Timeline: Third Age- beginning to end.

Prologue

He was Círdan the Shipwright, ruler of the Grey Havens for many ages, and now of all the land west of the Blue Mountains. He was Lord of the Teleri, gifted by the Valar with the power of seeing further and deeper into future dealings of great importance. He was one of the Wise, and clearly one of the eldest of the Elves to inhabit Middle-earth since his awaking at Cuiviénen. He had seen and participated in more battles than anyone could possibly note. He had witnessed the creation and downfall of great civilizations, and even seen the most atrocious acts committed by Elves to other Elves in the pursuit of mere jewels. Many times had he been driven to small islands by all of the foes of Middle-earth, but had battled back valiantly with his mariners and the aide of many others to reclaim his lands and rebuild the Havens. He was mentor to Eärendil, keeper of one of the great Seeing-stones, and even the guardian of Narya, Ring of Fire and of the Three.

With all of the distinctions he held as of the Third Age, from shipwright to Lord and Ruler of Lindon, no one could really know of the true, and by far the greatest, role he held in all the lands of Aman and Arda.

He was chief knee bouncer extraordinaire.

Círdan chuckled to himself as he looked down towards the feathery pale blonde hair of the elfling upon his knee. Really, who could have denied any child, much less one who had entered the study so quietly, come to stand beside him and tug at his robes to softly? He had been lost the instant he gazed down into his granddaughter's large blue eyes, demanding his attention. She had not spoken of what she wanted, as it was her nature to remain rather quiet, but Círdan knew well enough the wishes of the small elfling. Being the obliging Elf he was, he bent down to lift her and place her on his lap.

The child let out a little squeal of delight, and looked back at him. She had had enough knee bouncing for now. He smiled and drew the child to his chest, deciding that the missives from Imladris and Lórien would have to wait to receive their correspondence.

"How did you sneak way from your tutors, Silaerín?" Círdan asked suspiciously, though he knew that his granddaughter was the last elf who would disobey any person or order she was given.

"They said I could leave, Grandfather." She replied quietly and almost submissively.

Círdan often worried for her sake; Silaerín had always been a quiet child and nearly frightened to death by situations that involved a great deal of people, as she found herself more suited for the teachings in old Elven histories rather than those that real life had to offer her with Elves her age. There had been many times that she had been ordered to go play with elflings, but he always ended up finding her sitting alone on the beach or in the libraries with a leather bound book in her hands. And it was not as if the other children did not like her, she just did not find their normal activities of pretend Sauron and Balrog slaying appeasing.

"And what of your brother?" Círdan questioned. Often over looked she was among the boisterousness and likes of her elder brother and the outspokenness of her two cousins who also took lessons with her. Silaerín had told him once that she could leave the lesson chamber entirely for a great while and not be missed, or even miss anything that was being taught because of the others' disruptive behavior. Maybe this was one such time.

"Celin is still with the tutors." Silaerín glanced up at him. "He is being made to read an old scroll again for not knowing his lesson. He was out with one of the weapons instructors late last eve."

Círdan grumbled to himself, glad that the tutors were seeing to it that Celin had some discipline and was given the punishment he deserved. Since his birth, Celin had been terribly spoiled and doted upon, usually to his detriment, and it seemed that only when something suited him, did he do anything. As the years passed, it became more apparent that Círdan's own son, Nenvír, felt very wronged as a child and sought to right those evils with Celin. Círdan had been just as a father, never expecting too much or too little of his son, but he had never thought he starved him for attention a great deal or made a habit of saying that Nenvír had never turned out like he should have. For so long, Círdan had worried that he had been too harsh on Nenvír, but he could never justify his worrying. Why, then, had Nenvír taken to allowing bad behavior from Celin, so much so that it ruined a perfectly good elfling, and not allowing it from Silaerín?

He had actually been quite proud of his son, and frequently let him know it, until the begetting of Silaerín. Celin, even though he was nearly fifty at her birth, had acted like a babe, crying for his father's and mother's attention. Silaerín had been quickly brushed aside so that Celin's wants and needs could promptly be seen to. She received little interest from Nenvír, even as a new babe, when she was truly the deserving one of his greater attentions. And now without her mother on these shores, she was often left in the shuffle and forgotten, unless her father felt it necessary to single her out and control the actions that he did not see befitting of a young Lady of the Havens. Perhaps it was that Nenvír gave her the same amount of attention as Celin, though it was overtly controlling?

