"How stands your ship.."

Played By:
AelKennyr Rhiano
Jasper Dragonheart
Rhun Darkmoon
Shawn Daysleeper


Below him, in the main room of the tavern in Grey Havens, the voices of the faithful sea merchant Nole, and the dark-haired shipwright are still talking.  Above, the Lord of Alqualonde stretches out on a bed made for elves and humans of shorter stature.  Heaving a sigh and willing his body to relax, a smile curves the lips of Olwe.  Remembering again how Nole looked at the handsome shipwright, Olwe closes his eyes. That look, that look used to be on Nole's face...a long time ago, Olwe cups his hand over his mouth as he gives in to a yawn.  That shipwright's eyes, the way they gleamed as he spoke of his trade. How they softened when he looked at the sea merchant.  A young elf, to be sure, but taken with Nole. Olwe feels his eyes droop and close.  Slipping into sleep, his mind casts back to another moment, another time, to one of many farewells, and one of the few so very painful ones.

********

Felsa feels the breeze from the nearby harbor lift and rifle through his long dark hair as he stands on the palace balcony next to Nole.  All eyes are on the harbor as they await the arrival of the Noldor ship, but Felsa's gaze is torn between the ocean beyond the harbor and the tall fair elf who stands at his side.  He tries not to let his gaze wander to the even taller and fairer elf standing beyond Nole, for it is King Olwe who stands there with his champion.  King Olwe! Discreetly Felsa rubs nervous palms against the side of his pants.  A humble shipwright such as he had never dreamed he might one day stand on the balcony of Olwe's palace with the very King himself.

Felsa rubs nervous palms...

Nole stands beside Felsa and looks out over the sea, his wide eyes taking in all. The sea, the gem encrusted beaches of Aman, and the shadowy ocean beyond. Beside him, his king stands, awaiting the ship. Nole looks toward Felsa. He could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he looks over the sea. His longing for it seems apparent to him. Nole feels most at ease beside his benevolent king.

Quildohtar stands, as always, by the side of his Lord and King under the twilight skies of Aman, his grey eyes moving between watching the excited crowds gathering on the docks, and the face of his beloved Lord.  There is great rejoicing in the Swanhaven this day, yet after long years as Champion to his King, he knows there are other emotions tugging upon his heart this day.  The thoughtful shadows that dim the normally bright and clear blue eyes, the firm line of his mouth - all tell Quildohtar that some things at least are weighing upon his King's mind.  Not wishing for his concern to be too evident, he turns his gaze to roam again across the crowds at the harbor.  He did not expect trouble this day, yet as Champion it was always his duty to be on the watch for it.

Quildohtar...turns his gaze to..the harbour.

Eyes the color of the sea he searches, Olwe, Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea, King of the Teleri lifts his head, peering with an intense gaze at the horizon.  The wind lifts off the gentle waves and carries, mingled with the smell of cherry blossom and flowers, the tang of the sea, the salt promising of faraway journeys.  His nostrils flared, and he breathed in, his hands brushing over the long flowing skirt of the tunic he wore, newly made for this occasion.  He turns his head just a little, back to the palace, as his thoughts turned too, to the one Teleri who, this day, shall depart these shores, whose home will be no more Alqualonde, but Tirion upon Tuna.  To the one face he knows better than his own, the one person he has cared for and loved more than his own life and being.

For today Earwen Silverhaired, the pearl of Alqualonde, the core of Olwe's heart, leaves the shore of her birthplace.  Today, she sails over the horizon, and as he turns his head slowly, again, to the sea, his throat bobs as he feels his heart squeeze.  From chasing waves to riding them, she is a woman grown.  His jaw tightens.  She is a woman grown, a princess, and soon, a bride.

Felsa feels his breath catch as he sees the Noldor ship round the point and begin to glide gracefully towards the harbor; sails and rigging taut and straining to carry the craft to the shore. As a shipwright, his heart leaps always to see a ship upon the sea, even one with the slightly clumsy lines of the Noldor craft.  He glances towards Nole and leans towards him to nod with his chin at the approaching ship and whisper, "It moves swiftly enough, but your Swanship be far more elegant and graceful, methinks."

