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Ereinion had wondered what Cirdan would be like, of course. Worried about it.
At first he had wanted someone young and exciting - maybe a captain or a master archer - someone who would take him for rambles and picnics, or take him fencing or riding. It would be nice to be able to return home already a fully trained warrior, ready to go to battle for his father. But at the moment he seemed to be more of a worrier than a warrior. He was not sure that he even wanted someone who would let him stay up late, or allow him to eat his pudding without finishing his vegetables, or let him choose exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted someone just like his Adar. He hoped that Cirdan would be kind and understanding. His father and grandfather had a warm safe feeling about them, and when he had been scared, he had leant against their legs and felt braver. He wanted his Adar to give him a cuddle right now, very badly. He needed someone to talk to, someone who would answer his questions, someone who would explain things. There was so much that he did not understand. He needed someone that he could trust to tell him the truth, even if it hurt. Maybe if he told Cirdan that he was older than he really was, the shipwright would tell him more. But that would be lying, and his Naneth had always told him that lying was wrong. Although it would be nice to have a big brother who would make him feel special and let him do all the things that he liked to do best, he would rather have someone who would give him a cuddle and tell him that it would all be all right. Someone who would sit down with him and tell him that he had been mistaken, and show him that the terrible things that he had heard and seen were not really real. He had sometimes heard his father speak of Cirdan, and he had never really been that intrigued by the shipwright. Not like his Uncle Turgon who had made a hidden city up in the mountains somewhere, or his father's friend, Maedhros, who slayed things. It sounded much more interesting to go to war and battle orcs, than to build boat after boat. But he was sure that all would be well. Nobody could spend all their time building ships after all. ~*~ The sound of voices calling for him brought Ereinion back to the present, and he unwillingly got to his feet, and wandered back to the paved expanse of the courtyard. Everyone was milling around, unloading packs and saddlebags, greeting strangers, or walking stiffly around to stretch their legs. He quite liked the look of Cirdan's house. It seemed more solid than those of the townsfolk, with thick walls and roofs of stone. It was set apart slightly from the rest of the town - maybe ten or fifteen minutes walk to reach the other houses - and was higher on the hill, closer to the sheer cliffs than the harbour and quays at the far end of the bay. It would not be the first place for the enemy to attack, and if they did he would have plenty of time to run and hide in the dunes or the pine forests that extended almost to the shore. "There you are." A soldier grabbed him, and gave him a none too gentle shove towards the front of the building where several members of Cirdan's household had gathered to meet them. He would be none too glad to see the last of the cumbersome child. It was not that he disliked the prince, but he brought danger to their company, and had slowed down their progress across the lands. His neighbour had a child too - a little girl, not yet past her fourth begetting day. Too young to travel, her family's only hope lay in trusting the strength of the walls and the bravery of the soldiers. As Ereinion stumbled forwards, Ainon took him by the shoulder and led him forward, squeezing comfortingly as they approached the small gathering. He could sense the child's pounding heart beat, and a small hand was grasping a handful of his leggings with fearful tightness. Kneeling down, he straightened Ereinion's tunic and dusted down the child's leggings. The captain doubted somehow that he would ever see the child again. As he tidied the dark braids, he bent his head close to the child's ear and spoke softly. "You are the future of our people, Ereinion. Represent us well." Ereinion nodded earnestly, and Ainon felt a slight pang. He wanted to warn him not to take the shipwright's rough words and uneven temper seriously. To let him know that adults did not always mean what they say He gave Ereinion a small push forwards and spoke up clearly. "This is Ereinion, High Prince of the Noldor." Swallowing hard, Ereinion looked around nervously at the strangers, trying to guess which one was Cirdan. Eager to make a good impression he approached a tall dark-haired elf, and nodded his head in greeting. "Lord Cirdan, I am Ereinion." The dark haired elf smiled, and the audience began laughing kindly. "It is a pleasure to meet you Ereinion." The dark haired elf looked amused, but spoke seriously. "But I regret to tell you that I am not Lord Cirdan himself. My name is Andir, and I keep the library." "Oh." Ereinion's cheeks went red. "Well met, Andir." Feeling rather silly, the prince blinked away the tears in his eyes and looked around desperately at the other faces. All looked pleasant enough, eyes both curious and kind, most of them with a smile for him - but not one came forwards. How was he to know which one was Lord Cirdan? Could it be some sort of test? Was Cirdan standing at the back somewhere, becoming angry with him for his rudeness? He could feel a lump growing in his throat, and his eyes were stinging angrily. