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The Prince and The Shipwright by Dragon

The journey got easier once the sea was in sight. The soldiers began to relax, talking and joking among themselves, and occasionally telling stories that they knew that the young prince would enjoy. They began to make proper camps, and once again were able to eat and wash properly.

The land got flatter, and the forests gradually changed from oaks and willows to great gnarled pine trees. The air began smelling salty and the soil began to look and feel strange in a way that he heard described at sandy. The roadsides were scattered with flowers in wonderful colours that Ereinion had not even known had existed, and the woodland was full of birdsong.

Unfortunately, despite the beautiful surroundings, Ereinion's spirits seemed to have slumped. He wanted Adar and Naneth so badly that even the bright sunny days of early spring seemed clouded over.

"Now, you will like this camp." Ainon smiled at the little boy who was slumped against him. Ereinion had become rather pale and listless of late, showing little outward pleasure in the changing scenery. "There are lots of nice places where you can play."

"Oh." The prince said quietly, not moving his head from it's resting place against Ainon's chest. The soldier knew that his arm must be blocking the child's view of his surroundings, but Ereinion had made no attempt to look around it.

"Those are snowdrops, there." Ainon made his voice enthusiastic as he pointed to the flower. "You do not often see those at home. And look. . . Yavanna's tears."

To Ainon's frustration, the child made no move to look at the tiny red flowers that grew among the pine trees, and continued looking tiredly at the rings of the chain mail on the soldier's sleeve.

"They are very pretty." Ereinion said dully, his voice barely audible. He did not want to look at the flowers. They only made him think of his mother and how much she would have enjoyed them.

"But you have not seen them!" Ainon's voice was sharp with frustration, and he hoisted the child up by the back of his tunic to look at the road. "There. The red flowers."

His eyes filling with tears, Ereinion shrugged and whispered, "They are very pretty, Ainon."

Exhaling in a frustrated sigh, Ainon let go of his handful of tunic, and let the child slip back down into his customary position snuggled against his chest. It would do no good to become angry at the child, since at the slightest cross word the boy would curl up, and frightened and upset, would barely speak for days.

Perhaps his condition would improve before they had to present him to Lord Cirdan.

~*~

The camp was indeed in a pleasant spot, and much as he missed his parents, Ereinion could not help enjoying the sweet scent of the overhanging pines or the evening sunlight filtering through the trees. There were birds singing in the trees, and he sat up straighter, craning his neck around trying to see them.

Glad to see some interest from the boy, Ainon pointed out the nest in the crook of one of the trees, and talked at length of what bird had made which call. He did not know if the child was listening, but anything was better than the depressed silence. He was glad to see some life back in the too solemn grey eyes.

"There will be plenty of birds down on the coast." He helped the child turn around in the saddle to face him. "Gulls and gannets and auks. There are birds that nest on the cliffs. . . ask Lord Cirdan to show you."

"I like birds." Ereinion said simply, smiling at his minder. He was quieter now, and when he did speak he seemed to say as little as possible. Much as he worried about the absence of the little boy who could have chattered for hours about his favourite birds and overwhelmed the listener with questions, Ainon felt that at least this child would get on better with his host. Cirdan would not enjoy the Ereinion that had set out on this journey.

"Aye, and there are more than birds. You will find crabs and fish and shrimp in the rock pools." Ainon tried to pump as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible. He had not spent his childhood by the sea, but he guessed that paddling in the surf and poking sea anemones with bits of driftwood were exactly the kind of thing a child like Ereinion would enjoy. "Perhaps Cirdan will even let you go out in a boat."

Seeing that they had reached the traditional campsite for this journey, Ainon made sure that the child was holding on tightly and dismounted. It was safe here, and the track was smooth and sandy. Checking that there were no obstacles ahead and keeping a firm hand on the bridle to lead, he turned to the child, "Would you like to ride?"

Ainon offered Ereinion the reins, and was gratified when the child's entire face lit up with a whole-hearted beam.

"Ooooh, yes!"

~*~

The pine trees were nice here, unlike the ones in that horrible forest. The needles were long and soft and smelt sweet and green. The trees were neither old and withered, nor young and weak, but stretched up into the blueness of the sky in the fullness of their strength. The ground beneath them was soft and sandy and scattered with fallen needles and small flowers. Even the grass seemed greener.

Ereinion wandered silently between the trees, hands clutched together and one thumb rubbing the other palm rather nervously. Ainon had given him no warning about distance this time, but he no longer had any desire to explore anywhere.

Sometimes he thought he saw the face of his soldier slipping between trees, or in the shadows around the campfire at night. Sometimes he would run to search among the tree trunks, or strain his eyes as he peered into the gloom, but there was never any hint of the reddish orange tunic or ornately sculpted breastplate. But he had to be somewhere. People did not just disappear.

The soldier had been quite young, he thought, certainly the pale face had not had the strained weary look of most soldiers he had met. Beneath the silver of his helm, the soldier's hair had been a chestnut brown, far lighter than Ereinion had ever seen at home. He must have come from some strange city far away.

Ereinion had often heard his father speak of alliances and friendships with elves from other settlements, but he had never really thought about them until now. Once or twice there had been visitors from far off lands, and sometimes he had been allowed to meet them.

Once, when he had been very small - although perhaps not quite as small as he would have liked to remember - there had been a visitor that his father had greeted warmly and called brother. It had been quite a long time past his bedtime, but he had been so curious as to who the strange visitor was that he had crept out of bed and made his way downstairs in his nightshirt clutching Arassë to his chest for courage.

He must have been very small then, as he could remember not being able to hold the banister even with his arm stretched far above his head, and had had to descend the stairway by sliding from step to step on his bottom.