"Your swanship be far more elegant..."

Nole sighs a little as the ship approaches. He has known Earwen a long while: they grew up together. And now, she is leaving. Tirion on Tuna, away to the West, away from the sea and Tol Eresea. How long would it be until they saw each other again? He then sees Felsa's look and hears his whisper. He could not hold back a blush at that remark. The swanships of the Teleri were certainly more graceful than those of the Noldor, at least so he thought.

He has known Earwen a long while...

Quildohtar watches the colorful gathering on the dock as a surge of excitement run through it. Elves dressed in their best to honor their Princess and her Groom flutter colorfully together as they spot the awaited ship turn the point, and he could hear the hum of exited voices.  He thinks of the maiden in her apartments within the palace, preparing for her departure, and wonders what her thoughts might be this day.  He turns his gaze from the throng below and looks upon the face of his Lord and murmurs quietly, "We give them our finest treasure this day."

He takes a step forward, as he spies a speck on the horizon.  Narrowing his sea blue eyes, Olwe stares until he spies the sail. Rubbing sweat palms upon the white satin, he gives a glance behind him to the ever present and comforting presence of his Champion.  He opens his mouth and then closes it, managing to nod at the other's words. Turning instead to the young sailor Nole and his beloved shipwright, blue eyes rest  upon the bright eager face of the young sailor, and despite the heaviness in his heart, Olwe feels a smile come to his lips.  "So, young Nole, I wonder what sort of ship shall come from our Noldor kin, for sailors they are not. " He nods to Felsa and includes the earnest  shipwright in the conversation.  "How stands your ship, yours and Nole's?  She has not sailed yet, I am told, but she is ready and seaworthy, and the best of our swanships yet."  He claps a hand on Nole's shoulder. "For I would have her embark this day and prove herself, and your vision."

Felsa ducks his head respectfully as the King addresses him directly, his cheeks flushing with pleasure and nerves and then lifts his chin boldly as he replies. "I have worked with the finest shipwright in Aman to build her." He smiles at Nole so there can be no doubt whom he refers to. "I believe our ship up to any task you may assign her."  Despite his calm assured words, his heart is hammering inside his chest.  Embark?  Was he really sending them on a task? Shipwright he may be, but Felsa's Teleri blood burns strong with the lure of the sea.

Nole looks at his king as he speaks. He is ready for any task assigned to him. "Yes, of course, she is ready for you to embark. The ship is strong and prepared for the sea." He smiles back to Felsa and notices his cheeks change color. "Yes, together we can carry out our king's wishes." He is quite excited to be going on a voyage all together if that will be the task ahead.

Quildohtar stands quietly by Olwe's side

Quildohtar stands quietly by Olwe's side as he listens to the conversation. It is not his place, unless invited, to discuss plans but he is content with that. Today is not his day to shine or be in the public eye. Standing now upon the wide balcony of the palace, Quildohtar is content to be at hand if needed, and by his presence lend his support to a King who is also a father who must bid his daughter farewell this day.

Olwe turns to the young pair: Nole and his shipwright, the two so well matched.  Blue eyes brighten as he watches their faces, sees how they turn, each to the other, the respect and love there in equal measure.  Would that Earwen find such love for her in the heart in Finarfin.  His eyes flicker briefly up in the direction of Olwe's tower, and his thoughts wing to the chamber of his daughter, the highest point of his tower.  In his mind, he sees her peering out her window, her thoughts already aboard the ship that steadily plows the sea to harbor.  Reaching out, he rests a hand upon the balcony railing, steadying his aching heart as he speaks lightly. "I would you pilot your ship among the three others already picked.  I would your ship this day be the flagship of the honor guard that would see the Noldor ship of Prince Finarfin and Princess Earwen  on their way back to Tirion."