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that he would cry. Unhappily he looked back over his shoulder at Ainon. The captain was watching him with an encouraging smile, but his face gave no hint as to who the Lord of the Havens was. But he was High Prince of the Noldor, and Ainon expected him to represent his people well. So did his Adar and Naneth, and his grandfather would do too. And greeting the wrong person then bursting into tears on the steps of Lord Cirdan's house would hardly make people think well of the Noldor. He did not want his Adar to think that he had shamed his people. Swallowing hard, Ereinion lifted his head arrogantly high, and looked around at his hosts. "Greetings to you all." His voice was a little more wobbly than he would have liked, but anything was better than crying. They smiled at him again, but none of them said anything. Ereinion licked his lips anxiously, wondering what he should do. His Naneth had always told him to be polite, even if other people were rude. "Thank you for letting me come. I am glad to be here." Naneth had told him never to lie too, but he was sure that this was a kind lie, and was not really bad. There was a moment more silence, then the members of the household looked gratefully behind them into the house at a slight noise. Ereinion braced himself for meeting Lord Cirdan, but instead of a tall majestic elf-lord, a smiling lady hurried down the steps and placed her arm around Ereinion's shoulders. The prince leant back into her arm, subconsciously seeking more comfort. She was not his Naneth, but it had been so long since anyone had given him anything approaching a cuddle. "Welcome to the Havens, Ereinion." She smiled again and began leading him into the house. Ereinion cast a last desperate look back at the soldiers who had escorted him and especially Ainon, and let himself be taken in through the doorway. ~*~ The House of Cirdan did not appear so very different from home at first. The entrance hall was huge and echoing, with a wide curving staircase sweeping up to higher levels, and there were seemingly endless passageways and corridors. All was built from the same pale stone, with wooden floors, and high arching windows made up of several panes of glass. There were pictures on the walls, of ships and cliffs and the sea, and occasionally displays of arms and shields. "There, that is Lord Cirdan's shield." She pointed out a shield the deep green-grey colour of a stormy sea. Crossed behind it were a sword and a spear. Ereinion stood still for a while, looking at them. He did not understand. His Adar had always said that any elf that was fit and able should take up his sword against the enemy, to protect their people. It was cowardly not to. It was wrong. But here Lord Cirdan had his weapons hanging from the wall alongside tapestries and paintings. There was even a little dust on the curved surface of the shield. "Is everything all right, Ereinion?" The housekeeper asked at last. The boy seemed more interested in the weapons than any child she had ever known - almost transfixed by the blades. Perhaps that was the fault of his upbringing. She had heard that the Noldor made toys of swords, and their children played games of death. Blushing guiltily, Ereinion tore his eyes away from the display and smiled at his guide, "Oh yes. I was just interested." As they carried on down the hallway she continued to point out objects she thought would be of interest to the young prince, but his answers were brief in the extreme and it was obvious that he was not really listening. Eventually they passed through a doorway and immediately the air seemed warmer and the rooms more lived in. The floor was scattered with rugs in shades of blue and grey, and there were brass lanterns mounted on the walls. He could hear the crackle of a fire in one of the rooms, and he could smell something good cooking. After weeks of hasty and poorly cooked meals, this cheered him immensely, and his stomach rumbled loudly. His guide smiled down at him at this. "You are hungry. Well, you go and meet Cirdan and I shall bring you in something." Ereinion gave her a whole-hearted smile, and gladly followed her when she turned down a side corridor and rapped sharply on a