#i'm a huge defender of the ereinion-is-the-son-of-fingon-theory

[ladysternchen]

It took me ages and ages to do it (big apology for that), but here goes: Ereinion sat with his arms wrapped tightly around his legs as he watched Círdan craft little ships, tiny enough to fit into his hand, yet worked out in so much detail that they looked just like real vessels. Each of them would start out the same, and then Círdan would change little details here and there, some noticeable at once, others so subtle it needed the shipwright’s explanation to see. Ereinion had watched his foster father for a while now, but not been able to bring himself to ask what he was doing- so many of his thoughts were still on his old home, on his father, his mother who was now dead. It seemed almost like a betrayal to them to concern his mind with something  so mundane as these toy-ships. An alarming thought came to his mind- did Círdan craft those boats for him? To get his mind off things? He did not want to be distracted only to have his despair come crashing back over him by nightfall. Ereinion was so immersed in his thoughts that he did not notice the young elf approaching until he came to sit next to him, a harp on his lap. The elf smiled apologetically at him, saying:  “I hope I do not disturb you, young lord, but I tried out a new way to tune my harp and I want to see if it goes as well with the rushing of the waves as I thought it would.” Ereinion blinked. It would never have occurred to him that anyone would tune their instrument in accordance to the sea, but he supposed it made sense, as the constant ebb and flow was as omnipresent in the Falas as the mournful cries of the gulls. “Not at all.” he managed to say at last, remembering that he was likely meant to answer. The elf smiled again and started to play softly, and Ereinion was caught by the music almost against his will. It spoke of a longing of the heart, both sweet and bitter at the same time. Círdan seemed to have noticed, too, as he looked up from his boats to smile at the elf.“That is a fair tune your playing!” he called, and Ereinion saw the young elf blush.“Thank you, my lord.” They all lapsed back into their own preoccupation after that, but as the elf stopped playing at last, Ereinion could not keep his curiosity at bay any longer.“Do you know what he’s doing?” he asked bluntly, and his companion looked up in surprise.“Lord Círdan? Why, crafting models for his ships, I suppose. His quest for building a ship that will reach Aman is ever on his mind, and great a toil it is, too. But the ways of shipwrights and mariners must seem strange to you, of course.”Ereinion nodded.“Quite. I never knew anything about ships afore I was sent here. Why do they all look like seabirds?”The elf smiled gently.“Swans, young lord. There is an ancient legend concerning that. Do you want me to tell you?”Against his earlier resolution not to be distracted from his misery, Ereinion was intrigued, and so nodded eagerly.“It is said that when Lord Círdan was a young child, in ancient days, when the elves still dwelled by the starlit shores of their first awakening, years uncounted before the making of sun and moon,  he and his cousin would craft little boats together, that they would set afloat upon the waters of Cuiviénen for their amusement. One day, a current took their ships, and loathe as the boys were to give their toys up, they followed them, finally catching them way out on the waters, where large round boulders formed little islands and a causeway far into the lake. There they sat, resting after the chase and rejoicing in the retrieving of the boats, when a storm gathered about the lake. Soon the waters were in an uproar, and waves washing over the boulder upon which they sat, and the young lords were in gravest peril. Then, suddenly, they noticed that their boats were gone and in their place sat two great swans, their eyes shining with light, and their necks adorned with bracelets of silver and gold. They allowed the children to mount their backs, and carried them safely ashore, near to the dwellings of their parents. Thus Lord Círdan and King Olwë were saved. But as they turned to thank their mounts, they found only two little toy ships, much changed to what they themselves had crafted. They now had the form of swans, with little pearls for eyes. Ever since, the ships -I hear on both sides of the sea- of the Teleri are shaped like swans.”The elf fell silent, and Ereinion sat lost in thought. The swanships of Alqualondë… how often had he heard the term, spoken in hushed voices, a synonym for their doom. He knew the story behind it, remembered the self-loathing and regret in his father’s voice as he told the tale of the kinslaying. It strangely moved Ereinion now to think that once upon a time, the idea of the design of those ships had come from the playful crafting of two innocent boys. He was so deep in thought that he did not notice the elf biding him farewell and leaving, nor that his place was taken by none other that Círdan himself.“Your mind is bothered, my son.” said Círdan gently, tearing Ereinion from his thoughts. He nodded, lost for what to say. Círdan seemed not to mind, as he clapped him on the shoulder, saying: “If you have no other plans, I shall need your opinion on my new ships.”Ereinion looked up to see his foster-father’s eyes twinkle with the mirth of mischief long gone by and wondered if he had heard what the young elf had told Ereinion before.“I am no mariner, lord!”Círdan chuckled.“All the better. I do need unbiased eyes.”Ereinion followed him, and when he crouched down again next to Círdan and his assembly of little ships, he could have sworn one of them had winked.

17: myths & Falas

Challenge accepted ;-) Give me a little time, and I'll see what I can do. :D