He turns his head and watches as the ship looms ever closer. Moments, only moments remain now, before Earwen boards the ship that will take her from his side forever. He leans a little on the hand, and for a moment, his mouth tightens as he spies clearly the ship's design. "No much has changed in their ships, "He murmurs, remembering  another ship, another Noldor, another departure.  His eyes grow cold a moment, and his voice drops lower still.  "And the day was much like today, and yet all the world different."

He...watches as the ship looms ever closer

All days in the twilight of the Blessed Lands were alike in the peace, alike in the tranquility, alike in the harmony that rested upon the Swanhaven like a blanket against a cold night in Middle Earth.  The singing of the fisherelves rose from the harbor as they worked in concert as somewhere in the palace a baby cried, and here, here where he stood, she stood, too, cold, cold and beautiful, A familiar stranger who gave him the miracle of a child and then the heartbreak of betrayal.  He leans, now, as he leaned then, heavy in heart, heavy in soul, as memories swell up like an angry waves, and again her words of farewell fall upon his memory as they fell upon his ears.  "Long ago," he whispers, and wills the memory back into the corner of his heart, the empty place, the void.

Felsa reaches fro nole's hand...

Felsa reaches for Nole's hand and clasps it in excitement.  An honour guard? The very flagship?  All the way to Tirion? To sea at last!  Not just for brief sea trials of vessels made and sold, but to sea! Unable to speak he shifts from foot to foot as he waits for Nole to reply to the King.

Nole nods and bows before his king. "We are ready and will carry out your request. My ship will be displayed at the forefront of the guard. The honor of the Teleri will not be diminished before that of the Noldor." He then turns to Felsa. "This ship, that you made," he says quietly. "Let us ready her to sail." Nole says louder to Felsa with a solemn smile.

Quildohtar shrewdly watches the play of emotions across his Lord's face.  This day would be hard on any parents, but when a parent must face it alone, it is harder still.  His jaw tightens as he thinks back to the events of so long ago that left his Lord so stricken and a babe, now maiden about to be married, to be raised motherless.  His hand tightens reflexively upon his sword as he remembers his shame that not even he, the King's Champion, had been aware of the Queen's plans to flee the Swan Haven.  He remembers the frantic searching throughout all of Aman, but no trace of her had been found.  He remembers...  But no, today is not the day to remember such times.  He briefly places a hand upon Olwe's shoulder and squeezes it as he whispers, "Aye, it was long ago and another time, my Lord.  Now," he nods toward the harbor where the Noldor ship was settling in to dock, "now we must celebrate and be happy for the one who goes to meet her heart's mate."

Olwe reaches up and places a long and graceful hand atop the hand of his Champion, his friend and nods softly.  Nole and Felsa could not remember: they were born upon these shores, babes much as Earwen had been. But Quildohtar remembered. Quildohtar, King's Champion, who searched the entire of the city for his Queen, for Earwen's mother, and found her not.  Just as Olwe knew he would not find her. Just as Olwe had no heart to tell him it would be so.  Rare  did they speak of it, king and champion, and now is occasion to speak no more of it.  Standing up straight and tall, nearly as tall as his brother Elwe, Olwe nods again. "I see the time comes, and soon Earwen will join us." He turns to the young sailor and shipwright. "Your moment is here, too, young friends.  Shall we gather a nervous young princess and go to greet her betrothed?"

Felsa lifts the hand he holds and presses his lips to the back of it, his deep blue eyes smiling into Nole's as he murmurs, "There is no ship that I made, but there is one that WE made, for together, side by side we labored upon it." He lowers the hand but does not release it as he turns to Olwe and bows his head respectfully at his words. "As always, my Lord, your wish is our will."  He then grins impishly before adding, "And this time, our pleasure also.  Let us go find the maiden."

