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The Prince and The Shipwright  by Dragon

Lord Cirdan of the Havens strode briskly up the sandy cliff path that led from the cobbled quaysides to the back of his home, listening to the distant crash of the waves against the cliffs as he mentally constructed frameworks and bows. The improved beam joints would allow them to bear a heavier load and withstand more strain, so there were many new design possibilities.

"Hail, Lord Cirdan." A soldier dressed in the deep blue and silver of the High King's army came striding towards him, out of the tall Scots pines that grew around the southern reaches of his gardens. As he drew closer, the shipwright recognised him as Ainon, one of Fingolfin's captains. One of Fingon's captains now, of course.

"Hail!" Cirdan turned and waited for the newcomer, raising his arm in a friendly greeting. "What news?"

The two elves stood side by side, heads bent slightly as they spoke rapidly of what had passed, and Ainon handed over several letters and other documents that he had been consigned to carry.

"We have delivered the High Prince to your care." Ainon tilted his head towards the house with a slight grimace. "He will do well, I hope. There is a letter. . ."

"Aye, thank you." Cirdan fingered the thick parchment with its wax seal, and raised his silvery brows slightly. He had received the news that the young prince - now the High Prince - would be entrusted to his care with some surprise. It seemed but a moment since they heard that the then High Prince of the Noldor and his wife had been blessed with a healthy infant son. "Time passes quickly."

"Aye." Ainon said doubtfully, not quite sure what the shipwright was referring to. "That is does."

~*~

The party from Hithlum seen on its way - heading towards the barracks where they would linger a few days before riding out with some of the sea elves, taking advantage of the protection of increased numbers for as long as possible - Cirdan strode into the house, using the main entrance rather than the back door as was his habit for everyday matters.

Thatharien was at his side the moment he entered his personal quarters, and he slowed his pace to allow her to walk comfortably rather than scurry after him.

"Good day, Thatharien." The Shipwright's tense shoulders relaxed slightly as he entered the familiar surroundings, despite the worrying news that he had been given. He really wished for some time to himself, to mull over the information and read the letters at his leisure, but he could tell that his housekeeper wished to discuss things, although she would not speak out of turn.

"Good day, my Lord." The silvery head dipped briefly in greeting, then she began speaking, touching each finger of her left hand in turn as she dealt with the matters in hand. Cirdan was not one to become overly bothered about laundry and linen, as long as his needs were not left wanting, but he did expect to be told of all that happened in his household. "We have been gifted with herbs and spices from the east, they are now in the lower kitchens being bottled and dried. There are also a selection of ornaments and trinkets that I have dusted and left for your perusal in the northern reception chambers. There were also a number of garments and belongings for our guest. I have placed those in his prepared room. And. . ."

The housekeeper paused, as if wondering if she should speak her mind.

"The Prince?" Cirdan prompted impatiently, noting absently that Thatharien was now wringing her fingers together.

The housekeeper looked at him with a small smile that he had neither the time nor the inclination to decipher, then returned to her normal slightly worried expression. "He is a little young, my Lord."

Cirdan grunted. That he had expected. He would not enjoy sharing his time and quarters with a young elf - having to listen to him lusting after his first loves, or pretend to be interested in the self-important propounding of whatever theories or ideas he thought he was an expert in that particular evening. And to have impressed his extreme youth on his kind and understanding housekeeper so soon, he must be immature indeed. He could always begin eating in the shipyards should his home life become too trying.

"Perhaps. . ." Thatharien hesitated slightly then ventured a little nervously. "Some arrangements have been changed."

"Aye?" The bushy silver brows arched upwards, and Cirdan looked in surprise at the female elf. He had not known her to do such a thing without lengthy discussion since she had come to his household, and he could not help but wonder what had disturbed her to this degree.

"It can be quickly rectified, my Lord." Thatharien spoke with nervous haste, the repetitive use of the formal title making Cirdan a little wary. She had not even been this apologetic when there had been an accident with the ink in his study.

"And what is this rectifiable change?" The shipwright queried brusquely. Thatharien had enabled him to keep his home running smoothly and to a tight routine for nearly a hundred years, and he trusted that this change - whatever it was - was absolutely unavoidable.

"I felt it best to move the young prince from his allotted rooms to the guest chamber opposite your bedchamber." Thatharien spoke quickly, and did not meet his eyes as she took a deep breath before continuing. "I have prepared the room with furnishings I feel that he will enjoy."

