Disclaimer: It hasn't become mine in the past few minutes. Go figure.
Chapter 2: Shoreline
"Are you certain that this craft is seaworthy, Lindir?" Erestor's gaze swept over the makeshift craft critically. "It seems fairly rickety to me."
"Of course it will hold. I spent decades on this ship. Why would it not sail?" Lindir's glare pinned him down, and he hastily relented.
"I am sure it will, Lindir; you have my full confidence, I assure you. I was just...concerned. It is a long way to Aman." Secretly, he still harbored doubts. The earliest boards were pitted and rotting, and water sloshed over the sides. They had not even embarked yet! Valar only knew how much could trickle in when their weight pressed down on the dilapidated wood. Still, Erestor thought, we will reach Valinor either way. It would not be such an awful thing to die in the ocean.
No, no, it would not. A grin teased the corner of his lips, and he wriggled his bare toes as the frothing waves lapped against them. The sea might be more of a grey this early in the morn, but it still drew him with its beauty, more surely than a hearty meal could have tempted Peregrin Took. Speak of sea-longing had long run rampant—since Cuiviénen, in fact—but Erestor had never understood it. To not be able to resist the lure of a huge puddle of water? It had seemed as much a tall tale as dragonfire in Bree. Yet here he stood, more than a millennium after his lord and most of kin had departed for white shores, understanding.
What Erestor no longer comprehended was why he had lingered so many years. The sea foamed right outside, but he neglected to heed its song. It seemed a grievous neglect, now. It was a foolish notion, he supposed, to assume that he would remain the same for all time. It was arresting nevertheless.
"Hey, Erestor! Erestor! Are you listening to me? Eres—" Lindir barreled into him, full tilt. They hit the water with a tremendous splash, the salty brine blanketing their whole bodies. Erestor surfaced spluttering, indignation painted plainly across his features.
"What, in the name of the Valar, did you think you were doing, Lindir?" He shook his head, waist-length rat tails of soaked walnut hair swinging wildly about his face. "You are supposed to be mature."
"Hey! Hey, Erestor, stop that! Water is flying everywhere. You will drench me!" Erestor raised a sardonic brow. "Well, more than I already am, then."
Erestor glanced down at his clingy, dripping robes, then back up to the half-dry Lindir. Robes. Lindir. Robes. Lindir. "You are already drenched."
"Well, of course. And I will be even more wet if we do not get out of the surf. Come on, Erestor." Lindir's arm flashed out to grip his, and he yanked Erestor forward with enough force to send him sprawling across the dry sand. Erestor squeezed his eyes shut in horror before hauling himself to his feet. When he dared to peek down at himself, every inch of his front was covered in minuscule grains of sand. He bit off a short growl and shrugged of the robe. His tunic and leggings were still soaked, but they, at least, were clean. Erestor scrubbed the sand off his face. His hair he just ran a half-hearted hand through before braiding the mess back. "Sorry, Erestor."
"It is fine, Lindir. Let us just depart now, or we will never leave." Wincing a little as the sand caked his feet, he strode back to the boat.
"It is time to meet our friends."
AN: The original plan was for Lindir to be the main character, but obviously it hasn't worked out that way. I'd just like to point out that they are going to Pre-EnglandAmerica; there aren't many people there. I'm sorry it's so short. If you do like it, or even if you don't, I'd appreciate feedback. Thanks!