It’s a lady’s prerogative to have a few secrets by Gabriel

Chapter 1

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Idhren placed a decorative dish, filled with sumptuous roasted vegetables and drizzled with honey, on the dining table. She stepped back to run an appraising eye over the feast she had laid out for Prince Ereinion’s homecoming, just as the door to the dining room opened.

“Lord Cirdan, I’m so glad you're back. Where is Master Ereinion?” she smiled, tucking a wisp of her dark hair behind one ear.

Cirdan halted when he caught sight of her expectant smile and the dining table crammed with an assortment of mouth watering dishes, most of them Ereinion’s favorites, he noted. Not surprisingly, he thought, Idhren’s love for the crown prince was no secret. She treated him as if he were her own son. And why wouldn’t she. She had been his caregiver since he was born. He glanced between the table and Idhren, trying to hide (rather unsuccessfully) the disappointment on his features as he closed the door behind him. He moved across the room to take her hands in his. “My dear Idhren,” he began, “I’m afraid Lord Ereinion will not be able to make this evening’s meal.” He watched the smile slowly fade from her face.

“Oh?” Idhren’s eyes were full of enquiry.

“Unfortunately he’s been delayed. There’s a storm on the horizon and he thought it safer to spend one more night in the Havens.”

Idhren glanced at the window and the uninterrupted blue beyond. “Storm?” Her gaze shifted back to Cirdan in disbelief.

“I realise It doesn’t look as if one is coming. But take it from an old Teler, there’s one on the way.” He gave her a wink and a nod in affirmation.

“Oh,” Idhren said resignedly.

“There’s no reason why we can’t enjoy it,” Cirdan added, as he met her gaze with a questioning smile.

Idhren blinked as if she had heard wrong. “We?” Her brows rose in question.

“Of course. You’ve made this sumptuous meal. Why let it go to waste?” He indicated the heavily ladened table with steaming roast goose, salad and fresh slaw straight from Idhren’s own garden, roast potatoes, freshly baked bread and a myriad of dressings and sauces.

Idhren opened her mouth as if to say something, then thinking otherwise, closed it again.

Cirdan grasped her hands firmly, looking into her eyes, “Would you, Idhren of the Noldoli, do me, Cirdan of the Falathrim, the honor of joining me for supper?”

Idhren’s disappointment slipped from her beautiful face and she smiled up at the man who had taught her everything there was to know about ships, the sea and sailing, as soon as it became apparent she had a fear of the ocean. Cirdan had been determined to show her otherwise And she had loved him for caring. “Yes.” She squeezed his calloused hands, assenting to allowing herself this once in a lifetime luxury.

“Come.” Cirdan tucked her arm through his and led her, slowly toward the dining table. He pulled out the chair that Ereinion usually used and waited for her to be seated before sitting himself.

Cirdan shifted the candelabra which usually sat at the edge of the table, purely for the sake of light, to the centre, repositioning a few dishes in the process. He took up one of the three candles already alight and lit the remaining candles in their holders. The usually dim dining room, with its sandstone walls and floors and only window, blazed to life, dispelling the shadows that lurked in its corners, bringing a sense of lightness to the heavy earthen feel.

The Shipwright took up the carving knife and steel and set about slicing up the roasted goose. He placed several slices on Idhren’s plate and a pile on his own. “I’ve just realised that you have been here nigh on forty years and I still don’t know much about you.”

“It’s a lady’s prerogative to have a few secrets,” Idhren replied demurely, as she passed Cirdan a bowl of greens.

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Sometime later, with their bellies full, plates empty and on their third round of wine, Cirdan leaned back with a contented expression. “You were born on the shores?” He scooped up the flagon and poured another goblet of wine for himself, offering another top up to Idhren, who politely declined. She was already feeling a little lightheaded, and had an overwhelming urge to giggle, which she was trying unsuccessfully to hide.

“Mm huh,” she replied with a mouthful of wine, hoping to quell the strange effects the alcohol was having on her with more alcohol.

“What made you choose this vocation?” the lord of Balar quizzed, leaning forward with great interest.

Idhren hesitated, her gaze wandering away from Cirdan’s face, as if searching for the answer, “It wasn’t so much a choice, it was just something I was good at, caring for others,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Ah. Well, that I can attest to,” Cirdan smiled broadly.

Idhren felt her cheeks flush and the conversation quickly descended into an awkward silence. After what seemed like an eternity, Cirdan rose from his seat, “Well,” he began, “This was most enjoyable. My compliments to the cook,” he said, nodding his head in Idhren’s direction. “And the company was extraordinary.” His features softened, and he suddenly took Idhren’s hand and brushed the back of it with his lips. “We should do this again sometime,” he proposed, glancing up at her for confirmation.

“I would like that,” Idhren responded, returning his questioning look with a promising smile.