Cirdan nodded. His housekeeper had an undeniable gift at making his guests feel welcome with the individual touches she gave their rooms, but that did not explain the move in the first place.

"Why my guest rooms?" The shipwright scowled and then, realising that the comment sounded rather peevish attempted to qualify it with, "The set of rooms we picked out is far more suitable. He will have space to entertain his own guests, and he may even eat in them if he wishes."

He hoped that the prince would manage to cultivate a desire to eat breakfast in them, at least. He was fond of his solitary breakfasts where he would ponder the matters of the day in peace, and had no desire to share them with a chattering young elf. He could see no reason for his housekeeper's sudden change of heart. Only a few days ago she had been busily preparing his finest guest suite for the arrival of his guest. Why anyone would want to move from the luxurious suite of bedchamber, study and sitting room was beyond him.

Anyway it was his guest room, in his private quarters, in his house. He did not want anyone whose company he did not enjoy there, High Prince of the Noldor or not.

"I am sure that he will find the room quite spacious, my Lord." Thatharien murmured, surprisingly still holding her ground, although her hands had begun to quiver slightly. "It is quite fitting for his size."

Cirdan gave her a puzzled look, and swept off his cloak in a whirl of dark blue cloth.

"If I find the arrangements unsuitable, he may move at the end of the week." The shipwright hung up the cloak on one of the many crowded hooks, and bent down to unlace his damp sea boots.

Thatharien nodded with a disapproving look that warned him that he would be happier if he found the arrangements suitable. "Very well, my Lord."

~*~

Ereinion's heart leapt nervously as the door to the study opened with a dull rasp, and he clutched the cushion tightly to his body for comfort. His stomach had begun feeling funny too, but more in a fluttery excited way than before. He tugged nervously at one of his braids, winding it in- between his squirming fingers and thumb, and gave the door his best smile.

Cirdan strode into the room, somehow managing to look imposing despite standing in only a pair of thick woollen socks with damp toes. Ereinion's first impression of him was of someone very tall and angular, with skin bronzed by the sun and wind. His hair was silver and was drawn loosely back from his face and tied back with a series of leather thongs. He did not look much like a Lord of anywhere, for he was wearing a rough tunic covered in tar and wood shavings over his shirt and leggings, and he carried no jewels or brooches. Even more strangely, his hair did not seem to know where it should live, and had grown all over his face like the hedgehog that he and his Naneth had once found in the woods. Although he knew that it was rude to stare, Ereinion could not take his eyes from it.

The pair looked long and hard at each other for a few minutes, each maintaining a breathless silence.

"Prince Ereinion of the Noldor." Cirdan made a barely perceptible motion with his head, and let his eyes travel over his guest. He was so obviously Fingon's son, with rapidly blinking grey eyes and dark hair pulled back into painfully tight braids fastened with a silver star at each temple. He was so obviously a child, his muddy boots on the cushions for no other reason than that his legs were too short to extend over the broad seat of the bench. He had never imagined that the boy would be so small, or that he would be sent here whilst still so young. He could not be more than a dozen years past babyhood at most.

"Lord Cirdan of the. . . um. . . I. . . um. . . Teleri." Ereinion's smile was bright in spite of his confused look as he battled with the title. He had meant to say Havens, but then he had been called of the Noldor, so maybe Lord Cirdan would want to be called one of the Teleri.

Pausing in his examination of the child at the stumbling greeting, Cirdan gave the child a rather late and rusty smile.

Ereinion responded to the grimace with a quivering lip and chattering teeth. He had not even done anything and already Cirdan seemed displeased with him. Judging from the way the shipwright was staring at him, maybe he should not have sat down. His boots had dropped some dirt onto the deep green cloth of the cushions. Covertly, Ereinion tried to brush some of the caked bits of mud away, but this only served to smear them further on the fabric.

Blinking back the unwelcome tears began to fill his eyes, threatening to spill out from his lashes and run in hot streams down his cheeks, Ereinion got to his feet, clutching onto the wooden edge of the seat for longer than was strictly necessary to give him confidence. Surely Thatharien would explain that he had only been doing what he had been told, that he had been trying to be good.

"Sit." Cirdan said suddenly, as usual his voice taking a commanding tone. He had no desire to have his people stand and bow before him, especially a child such as this. The shipwright's keen eyes had not missed the pale face, shadowed eyes or thin little body. He could surely count the child's ribs through the tiny tunic and shirt.