Midnight Thoughts

Played By:
Belenos (BelenosStormchaser Magic)


The world, they say, is silent at night.  Silent of the tongues of men, perhaps, but as the gentle rain, last remains of a passing Summer storm, drifts down through the deep forest, the world is not silent.  The small creatures that roam the night in search of food must still do so, despite the damp.  A badger, fur sodden and spiked into clumps by the rain, pauses in the course of its hunt to sniff warily at the building that looms in the dark just beyond the forest's edge.  It crinkles its nose at the strange smells of woodsmoke, wet thatch, and humans, smells that tickle at its nostrils.  The cough of a restless sleeper and the creak of a bed are enough to send the badger scurrying on its way and the cottage swiftly disappears behind it in the forest gloom.

On her narrow bed in the tiny attic of the cottage the Vala, Yavanna Kementari, Queen of the Earth, lies sleepless, listening to the sounds of the night as she thinks on the passing of recent days.  She hears the old woman cough in her sleep and stir in her bed below.  She smiles a little to herself when she hears Arianna resume her soft snoring.  Since Yavanna had arrived at the cottage lost in so many ways, the crone has shown her a rough compassion that touched her deeply.  There have been nights when, despite the long days of hard physical work, the old woman did not sleep peacefully, and Yavanna wondered on those night what dreams disturbed her, but the look of deep sorrow that dimmed those bright blue eyes the following morn made her hesitate to ask.  It is enough for Yavanna that tonight is not to be such a night.

Carefully, so as not to make her own bed squeak and disturb the other's rest, Yavanna raises an arm to tuck behind her head and stares up at the thatch so close overhead.  She can hear the small rustles and squeaks as the tiny creatures who made their homes there bury themselves a little deeper to escape the rain.  Home.  Yavanna sighs at the thought.  Where is her home? Surely she has one?  What had she been doing alone in the forest late at night? Something in her mind coils tightly as it always does when she asks herself those questions.

Sighing again, Yavanna restlessly turns over to lie on her stomach, her chin propped on her hands.  An old woman such as Arianna has a home, as does the tiny beings in the roof above her, but she does not.  All she has are odd, unsettling dreams of a lover whom she did not even know was real or not.  If he is real, where is he?  If he loves her so, why is she alone in the forest?  Her heart squeezes tightly in her chest, and tears track silently down her cheeks.  Yavanna lifts a hand and wipes at the tears.  Did he cast her out?  Is that why she feels such pain whenever she thinks of him?

Sniffling a little as she settles her chin back on her hands, her eyes fall upon the small crib that lies in a corner of the attic.  It stands forlorn and empty.  Arianna has never mentioned children, and again Yavanna wonders at the presence of the crib.  There is so much she does not know of the life of the old woman.  So much she dare not ask for risk of seeing that sorrow return her eyes.

"There is so much you do not know about yourself, either," she whispers softly into the dark room.  Like why, when she felt such love and companionship towards the growing things, if she touched them, they would curl and wilt.  Unheeding of the creaks of her bed, Yavanna curls her long frame into a tight ball, her arms wrapped protectively around her knees as she thinks of the pain and mortification she felt that first day Arianna took her out to work in the garden.  How her heart had leapt when she stepped into the small fenced vegetable garden, the smell of rich fertile soil redolent in the air, the swell of thriving well-tended plants clustered before her.  Unthinking she had reached out a hand to touch one, smiling a greeting to it as though to an old, well-loved friend.

Yet, before her eyes, the leaf she had touched had yellowed and wilted, swiftly followed by others around it.  Horrified she had let her hand fall, something in her pierced to the core.  She had barely heard the crone's outburst of dismay, had barely felt her bundling her from the garden.  Unceremoniously she had been assigned to the task of washing clothes, that day, and the old woman had looked at her long and hard that night over supper.  Her few words had become fewer still, and her eyes held a puzzlement whenever Yavanna found them upon her.

