Vëandur stood tensely, trying to read the old man's eyes. The guard behind unnerved him: he did not like it when people stood so near when he could not see them.
Finally, the old man spoke.
"I have a single question for you, sailor," Cirdacil said, "as your place of birth I can already hear in your voice."
"What was your grandsire's name?"
It was not at all a question Vëandur had been expecting. He stood a moment, then carefully he said "I know not which grandsire you mean, my lord. My mother's father is Ardamir, a fisherman. Of my father's sire, I knew him not at all, only that his name was Beren".
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