faderift | Carry us home

WHO: Elros, Galadriel, other folk are welcome to jump in
WHAT: Sea-longing. It's a thing.
WHEN: Phase III
WHERE: A window, any window, looking West, or with a view to the sea.
NOTES: purple prose and possible talk of gloom and Doom and stuff

He's his father's son, Earendil the Mariner, Tuor's grandson, who heard the Ulumuri, the Horns of the Deep, sound long ago, and the call to the sea lives in his blood and will in his descendents ever after. He's not Elven enough to fade away of longing, but the pull is there, and he's too sick to care about fighting it.

He sharpens his sword as his baritone rolls in the universal yearing tones of the sailor stuck ashore.

With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Some lying fast at anchor in the road,
Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly vessel did I then espy
Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
The ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a lover's look;
This ship to all the rest did I prefer:
When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:
On went she, and due north her journey took.

((ooc: William Wordsworth's With Ships The Sea Was Sprinkled Far And Nigh))