Ereinion sat. The shipwright sounded very stern and very grave, and he did not wish to anger him.

"On the seat." Cirdan's voice was harsh with confusion. The last time he had been in council with leaders of the Noldor it had still been customary for them to sit in chairs rather than squat uncomfortably on the floor. Perhaps children liked to do such things, but he had no desire to have to stick his head between his knees in order to speak to his guest.

Shaking slightly in spite of his efforts to appear brave, Ereinion scrambled back onto the bench, ignoring the hand that was offered to him. Although the shipwright was less substantial looking than his father or grandfather, when he towered above him like this, Ereinion was more than a little afraid.

"Here we are!" Thatharien bustled in with a loaded tray, and set it down on the bench beside the elfling. "You shall soon feel better with this inside of you."

"Thank you." Ereinion murmured quietly, eyeing the plates of biscuits, bread and butter, cheese and slices of smoked fish eagerly. Simple though the snack was, it looked and smelt delicious and he was so very hungry.

"Aye, my thanks." Cirdan smiled at his housekeeper, and strode over to the other end of the bench and sat down, trying hard not to notice the way the elfling stiffened and edged away. "We shall enjoy this."

With Thatharien gone, the room lapsed momentarily into silence as Cirdan poured out some very hot sweet tea into one mug and handed a large glass of milk to Ereinion. Too thirsty to even stutter his thanks, Ereinion drank lustily, watching Cirdan over the rim of the glass with big eyes. The shipwright appeared disinterested in him, apparently looking out of the window as he took gulps from his mug, but actually watching the child's reflection as it moved in the glass.

This changed everything. Instead of an inexperienced yet independent young elf, he was now in sole charge of a child, and a small one and that. No wonder Thatharien had been so insistent on the room - her maternal instincts and quiet yet steadfast determination seemed to have been reawakened rather suddenly.

Cirdan set down his empty mug with a rather unnecessarily loud chink of pottery against wood, trying to bring some distraction into the awkward silence. What was one supposed to say to such an infant anyway? There was little point enquiring after his journey or health, for those were obvious at a glance, and the shipwright was not a fan of words without worth.

"You are now the High Prince." Cirdan stated, watching the child intently as he drank. A large milk moustache was forming above his small pale lips, and the earnest grey eyes were still watching him anxiously.

The child nodded, not removing the glass from his lips. He had been named as High Prince on the same day as his father had been sworn in as the High King, but he was not going to speak about that with the shipwright.

It had been a long day, full of lengthy ceremonies and uncomfortable clothes. There had been a great sense of sadness in the halls, and the celebrations had not managed to cheer anyone up. Adar had been given his grandfather's crown, and he had had to wear Adar's circlet. It had been too big of course. He had once enjoyed dressing up in a trailing silk shirt as he peeped out from between the silver and mithril bands of the crown - but this had been different.

The only things that had really changed were that his mother now spent long hours in the study, and his father had less time for him. He had not even sat next to his father at the coronation feast, so there had been nobody to help him with his meat, but he had still been told off when his duck had landed in another guest's lap.

"I trust that you will enjoy the Havens." Cirdan said sombrely, giving his usual greeting for visiting dignitaries. "You are very welcome here."

Ereinion nodded again, but his milk was finished and he had no choice but to put down the glass and speak politely, as he had always been taught to do for such greetings. "Thank you, I am honoured."

The child reached for a napkin and wiped his face thoroughly, taking such a long time that Cirdan began to suspect that being able to hide his mouth behind the linen gave him some comfort.

There was an awkward silence, for Cirdan had nothing else he was inclined to say and his mind had drifted off to think of the as yet unopened letters and document, and Ereinion was feeling rather shy.

The shipwright reached absently for a slice of bread and piled cheese and fish onto it before folding it over, creating a makeshift sandwich. As he took a large bite, he noticed a worried pair of eyes watching him anxiously. The child had not touched the food at all so far, although his housekeeper clearly had thought that he needed it for she seldom provided food under normal circumstances.

"Do you not like. . ." Cirdan spoke with his mouth full and grunted as he nodded down at the tray. Ereinion nodded earnestly, then shook his head rapidly as he looked longingly at the plates of food. He wanted some so badly, but he did not know if he was allowed any. And the shipwright's question had been confusing, and now he would probably not be left any.