Nonetheless, Círdan found himself immensely enamored by his granddaughter, who had taken more of his traits than Nenvír's or her mother's, and wished to show Silaerín that she was worth far more than Nenvír and Celin gave her credit for.

It was actually in this little elfling that he saw the makings of a great ruler, as she was so studious and diplomatic in her dealings whenever she had them. Even with the other elflings, she often commanded a great deal of respect and love, by showing a high level of kindness, from them without asking for it. She was never reproachful, nor was she a complainer in any manner. Even at her young age, she gave very educated advice to others. There had been more than one occasion where he had spoken of rather complicated matters involving the state of Lindon and Mithlond, and Silaerín had offered some rather sensible advice by breaking the problem down to its barest form. Little did the people of these two great Elven realms know that he was taking his granddaughter's idealist way of looking at things, and then forming them into, often times, decent plans of action.

Círdan sighed to himself, thinking it a truly sad state of affairs when he would sooner place his eleven year old granddaughter in control of the lordship over Lindon, than her father who had walked in Arda for nearly four thousand years.

Silaerín snuggled deeper into his robes, her tiny knuckles turning white as she attached herself to the fabric of his robes for dear life. "What does sycophant mean, Iauradar?"

"Where have you heard that, little one?" Círdan asked, though he did not necessarily wish to know the answer. He could have also easily reached into her mind, but he tried to keep himself from using this tactic with Silaerín. She had a touch of his own ability, and always blocked what he was trying to do quite sufficiently, whether she realized she carried the ability or not. Either that or the others he could easily read the minds of had such penetrable and weak minds that it was hardly a challenge for him.

"Celin called me that after I recited the lesson perfectly that he was to learn last eve." She said.

Círdan chuckled to himself. She truly was an elleth after his own heart, wishing to learn all she could, even though it was far beyond her years. "A sycophant is not a very nice thing, Silaerín. It means that you do more than is necessary to seek special attentions."

"Oh," Silaerín said quietly, her eyes looking towards the ground, "But I am not a sycophant, Iauradar. I just found Celin's lessons more interesting than mine."

He smiled, raised her face to look at his, "Silaerín, you are not a sycophant. It should be applauded that you do so well with your lessons... and with other's lessons as well."

"Truly?" She asked.

"Truly." He replied and let a long sigh escape his lips, "What were these lessons of?"

"Celin's was about the Kinslaying." Silaerín said with a great amount of enthusiasm, but her face fell when she continued with mentioning her lesson. "And mine was of Lúthien and Beren."

Círdan raised his brows in a questioning fashion, "You did not wish to learn of Lúthien and Beren?"

"Nay." She shook her head emphatically. He laughed at her, but knew she was not lying. The other thing he found quite endearing about Silaerín was that she did not care for the tales of romances and fanciful things, even if they were fraught with great struggles. She really only cared for the tales and histories of battles and the lives of her people. She wanted to know how the world worked, even if she could not quite understand it yet. Time would tell if she would ever change her mind, but Círdan truly hoped she would change. There was no sense to an elleth her age thinking of battle and death all the time.

"And why not? Theirs is a tale of what true love really is, and what a powerful thing it is when an elleth and a man stand against centuries old practices of not marrying out of one's race. Besides that point, it is also a rather dark tale of battles and evil things. It should have been interesting to you." Círdan replied, "You would learn very much."

Silaerín sighed, obviously still not convinced by his words. "She weaves too many spells, Iauradar. It is implausible for her to be so gifted with powers."

"Melian the Maia is her mother, which would make Lúthien half Maia. Elu Thingol, her father, was a great Elf as well, and often compared to the Maia." Círdan replied, "They were both very powerful."

"You and Iaurnaneth were very powerful Elves and Adar has no special powers." Silaerín said, looking up at him intently.

Círdan laughed at the compliment he had been given, ultimately being compared to his kinsman Thingol. "I am not so great an Elf as Thingol, but I am flattered that you think so. Your father, however, was perhaps undeserving of such powers so he was given none."

"Adar says it is because you wished for him not to have the abilities you do." She said quietly, resting against him now.

"I have no control over that matter. Only the Valar do." Círdan looked down at her, though what she had said had hurt him greatly. So was this why his son disliked him so? "You will learn more of the will of the Valar and Ainur as you continue your lessons, Silaerín. They can foresee beyond all who are capable of wielding these powers, and to what extent the wielding of these powers will affect the people around them."

