37Transformation


~~~
The Prince of Dol Amroth, usual dignity befitting his high station forgotten, is up in the dromund’s rigging, clad only in sailor’s breeches and a loose half-open linen shirt, his hair carelessly bound in a leather thong.

He laughs gaily at a curious gull circling close before he looks down again, admiring the sleek lines of the vessel promising swiftness even without use of oars.

First: spoils of war – one of the ships captured at Pelargir. Then: a truly kingly gift.

“Now!” Imrahil calls down, to smile proudly as the blue banner is hoisted, silver swan-ship glinting in the sun.

~~~