Snippet Sunday Monday?
Because I missed Snippet Sunday and I am far from done writing About Cìrdan and the High-King's father-son relationship. So here goes a rather long snippet. Enjoy!
"Ereinion?" Cìrdan placed the towel in his hands down onto the kitchen counter top. The hour was early - so early, the rays of sunlight still traversed the window with a blueish tint. The earliest birds had only begun their songs. And his domestic croft still smelled of warm bread, butter and sardines. The two of them seemed the only elves awake in the Haven. "Where are you?" the old shipwright called out. The King, his son, had descended from his gallant palace and decided to spend three days and two nights in the Grey Havens, beside him. For long had it been that he had seen him, and much longer ago that he had come to visit. "...I am here." this one responded, his voice resounding through the cracked door of the backroom. His old room. There'd been a hint of lassitude in his voice as he'd responded, enough to raise a silver eyebrow and to motivate their owner to investigate further. Cìrdan placed the weight of his hand onto the doorknob. As the door gently opened, he found him sitting on the chair, facing the lean mirror of the dressing table. Clothed in a dark grey tunic adorned by golden, fine embroidery at the collar and wrists, Ereinion sat, searching through its drawer. Cìrdan halted in the door frame and remembered how long ago the moment was when he'd gotten it for his room. The vision of his son's hands searching the slight drawer was a funny yet strange one, as he's remembered the pair of hands that used to scour though it much smaller than they now were. "What are you doing?" the old elf found himself asking. "I am looking for..." Ereinion halted mid sentence, his brows furrowing as though his fingertips had brushed past something he recognized, "... my old brush." the words came out in a whisper as he pulled forth the brush. Cìrdan smiled at the sight of it, then stepped into fully stepped into the room. That moment, his mind drifted back to the weariness he'd heard in his voice. "Are you sure you have gotten enough sleep?" the Elven King heard his father ask. He turned to look at him. "I would not mind watching you sleep for the entirety of the day. It is what I would do in your stead." Cìrdan admitted, a grin tugging at the corner of his lip. "We'd still have two days." "No," he shook his head, casting his sight back onto the brush in his hands to let his fingers feather over its hairs. "I did not claim a respite to sleep, father. I came to spend it-" "- With me... I know." he finished his sentence. He felt his father step up, until he stood right behind the chair he sat upon. "What are you gonna do with that?" the same asked, letting his eyes fall onto the brush he held in his hands. Gil-galad briefly glanced up at him, before he spoke again. "You said you wanted to go fishing. I do not want strands in my eyes as the marine breeze picks up." "Let me do it." the old one said after a peaceful beat. Ereinion felt a smile tug at his mouth's corners. He, too, let a beat pass before he lifted his eyes ap at his elder. "I did not come to visit to be treated as though I was still in the palace." he said with raised brow. He ccaught a mischievous glint darted through his father's blue eyes. "I am aware." he responded. "So?"- "So let me do it," this one insisted. "I can do it." the King repeated. "But I want to." Cìrdan said, his tone earnest, though playful.
Concerning the mornings in the shipwright's humble abode... The rest is coming soon.
