't get a break today, Mister Estelondo, because someone else took too long on theirs. Where did you go, anyway?"