They regard each other again in quiet. It is clear that Ereinion took more from Caranthir in terms of personality. Both of them are ellon of few words.
“I became King,” says Ereinion. “I inherited the crown after Gondolin fell.”
Carnistir nods slowly. “I see. How long did you reign?”
“Long. I became patently sick of it, in the end. I never wanted to be king. I was content to be a fisher-elf at the Havens of Sirion, then there arrived an elf who called himself Voronwë, and Círdan called me and then they told me I was king. I tried to refuse, you know. I tried to say that Telperinquar was supposed to be king, but Círdan stamped out my argument. You are older than Telperinquar’s father, and so there I was.”
Caranthir rubbed his chin. He looks thoughtful.
“And how did you die?”
Ereinion felt his lips twitch. Then a smirk spread. “Valiantly, I am afraid. Me and Elendil tried to take Sauron down with us. Sauron burned me with his right hand.”
Caranthir slid his right hand across the table and caught Ereinion’s own. He squeezes him there.
“For what it is worth, I am sorry, yonya.”
Ereinion turns his hand palm-up. He holds his father’s hand properly.
“Don’t be. I had a long, colorful and fruitful life. And I got to fulfill my dream. I met you.”