thick panelled door. There was no answer, and after the third knock there was still no response. Ereinion began to feel sick again, and nervous tears began to well up in his eyes. "Lord Cirdan?" She opened the door and peered inside, then looked down at Ereinion with an expression of regret. "He is out at the moment. Why do you not wait here?" She indicated a window seat with a wonderful view over the sea and the path down to the town. Ereinion glanced worriedly at the beautiful view from the window, but fidgeted and did not move. "First you will be wanting to wash your hands, I expect." She smiled down at Ereinion and led him to another doorway. "Now, go back and sit in the study when you've finished. Lord Cirdan shall soon return" "Thank you." Ereinion said very properly, then as she turned to leave, blurted out, "I. . . I do not know your name." He suddenly wanted her to stay very badly. However new a friend she was, she was still a friend, and he did not want to be alone in this strange and new world. "My name is Thatharien." She smiled sadly at him then sighed. "I am just the housekeeper." ~*~ His hands and face washed, and his hair tidied in a manner that would make his nanny proud, the prince made his way back along the corridor. It was quite dark in the little passageway, the only light being from the paned window that was high on the end wall. At first he could see little in the gloom, but after a few moments he was able to focus on the unlit lantern hanging above the doors and concentrate on the small hints as to the shipwright's character. A picture of a great white ship sailing over a stormy sea, and - far too high for Ereinion to reach - a row of carved wooden hooks hung with great blankets of cloaks, and a collection of boots neatly standing below them. Thatharien had taken his cloak and hung it on one of those hooks, but he could not see it even when he craned his head back as far as he could manage. He probably should take his boots off too, to avoid trampling mud over the polished wooden floors, but he liked his boots and he was not sure that he would ever get them back if they were tidied away to some high and inaccessible place. It made him feel braver to wear them anyway. Soldiers and kings wore boots. Ereinion tiptoed into the study, half hoping that Cirdan had come back while he had been out, half-hoping that he would never come. The room was still empty, and feeling surprisingly disappointed, Ereinion made his way over to the window seat and sat down. There was a small fire burning in the grate and he was tempted to go and warm himself by the flames, but he knew that it probably would not help the cause of the cold that gripped his body. The study was a large room, furnished only by an enormous desk and chair, the window seat and the fireplace. The two walls that were without windows were covered in bookshelves, and with a hint of his previous curiosity, Ereinion went over to inspect them. To his disappointment, all looked boring - annals and histories, and none of the beautifully illustrated tales of adventure that he favoured. Perhaps Cirdan kept his interesting books up in his bedroom to read before going to sleep. If he were a Lord that was exactly what he would do. Books were much more fun when you were tucked warm and comfortable into your blankets, far away from painted monsters and imaginary dragons. Anxious to please his new guardian, Ereinon decided to follow Thatharien's instructions to the letter and scrambled onto the window seat. The cushions were soft and warm, and after his long journey, incredibly comfortable. He curled up against the high wooden back of the seat and hugged one of the cushions to him as his eyes eagerly explored the landscape outside the window. The gardens extended around the back of the house to some rather scrubby windswept trees, before the land broke into grassy hillocks covered in rabbit holes, and then into sandy dunes with tufts of coarse marram grass. The wide expanse of the bay was visible over the dunes, stretching from the tall craggy cliffs on his right to the flat winding coastline on his left. If he leant forwards he could see a paved path making its way down to the town and a long grey stone quayside with wooden jetties jutting out into the water. There were boats bobbing around on the blue waters of the bay, and people hauling in nets and lines. The tide was out and he could see people digging around in the wet sand with sticks, and further up the beach, smaller silhouettes chasing each other and jumping into pools of water with giant splashes. If he had to stay here, he should at least try to enjoy himself. His parents would want that, and time always passed more quickly when he was having fun. With all this to explore it should not be difficult - if only he could forget how much he missed Naneth and Adar for a few hours. |
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