So Yavanna's days were filled with simple tasks of cleaning and repair.  Simple tasks, but she had to learn each of them, for it seems whatever her life has been before, it has become apparent that it has not been one of domestic chores.  She smiles a little as she catches a glimpse of a tiny bewhiskered snout of a field mouse poke through the thatch, followed shortly by a pair of bold, bright eyes.  Small round ears pop through and twitch nervously as the creature senses around for danger.  Emboldened it wriggles its body free of the thatch and scurries along the roof beam and down an upright onto the floor.  Utterly charmed, Yavanna watches it as it scuttles about the room, long tail curling elegantly whenever it stops to peer about.

After exploring the room thoroughly, the tiny mouse daringly climbs an upright on her bed, coming to rest on the top of the post not more than an arms-length from where Yavanna lies.  It pauses and shakes itself, freeing the soft grey fur of the last clinging droplets of water and then turns to stare at Yavanna.  Not even daring to blink lest she scare it away, Yavanna stares back. The tiny nose twitches and snuffles as it takes in her scent, the whiskers quivering delicately.  Bright eyes stare back at her, and the mouse raises up on its hind legs, forepaws extended delicately in front of itself.  Automatically Yavanna lifts a hand, one finger gently extended to reach out to touch the tiny creature, but she stops, hesitating.  What if the same thing happens to the mouse as happened in the garden?  Sadly she lowers her hand and drops her gaze from the mouse, burying her face against her arms.

Overhead, the nightly array of stars fight their way through the thin wisps of remaining cloud and dance their way across the velvet sky.  Somewhere below a mouse scurries silently back to its home.  Somewhere below tears are silently shed as one of the mightiest of the Vala learns of sorrow and pain, fear and doubt in the mortal world.

Making Plans

Played by:
Jasper Dragonheart
Shawn Daysleeper

Miro stares, speechless, after the retreating figure of the great Teleri King. As Olwe disappears up the second flight of steps to the upstairs sleeping area of the Inn, he fumbles for the bench lest knees that seem suddenly rubbery fail to support him as Olwe's words flash again through his mind; "When we came to the West...", "... the Maia Osse gave us the knowledge.."

He swallows hard and turns his deep blue gaze to Nole, his eyes wide as understanding dawns on him. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.  Flushing, realizing he is gawking like a callow boy, he clears his throat and finally finds his voice. "Olwe?  That.. that is THE Olwe?  Of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea?"

"...that is THE Olwe?"

Nole looks at Miro's awe and smiles to himself. His first impulse is to say, "Of course that is The Olwe!" After all, he travels with him nearly everywhere and stays by his side most of the time.  However he realizes he is in the mortal world. It is generally not well known Alqualonde has been moved to mortal circles. It would be quite a surprise to see the legendary Olwe here. He says gently "Yes, he is the Olwe" He smiles back, hopefully in a reassuring way.

He smiles back..

Miro blinks at Nole and turns his head to gaze around the familiar tap room of the Green Leaf Inn.  The well worn benches are the same, the floors, clean and polished by worn with the passage of many a traveler's booted feet.  The air is redolent with the smell of meats roasting in preparation of the evening meal, woodsmoke and the faintly yeasty smell of ale.  This is the same Inn it has always been, yet.. yet a legend has walked the floors, is now preparing for sleep upstairs.

Miro 's gaze finally comes to rest on the plans scattered across the table in front of him.  He groans as he realizes that he has stood boldly and told the very King of the Teleri himself that his ships are flawed.  "I called him 'ancient' and 'old King'," he murmurs. "I told him his ships are badly designed." He closes his eyes for a moment as he realizes his monumental audacity.

"You ARE a Master Shipwright, Miro.  You know a good design when you see it, and you know a bad one, lad."  For the second time tonight his father's voice echoes through his mind, and he opens his eyes and looks again upon his designs.  He nods, shoulders straightening, and he turns to look again at Nole. "But they ARE badly designed.  They may be good in Aman, but they will not work here in Middle Earth."

"...but they will not work here in Middle Earth."

