#sarafinwe

House of Fingolfin

There seemed to be an influx of people; not in great numbers, but surely something had changed. From the bench which she sat, Elenwë noted a more frequent appearance of darker haired individuals among the sea of lighter coloured strands her people exhibited so proudly as if they represented the trees themselves. Perhaps one of the other Kings were visiting.

She found herself so distracted with analysing the idea that she was null to the fact that one of these darker haired figures had taken claim to the place beside her. It was not until the elleth turned to grab the small book by her side that she had noticed the other gentleman.

"Oh.." The Vanya whispered, hoping her movements had not distracted the.. strangely familiar face. Quickly, violet eyes scanned his expression and posture, then noted the book which he read. A noble, she presumed, that strangely enough took fancy in the same literature which she held in her hand.

[is it alright if I enter on this one?]

Hands clasped together in excitement and likely one of the widest grins ever mustered settled on the Vanya’s lips. ” Can you really…?” She would question with a slight nervousness, though she knew the truth behind it. After all, the child had been rather active in it’s movement, and certainly, she took note of them. But it was ever a mystery to her if others could feel this early on when the tiny movements felt like little flutters.

If he ignored his own stakes in the situation, Findekáno felt inclined to agree as he looked out over the yawning expanse of ice before them. Without the Trees to guide them, it was difficult to say whether or not it was still the same day, the same month as the brutal storms that had recently overcome them. But he supposed it didn’t matter—they were weary regardless, and there was no real respite out here. 

“I suppose we should be glad that so many of them still follow us,” he mused. “I think—in their place, I should have turned back.” In their place, he thought it was worth noting, there would never have been the promise of a kingdom; his love for his King, though strong, still would have been less.

Findekáno tilted his head after a second, though. “What about you, Turno? Do you remember why you started?” He’d more than expected his younger brother to stay in Tirion, and it had been perhaps more of a surprise that he stayed with them after the bloodshed at Alqualondë.

Findekáno had not intended this to be a scouting venture. But long-legged, he and Turukáno had soon out-marched their companions, and so it was their eyes that first spotted the glow of a burning fire in the trees ahead. 

It took no strain of the ears to discern that the voices were orcish. Guttural, grating, foul words from foul mouths. Their argument, however, might easily cease at the approach of a party of Eldar, and Findekáno supposed it would be better if they had the element of surprise on their side. 

“It’s now or never.” He leaned in towards Turukáno's ear as he whispered, his voice almost inaudible. And the next words he said he did not even vocalise, instead issuing them straight to his brother's mind. 

"I think you have had enough," Círdan chuckled as he leaned across the table to pull the empty goblet further away from the young Noldo.  He had watched Turgon go from sitting with perfect posture to leaning on the arm of his chair and now he was slouched in it with his cheek propped against the heel of his hand.  He had the far away look of one that needed fresh water rather than wine.

When word came to them from their allies in Nevrast that there had been new arrivals from across the sea, Círdan had been quite eager.  He could have easily sent advisors to meet with them and they would have done an admirable job of introducing the Falathrim to this new group but he could still recall names and faces of those that had had journeyed ahead while he remained behind to look for Elwë.  Perhaps some had returned, perhaps with the loss of the light on the horizon, they had returned to the home they had once known.

He had gathered a small flotilla of ships that best displayed their prowess at sea but also as traders and skilled craftsmen in hopes of making a strong first impression upon their arrival.  He picked his travel companions based on those that were keen to serve and defend their people but also chance a reunion with those they had known once upon a time.  There was a palpable excitement as they set sail from Brithombar for the short jaunt up the coast line to reach the harbors in Nevrast.  

It could be a perilous journey at times and they had to be mindful of the ice floes depending upon the season.  He knew that they were approaching the days where the ice might pose a concern but the ships he used had thicker hulls and were strong enough against the first freezes when the ice was only beginning to form.  The mossy green of the cliffs stood in a stark contrast to the dark grey of the exposed stone but even moreso against the black sands of the shore.  It had always been a beautiful kingdom and he did enjoy his visits there.

The white ships stood out sharply against the dark seas and darker features of the landscape, leaving them unmistakable and impossible to ignore in the harbor.  Likewise, the Falathrim that had joined them wore gleaming pearls and clothes of lighter hues like that of sea foam coupled with the rich inky blues of the waters.  Círdan looked around at the faces gathered near the harbor, less-than-subtly pleased at the way his ships were gazed upon but his gaze flicked from face to face as he tried to spot any he might recognize among the group that was distinctly not of the Elves he had come to known here.