He had stood in the dark shadow of the half-open door, looking into the sitting room where some five or six adults had been sitting around a fire. He could not remember now what they had talked about, but he remembered leaning forward a little too far and then the door swinging open with a creak.

He had been afraid that he would be scolded and sent back to bed in disgrace, but instead his father had come and lifted him gently into his arms, safe from the curious glances of the visitors. Then they had gone to sit down beside Naneth, and his father had said so proudly, "This is my Ereinion."

He had been a bit shy and had buried his face against his father's shoulder and chewed on one of Arrasë's ears. The visitors had laughed, but it had been kind laughter, and one of them had reached across to ruffle his hair.

Later the adults had begun discussing something that he had not understood. His father had needed both hands free to deal with the maps and papers, so he had slipped down off the soft cushions to hide in the dark cavern beneath the seats, occasionally peeping out to smile at his Adar and Naneth.

When he got bored of pretending to be a scary cave creature, he had crawled silently among the maze of legs until he was sitting at the feet of his father's friend. The stranger was wearing muddy boots indoors and had a nice voice, and Ereinion decided immediately that he liked him.

Then came the bit that made him blush to remember it. For some reason he had decided that he liked the stranger so much that he would fiddle with the laces on his boots. And he had unlaced one boot right down to the toes and the other nearly to the ankle before he had tugged a little too hard, and the stranger had looked down at him and the boots. He had curled into a little ball and shrunk back under the chair apprehensively, but the stranger had merely observed his loose bootlaces then had looked straight at him and winked.

He had spent the rest of the evening curled up in loose folds of the stranger's cloak, sucking on the sugared grapes that would periodically be slipped secretly under the table. He had liked that friend a lot.

~*~

Sitting down cross-legged on the ground beneath one of the trees, Ereinion carefully smoothed a flat bit in the bare sandy soil with the palm of his right hand.

It must have been strange to have to leave your family and go and fight in a land far away, a land where the mark on your shield meant nothing. Maybe his soldier had missed his Naneth as much as he did. Maybe when he was small, he too had been worried that one day the soldiers would come home, but that his Adar would not come striding through the door to give his Naneth a hug. Perhaps he was scared of that square half-smile of greeting that people gave when they had terrible news to tell, too.

Ereinion bit his lip and arranged pine needles and a few of last year's tiny pine cones in a circle around his smooth patch, taking care that everything was perfectly symmetrical.

He could not imagine being alone in those woods, deep in the musty dark, and simply ceasing to be. Never again being able to lie in bed half-asleep and have his Naneth come in and bend down to kiss his forehead and tuck the blankets in around him. Never going back to play chess with his father, or roll around in a game of rough and tumble in the privacy of the royal study.

Perhaps when people died they got to go home to their families. It was not fair otherwise. Iluvatar would not allow something so sad to happen.

But his grandfather had not come home yet, and Ainon had said that he was dead. But everyone wanted him back, and everyone was sad. Ereinion wiped an invisible fleck of dust from his eyes with the back of his hand, and kicked his heels angrily against the ground as he thought of his grandfather. It was not fair.

Fingolfin had always seemed busy - busier even than his son - but he had always had time for his tiny grandson, and Ereinion had many fond memories. One of his favourite games when he had just learnt to walk was to toddle at full speed towards his grandfather with his arms held out as wings. He would be grabbed around the waist and swung around a few times before being thrown high in the air, squealing in delight. Fingolfin had always tossed him much higher than anyone else dared risk, but had never dropped him.

Apparently, once, his father had let him fall in a similar game. Ever since, his mother had held a rather dim view of such antics, but he could not remember falling himself - only being cuddled afterwards. His grandfather had never paid much attention to Naneth's disapproval anyway - it was he who had taught him how to slide down banisters and shoot down stairs perched on a tray, too.

Fingolfin had always encouraged Ereinion in his ambition to be a fearsome warrior had relished telling him bloodthirsty bedtime stories after his bath, when the whole family was gathered around the fire. It had also been his grandfather who had provided a tiny wooden shield and sword when he had been unable to stop sucking his thumb. Ereinion could remember sitting on his grandfather's lap as Fingolfin had placed the blue and silver painted shield in his left hand and solemnly explained that he could not possibly be a soldier if his sword hand was in his mouth.

He had not been told of his grandfather's death before, but somehow he had realised that he would never come home again. He had watched his father sit for hours by the window, staring out into the sunset without really seeing, his eyes red-rimmed. He had seen his mother try to comfort Adar, at the same time knowing that no real comfort could be offered.

He had knelt on the cold stone paving of the floor for hours during that long day. Nobody had noticed him sitting in the corner and he had arranged his blue and silver soldiers into lines and knocked them down like dominoes again and again.

~*~

Ereinion picked up a fallen pine needle and pressed an end against the flesh of his palm. A small red dot appeared and he rubbed his hand against his chin with a rather sulky expression.

Carefully he took the needle between his finger and thumb and scratched out his name in the smooth patch of dirt, forming the letters as carefully as he could manage. The fine soil was easily marked into tiny troughs, and the evening sun filled the inside of the furrows with blue-grey shadow along their western edge.

Ereinion.

It looked even smaller and insignificant among these trees than it had on the window ledge at home. When he had first managed to write it, his small hand guided by his father's larger one, it had meant the world to him.

Looking around carefully, and not quite sure whether he was allowed to do what he was about to do, Ereinion added the names of his father and grandfather to the smooth patch. It felt wrong somehow to list the names of such brave warriors side-by-side with his name, but his name had looked awfully lonely by itself. Now it looked like he was part of something.

"Ereinion!" An agitated bellow reminded him that he was also part of this camp, and that he had offered to help collect firewood.

Feeling a little braver Ereinion threaded the pine needle into the pattern around his name and got to his feet, wandering back into the camp seeking Ainon.


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