Nole watches Miro's emotions flitting across his face. Nole feels somewhat concerned by Miro's discomfort, but he is pleased to see Miro recover his resolve and belief in his designs. He is interested in the new swanship design. "Yes, I agree, given what has recently happened, that our swanship is badly designed for these waters. Olwe is kind hearted and open minded. He is so, or I would not had brought you and him together to discuss these plans. He also approves of your ideas, Miro. So I ask, then, how these problems can be fixed?"

"So I ask then, how these problems can be fixed."

Miro 's lips curl into a small approving smile as he listens to the other elf.  Yes, such a one could not be a Master Mariner and be arrogant, for this shipwright has seen the effects of arrogant Ship Masters, unwilling to learn, upon the ships he has been called upon to repair. Yet of all the mariners he has seen in his time, this one would have most reason to be arrogant, for he is Master Mariner to the great King Olwe himself. Not only Master Mariner, Miro, but brother.  Miro's blue eyes widen a little as his thoughts recall how Olwe was introduced.  "Miro, this is my brother, Olwe," he had said.  By Ulmo's foaming beard!  Here he sat, so casually, next to a very Prince of the Teleri!

...a very Prince of the Teleri.

Miro swallows hard again and fumbles a little as he reaches for the plans, trying to gather his wayward thoughts.  "Focus on the task at hand!" he silently admonishes himself. "You are no gawking elfling.  This is business. Remember that.  Business."  He glances at Nole again as he starts to speak, warmed by his obvious interest and how kindly he has spoken.  Clearing his throat one last time he begins to explain. "I have deepened the hull, to allow a better footing for bigger, stronger masts.  But both the hull and the masts must be built of a different timber than has been traditionally been used."

...he begins to explain

Nole leans forward as Miro explains and is very interested in what he is saying. "What timber would you use? I am not aware of any stronger than in the current design."

Warming now to his subject and encouraged by Nole's question and obvious interest, he goes on to explain further. "Last year, I bought a beautiful ornate chest from one of the dark-skinned merchants that come here from time to time from Far Harad.  The wood that had been crafted for the chest was most unusual, so I asked the merchant about it.  It comes from a tree that grows in the deep damp forests of Far Harad.  The Haradrim mechant told me how the trees take many years to grow and are known for their tall, straight beauty as well as the incredible hardness of the timber that comes from them and, their unusual lightness in weight."

He pauses a moment in his explanation and smiles ruefully, his blue eyes twinkling. "The Haradrim are shrewd merchants and they like their gold.  But still, I could see that their timber they spoke of could be the answer to the problems with the Swanship design.  We haggled, by Eru how we haggled, but in the end, we came to an agreement, and over the course of that summer, ship by ship, my commission of Haradrim timber arrived.  It truly is as rock hard as they boasted." He smiles and looks down at the callouses on this hands as they rest upon the table. "It is also as lightweight as they promised, so I could build a bigger Swanship than is traditional, with a deeper hull, and stronger, taller mast, yet with another addition of my own design, it is still able to be sailed by just one mariner if so desired."

Nole glances down and notices the callouses on Miro's hands. But he also sees how long and shapely his fingers are. Probably more suited to a musician than a shipwright. However the subtle play of muscle in his forearms would speak of the strength that lies in his clearly fine build. He then nods in reply to Miro's explanation. "I have heard of the Haradrim of the South," he says hurriedly, and tries to hide his thoughts. "And you said that 'you could build.' Does this mean that you have already started work on the new design?""

"I have heard of the Haradrim.."

Miro nods and ducks his head to run a thumbnail along the grain of the table top. "Aye. I.. I have at last been building the Swanship. My father would not hear of it while he lived, but, well, now I have been building it, in my spare time." He shakes his head a little as if to shake off the melancholy of the memory of the one thing he and his parent ever fought over and then turns his eyes to again look at Nole. "There is only some internal kitting out left before it is complete and of course, some sea trials. When would you need it by?"