"Then perhaps if you could manage some," Cirdan nudged the tray over towards the child as he took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. "Thatharien will be offended if you do not."

Ereinion smiled shyly at this, and reached forwards eagerly to construct a sandwich the exact mirror of the shipwright's - matching each ingredient slice for slice, afraid to appear greedy if he ate too much. Cirdan sighed and picked out a handful of thick oatmeal biscuits, hoping to encourage the child to eat a little more and reward Thatharien's efforts. The child was chewing quickly, almost as if he was starving and afraid that the food would disappear. His eyes were focused only on the bread between his fingers, and his face appeared so solemn that Cirdan was tempted to laugh.

"Biscuits?" Cirdan shoved the platter under the child's nose the moment he had swallowed the last mouthful of his sandwich, ensuring that he had little choice to accept.

Ereinion gave him an anxious look, quickly counting the number that the shipwright held, then gathering his own handful. "Thank you. They are nice."

Cirdan nodded, then feeling some strange need to keep the conversation flowing, followed the child's eyes to his desk. The earnest grey gaze was now focused on his paperweight - a carved wooden ship sailing in a thick glass bottle.

"That is my paperweight." Cirdan nodded towards his desk, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "A good friend once gave it to me."

Ereinion's eyes widened, and he leant forwards slightly, trying to gain a better look. He had noticed it as he had waited for Cirdan, but his Adar had always told him it was rude to read other people's letters, and the shipwright's desk was covered in letters and documents. If he had got close enough to examine the ship then he might have accidentally seen some of the precise and cramped script.

Cirdan looked at him, one bushy brow quirking upwards. The boy obviously wanted to see the ornament, for his mind and body were bent as far towards the paperweight as possible without actually moving or speaking, but he seemed unwilling to actually take any action.

Grunting, the shipwright got to his feet and fetched the paperweight before returning to his seat and cradling the bottle gently in his hands. It was very old now, even by the standards of the elves, and the thick green tinted glass was becoming rather cloudy. Inside the scraps of sailcloth were yellowing, but the thin threads that made up the minute rigging were still taut. If one looked close enough it was even possibly to see tiny painted figures and admire the delicate brass fittings set in the woodwork.

Ereinion scrambled around on the seat until he was crouching on his knees, and leant forwards eagerly to look at the ship - his lower lip sucked in slightly, and his eyes large. Gratified by the child's interest, Cirdan launched into a long and extremely detailed explanation of the various sections of the ship, and the various considerations that had to be made when building them. Ereinion listened with interest, nodding occasionally and sucking on the first two fingers of his right hand. Then, as Cirdan continued to explain how to test beams to ensure that they would stand the strain, he reached out a hand to touch the curved glass.

"Do not touch!" Cirdan said sharply, instinctively jerking the paperweight from Ereinion's reach. He had no intention of letting little elfling fingers make sticky marks over his belongings. Damp sucked little fingers that would leave damp slobbery little marks. Even if he was to protect the young prince, he had no intention of allowing his home to become any less ordered.

Ereinion's hand shot back as if he had been scorched, and he hastily placed the biscuits back on the plate with excessive care. He shuffled around to face the window, sitting on his hands lest he accidentally touch something else. Sighing loudly, the shipwright replaced the paperweight on the desk, moving across the room in a manner that left Ereinion no need to guess as to his temper. He had not meant to upset the child, but that seemed to matter little.

"I will not tolerate disorder." Cirdan said sternly, hoping that this explanation would comfort the child. It did not seem to, but Ereinion nodded anxiously, biting one quivering lip. The shipwright shuffled awkwardly and looked down towards the beach, his blue eyes troubled. The least he could do was to treat the boy as any other visiting dignitary. "When you have readied yourself, perhaps you would wish to see the gardens?"

Ereinion sprang to his feet instantly. The air inside Cirdan's house seemed to have become awfully tight and difficult to breathe suddenly. "I am ready, Lord Cirdan."

Stifling a groan, Cirdan turned back to the prince with what he hoped would look like a pleased smile. It had been his intention to quickly read Fingon's remarks at least before proceeding any further. Surely the child could take a hint.

The shipwright grunted and stepped back to allow Ereinion to lead the way out of the room, adding absently in recognition of his guest's youth, "There is a beach where you shall play."





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