ASOIAF: House Elros

Elros woke early, the morning sun casting faint light through the cracks in the hall's wooden walls. He sat up on his bed, stretching his tall frame as his burned hand throbbed faintly. Removing the old bandages, he winced at the red marks left by his encounter with the jewel. From his belongings, he took out a small jar of medicinal cream—a mixture he had crafted from the island's herbs—and carefully applied it to his palm. The cooling sensation brought some relief as he wrapped the hand in fresh bandages.

The routine calmed him, allowing his mind to focus. Rising from the bed, he walked to the firepit, where the coals from the previous night still glowed faintly. Adding wood to the flames, he began to cook fish he had caught the previous day. The scent filled the hall, the crackle of the fire providing a comforting backdrop.

When the fish were cooked, Elros plated a portion and made his way to the girl's room. Her presence still felt foreign to him—a fragment of mystery on this isolated isle. He paused at the door, hesitating for a moment before rapping his knuckles against the wood.

The wait stretched long enough that he wondered if she might not answer, but finally, the door creaked open. The girl stood there, her wary eyes meeting his.

Elros offered her the fish, holding it out in an open gesture of peace. For a moment, she studied him and the food, as though deciding whether to trust him. Then, she reached out, took the plate, and stepped aside, allowing him into the room.

The air between them was heavy with unspoken words. Elros moved to a chair by the wall, sitting carefully, while the girl perched on the bed, the plate balanced on her lap. They ate in silence, the occasional rustle of clothing or the faint clink of wood against stone breaking the quiet.

After finishing his portion, Elros pointed to himself, his voice breaking the stillness. "Elros," he said slowly, enunciating the name clearly.

The girl tilted her head, studying him as though weighing the meaning of his words. "Elros," she repeated, her voice soft but steady.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He then pointed to her, his expression expectant.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Hela."

Elros nodded again, this time more enthusiastically. "Hela," he repeated, his deep voice lingering on the unfamiliar name. He pointed to her again. "Hela." Then to himself. "Elros."

Hela's lips curved into a faint, cautious smile as she nodded. Encouraged by the progress, Elros gestured to the fish. "Hela," he said, pointing to her, and then motioned to the plate.

She seemed to understand, nodding as she mimicked his gesture. "Fish" 

Elros chuckled softly, pleased with the exchange. He handed her another piece, which she accepted without hesitation.

The lighthearted moment faded, however, when Elros glanced at the chest sitting near the bed. His curiosity burned brightly, and he couldn't stop himself from pointing to it. "Hela," he said, then gestured to the chest, tilting his head in question.

Her response was immediate and forceful. She pushed him away, her hands pressing against his chest. Though her strength was negligible compared to his Númenórean might, the message was clear—he wasn't to touch it.

He raised his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry," he said, his voice calm and apologetic.

Hela's fierce expression softened at his tone. She looked away, clutching the chest protectively.

Understanding that he'd need time to build trust, Elros stepped back, giving her space. He nodded toward her, his apology unspoken but understood, and then turned and left the room.

Back in the hall, he sat at the long wooden table, his mind racing with thoughts of the girl, the chest, and the Silmaril within. He drummed his fingers against the wood, his gaze fixed on the empty firepit. He needed a plan, something to occupy his time and give him the materials he would need to survive the coming months.

His thoughts turned to the longship. He remembered its position in the water, drifting further from the shore each day. If he could bring it back, it would provide valuable resources. 

The sea was second nature to Elros. As a prince of Númenor, he had spent much of his youth on the waves, mastering the art of sailing under the tutelage of Númenor's greatest mariners. The longship's retrieval would be a challenge, but he was confident he could handle it.

Rising from the table, he gathered his weapons and secured them to his belt. The weight of Aranrúth and Dramborleg felt reassuring against his side. Glancing once toward the closed door of Hela's room, he hesitated for only a moment before stepping outside.

The sun was high, its golden rays shimmering on the waves. Elros breathed deeply, the salt air invigorating him as he strode toward the beach. The longship awaited, a task to complete and a distraction from the many questions swirling in his mind.