Silaerín was quiet then, contemplating this explanation. She finally sighed and continued to rest her small head against his chest. Círdan sat back in his large chair, enjoying this moment of calm before something would inevitably interrupt it. He gazed towards his table, and spied the missives from Imladris, the crest of Elrond's house upon the red wax seal on top of the pile of folded parchment. And suddenly, an idea came over him. Perhaps it was not necessarily an idea, but more a feeling as though he were again receiving a vision of the future.

"Perhaps in a few years you would like to travel to Imladris?" Círdan asked.

She sat up quickly, eagerness shining from her now. "Really?"

He nodded his head, "Lord Elrond and his advisors are very knowledgeable in lore of the world. I think you would benefit from their teachings more than you do here with you brother and cousins."

"Can I really go to Imladris?" Silaerín asked excitedly. Her eyes were alight with joy and anxiousness, so different than when she snuck in and looked up at him with unhappiness very evident upon her face.

"I will send a letter to Lord Elrond to ask him if he can accommodate you." Círdan replied, "But until I hear back, perhaps this idea should remain only spoken between us. I only wish to send you."

She nodded her head, a smile stretching across her face, "Thank you, Iauradar."

Her arms went about his neck and he laughed lightly. Was it such a shame that he only laughed when she was around him? He sighed and hugged her close. Sometimes he had wished for the joys of having a daughter as well as a son, but he was content with only having a granddaughter.

"Silaerín, you should know better than to interrupt your grandfather!"

The elfling jumped within his arms at the irritated voice of her father, and slowly turned to look at him. He was walking quickly up to the desk, a look of anger written upon his features, more so than he should have probably exhibited. Nenvír hated it when Silaerín disobeyed him, and it seemed that conversely to Celin, he doted an even greater deal upon her now, though it turned to being quite smothering, requiring of her actions more than he required himself. It was almost as though he wanted to control her.

Silaerín hung her head and removed herself reluctantly from Círdan's lap. She sighed heavily, curtsying lowly to Círdan and then to her father. "Forgive me, Adar."

Nenvír looked upon the small elfling in a helpless manner. "Why are you not at your lessons?"

"Master Tyelco said I could leave for the day." She responded quietly, once again reverting to her reserved and submissive manner. Just the way she acted when her father was around was sickening to Círdan. He understood the need for respect in any family, but it was obvious Nenvír commanded much more than was necessary or deserved as Silaerín's eyes fixed upon the stone floor. Círdan felt himself growing angry as well, but only with the way his son treated Silaerín so harshly and Celin so lightly. It was actually quite preposterous that he could grow angry so easily after living all of these years and learning how to control his emotions, but this was one instance that could not pass by him.

However, he was not going to let Silaerín witness the discussion he was planning to have with Nenvír after she left.

"He lets you go too easily. I must speak to him." Nenvír replied, sighing heavily and turning to look at him. Nenvír spoke then, "You may be go back to your lessons, Silaerín."

Círdan watched the elfling scurry out of the room, and down the hallway as the door at the very end was opened and then closed quickly. He sighed heavily and stood up, walking over to the large side window. He gazed out on the docks, taking in a long breath of the sea air drifting in through the opening. That always seemed to calm him, but it did not work so well this time. Círdan clasped his hands behind his back and turned away from the window, looking towards his son for a few moments, trying to read his thoughts before looking at the ground and letting out a long sigh. He was so unhappy now, he could not even focus enough of his energy on trying to understand where his son was coming from in acting so oppressing to Silaerín!

"Adar, just tell me what you would like to but are trying to form into better words." Nenvír spoke in a resigned fashion.

"I know not what I wish to tell you, Nenvír." Círdan spoke quietly, now desperate to rein in his anger because his son spoke to him in such a way. "What have I done to wrong you?"

"Adar?" Nenvír questioned curiously, though it was obvious he knew exactly why he was asking him this question.

Círdan glanced back at Nenvír, and shook his head slightly. "Why must you treat your daughter in such a way?"

"She will never learn if I do not," he answered.

Círdan sighed to himself, watching the Falathrim now loading a boat with supplies to be shipped across to the island. "Do you not think you are just a little too harsh on her? She is only eleven."

Nenvír joined his father's side and gazed out onto the docks. "I only do what you did to me as a child, Adar."