"We have come here to pick up the dwarves from Gamifun, whom Olwe has offered refuge to. It had been Olwe's intent, before the storm crippled my ship, to return with them to Alqualonde as soon as we had found them and resupplied our ship, so that the dwarves could begin their lives in their new home as soon as possible. So, we will need your ship as soon as it is ready."

Miro's eyes widen again in surprise. What would the legendary Olwe be doing offering refuge to dwarves? As is the way in a town such as this, rumor has run wild about the arrival of a group of dwarves with what seemed like all their worldly goods packed upon a solitary cart. Speculation is rife as to the cause; a clan dispute, famine, their town wiped out by disease? It has also been speculated if it were their intent to settle in the sea port, as odd as this would be for they had arrived and not budged since. Now it would seem they have been waiting for the arrival of the legendary elven King.

Miro lifts a hand to rub at his chin absently as his mind works rapidly.  While he thinks his eyes take in the gentle grace of the elf before him.  The firelight from the hearth behind them casts rosy tints on the long silver strands of his hair, and his soft blue eyes carry the serene timelessness of one used to gazing upon far horizons.  He would give much to know more of this one, of the life he has led by Olwe's side, of the knowledge that shines from that gentle gaze.  Maybe, just maybe, he might have a solution.

...he might have a solution.

He drops his hand to the table and smiles warmly at the other elf. "I would not rush the outfitting of the Swanship, for I believe a job worth doing is worth doing well.  However, I believe I may have a solution, if you are willing.  I keep a ship of my own in port for times when I wish to seek supplies or investigate a new technique I have heard of from another shipwright.  It is not fancy, but sturdy and serviceable, and I believe it would carry you and your dwarves to Alqualonde safely enough."

He pauses as his mind sings. "Alqualonde! How blithely he says it!"  He drops his gaze bashfully as he continues. "I would be willing, under your direction, to take you and the King, your brother, and his passengers back to Alqualonde with this ship, while my workers finish the outfitting of the Swanship.  We could then return, and I believe it would be complete, with no delay for yourselves or  your passengers.  I would do this as a service to the mighty Olwe, with no charge." He pauses again and glances at the plans for the swanship on the table before continuing. "However, I do not believe a price should be agreed upon for the swanship until you and Olwe have seen it for yourself."

Nole listens thoughtfully at what Miro proposes. It all sounds logical. Additionally, it means that Miro will be coming along with them: at this Nole is secretly happy. They would not have to part ways for a little while longer. "This is a wise course of action, Miro. Perhaps we could come see the ship first thing tomorrow?"

It all sounds logical.

Miro swallows hard again as he realizes that his childhood hero, the legendary King Olwe, would be seeing HIS Swanship on the morrow. There is so much he suddenly wants to check and double check.  His stomach tightens with nerves, and the thought of eating now, as appealing as the company might be, is beyond him.  He reaches out and gathers his plans and rolls them into a hasty bundle as he rises to his feet.  He tilts his head and smiles at Nole, "First thing tomorrow, then. You cannot miss my shipyard. It is on the right, just past the northern lighthouse." He blushes bashfully as he continue., "I know we had planned to dine together, but I beg your pardon as I feel there is much I must check and be sure of before you and your brother see the Swanship. I.. I would hate to disappoint."

"..I would hate to dissapoint."

He fiddles with the rolled parchments in his hands a moment before adding, "If it is agreed that we travel together, there will be many more nights other than this one to dine together, if it is your wish." Wanting to reach out and squeeze Nole's shoulder to reassure him of his warm intent, nonetheless he settles for the course of lesser valour and sketches a deep bow instead, before turning on his heel and, without even giving Nole chance to reply lest he give in and stay, he strides swiftly to the door.

Nole can only stand while Miro leaves the room. He is bemused at his sudden departure. He also feels a little empty at the thought of dinner alone. But as he settles back down he begins to think of seeing Miro first thing tomorrow. And his ship. Feeling a little happier, Nole looks forward to the dawn.

..Nole looks forward to the dawn.