January 2025 Instadrabbling writings: Olwë, Tuor, Illuvatar, Finrod, Dior, Gil-galad by Quente

Olwë has one difficult question for a friend

Prompt: Everyone deserves the chance to fly

Olue, sitting in a small sailing vessel a half-day’s journey from his shell-and-sand castle in Alqualondë, squinted out at the sea. The day was calm, but a very small, localized storm was coming, one that would normally have sent him scurrying to take down his sail. 

But he was calm, and waited, pipe still in his hand.

Soon, a friend hopped neatly out of the waves and on board, trailing an appreciative, watery hand over the edges of Canuahen’s carven boards.

“A good vessel. It barely tickles when it rides above me, you nearly caught me unawares,” the wave-master said, tossing his hair to splatter the golden boards of the deck.

“You’re trying to distract me, lord, when you know my question,” Olue said, eyeing him sternly.

“Ah,” Ulmo said, and his expression – and surrounding sea – settled into a flat dullness. “I rued my decision, then. But when I let their – your – ships through to land, my only thought was that everyone deserves the chance to fly.”