So now he had paid too much attention to Nenvír, albeit supposedly bad attention? Compared to the anger Círdan now felt at that remark, what he had felt a few moments earlier was a mere annoyance. "I was never so overbearing to you, Nenvír. I never told you what you could do and could not do. Your mother did that."

His son remained quiet and flicked some of his hair behind his shoulder as he left Círdan's side and walked over to the desk full of papers. Círdan turned and watched as his son sat down with an ever so possessive and arrogant air about him in the high-backed chair behind the table. "Adar, she is my daughter, I will do what I see fit. I am not cruel to her, and there are far worse things that I could do to her. You forget that I am acting as mother and father, so I must act like I do. You show her enough leniency for ten of me, so she must receive discipline from someone."

"While you let your son run about as a miscreant?" Círdan snorted disgustedly. "Do you know that their tutors let Silaerín go because she is not only better behaved than Celin, but also continually memorizes her lessons as well as the ones Celin is to have learned? If anything, you should be speaking to the tutors about him."

"The tutors are weak. All Tyelco needs is a simple smile from an elleth of any age and he lets them out of his clutches." Nenvír said, picking a long white feather quill up from the desk, twirling it in his fingers. He gazed at the stack of missives upon the desk. "Adar, do you need help with your correspondence? You seem to be falling behind with Silaerín's interruption."

Círdan walked over to the table, and snatched the quill from his fingers. "I am perfectly capable of handling my correspondence, Nenvír. I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing!"

He looked up at him indignantly, "At least I would not let a simple elleth pull me away from my work as the ruler of these lands. It is much more important than she."

"You will learn, my son, in the most dire of times just how important the delicate balance between a parents' love and need to control his children's life is." Círdan threatened, his voice taking on the low, foreboding timbre he had developed over many years of telling others of the evil things he saw in the future.

"How would you know, Adar? You did a sufficient job of controlling mine." Nenvír said, raising a challenging brow. "And I do love her, Adar, as I am sure you love me, but she needs someone to tell her at this age what is a better course of action in many situations."

"I never controlled you, Nenvír. I agree with the need for discipline as well, Nenvír, but you are far too critical of her. Was I like that to you?" He smoothed his robes over his shoulders, and looked down his nose at his son.

He looked up at Círdan, "You may not have realized this, but you were and still are overly critical of me. What do you call this conversation and telling me how to run my family?"

Círdan was quiet for a moment, thinking about what Nenvír had said, though he still could not see what he meant. "But as you said, you are acting as two parents now, not just as her father. She needs your love even more now that her mother is gone. Do you not see that? Or is that the reason why you are so insensitive to Silaerín?"

Nenvír stood from his seat and straightened to his full height, gazing into Círdan's eyes. His son wished to say something, Círdan could see that much from the look of anger on his features and the way it seemed he would spit fire if he opened his mouth, but all Nenvír could do was grunt and march out of the room, his nose held high. Círdan closed his eyes for a moment and then dropped down into his seat. He acted so much like an child. What was he to do about this? Maybe it would not only suit Silaerín to be free of her father's unreasonable and smothering parenting, but also her father from the 'burden' of having such a lovely daughter. Lord Elrond and his refuge in the Valley would be a wonderful place for her to go and learn of what parents should be like, and also expand her knowledge of Arda and beyond.

Círdan sighed and pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer, placing it in front of him. He had to put this into writing before he did anything else. This was, as far as he was concerned, a matter of greater importance than anything else he could receive from Amroth in Lórien, or even Elrond in Imladris.

Silaerín- Queen of the Shining Sea

Nenvír- Water jewel

Celin- Water flows musically

Iauradar- Grandfather, "Ancient father" in Sindarin

Iaurnaneth- Grandmother, "Ancient mother" in Sindarin

Adar- Father

Elven age: Done at a simple ratio of 18 human years to 50 Elvish years, the age of 4 in human years would equal that of about 11 in Elvish years. So it would be that Silaerín is really at the growth rate of a four year old in our eyes.

A/N: Originally for the LACE Trim challenge, but the story does not use canon to support the deviation from LACE. Therefore I will leave it in a regular section. Though it is out of the section, I will still tell a story of how the factoid from LACE isn't necessarily so. Also on a side note, I completely understand that Lúthien's/ Beren's tale is hardly a sappy love story, but for the purposes of this prologue, I rely on the romance aspect of the relationship more than the other parts. I hope you have enjoyed this prologue, and continue on through this long chaptered saga!