AelKennyr Rhiano
The wind off the water was still sharp and brittle as it teased its way about the nose and mouth, pulling at the cloak Olwe wore, seeking a way inside, to tease the warmth from the fur lining. Blue eyes scanned the waters beyond the mouth of the harbor. Soon, soon, the ice shall be melted enough to allow sailing again. His impatience itched him like a newly scabbed wound, and he worried at it, where it lurked in the back of his mind. Since Aztryd left to return home, the eternal home of the Teleri has been covered in a blanket of snow; winter storms, fierce and relentless, made sea travel impossible, and the days...and nights...were spent making plans for a departure from the Swanhaven that was pushed back again and again.
Beneath his feet, his boots crunched on ice as he walked the wooden planks of the docks. There sat Nole's ship, graceful and slender, silently waiting, now bobbing gently upon the water, and the motion heartened Olwe, for the movement of the boat was another sign that travel by sea would soon be theirs again. Shifting his cloak and ducking his head to press his mouth and nose against the fur, he breathed in the air as it passed through the pelt, feeling the warmth of his own breath puff against his achingly cold nose. He raised his eyes, keeping his lower face tucked against the fur collar and turned his steps toward the ship itself. Aboard, in the captain's cabin, the maps were spread out upon a finely polished table of oak, and there rested the notebook wherein the maritime navigational notations were captured in a fine, delicate hand. "We will go first to Sylvhara," he had told Nole, many times, many nights as the wind howled and the snow fell. Many days, as the skies were an ash grey, heavy with sleet and hail. He waited the long days, scanning the skies for the tiny smudge upon the horizon, growing larger, birdsize, heading directly for Alqualonde, but the days passed, and the nights too, and silence was the answer to Olwe's missive to his Cousin. He rose at the break of dawn, as the golden vessel under Arien's direction slipped over the lip of the horizon and watched the skies. He stepped out on the balcony under a sky blanketed by every star light by Eru's song save the one that promised hope to the elves...the morning star. But the scream of the wind was never gentled by the steady beat of snowy wings.
Now the snows had ceased, and the wind, exhausted, was a shadow of the fierce attacker it was the weeks before. Now, the skies above the Swanhaven reclaimed the blue of the sky. "Comet," he murmurs. "What does the silence mean?"
A loud splash of water pulled his attention away from the ship, and he turns around, one gloved hand reaching within the folds of his cloak for the short sword sheathed at his side. Blue eyes quickly skim over the surface of the waters and then stop as Olwe caught his breath. Recovering himself, Olwe knelt and bowed his head, his voice hushes as he says, "My Lord Ulmo."
> Next
Beneath his feet, his boots crunched on ice as he walked the wooden planks of the docks. There sat Nole's ship, graceful and slender, silently waiting, now bobbing gently upon the water, and the motion heartened Olwe, for the movement of the boat was another sign that travel by sea would soon be theirs again. Shifting his cloak and ducking his head to press his mouth and nose against the fur, he breathed in the air as it passed through the pelt, feeling the warmth of his own breath puff against his achingly cold nose. He raised his eyes, keeping his lower face tucked against the fur collar and turned his steps toward the ship itself. Aboard, in the captain's cabin, the maps were spread out upon a finely polished table of oak, and there rested the notebook wherein the maritime navigational notations were captured in a fine, delicate hand. "We will go first to Sylvhara," he had told Nole, many times, many nights as the wind howled and the snow fell. Many days, as the skies were an ash grey, heavy with sleet and hail. He waited the long days, scanning the skies for the tiny smudge upon the horizon, growing larger, birdsize, heading directly for Alqualonde, but the days passed, and the nights too, and silence was the answer to Olwe's missive to his Cousin. He rose at the break of dawn, as the golden vessel under Arien's direction slipped over the lip of the horizon and watched the skies. He stepped out on the balcony under a sky blanketed by every star light by Eru's song save the one that promised hope to the elves...the morning star. But the scream of the wind was never gentled by the steady beat of snowy wings.
Now the snows had ceased, and the wind, exhausted, was a shadow of the fierce attacker it was the weeks before. Now, the skies above the Swanhaven reclaimed the blue of the sky. "Comet," he murmurs. "What does the silence mean?"
A loud splash of water pulled his attention away from the ship, and he turns around, one gloved hand reaching within the folds of his cloak for the short sword sheathed at his side. Blue eyes quickly skim over the surface of the waters and then stop as Olwe caught his breath. Recovering himself, Olwe knelt and bowed his head, his voice hushes as he says, "My Lord Ulmo."
> Next