Title: Here Is Love
Author: Haleth Broadbent
Summary: Cirdan, Lord of the Havens had never thought to find another Elf to spend his life with. When a young elleth half his age suddenly becomes the target of another ellon's attention, Cirdan learns how much she means to him.
Declaimer: I own nothing but my quill and parchment.
Rating: PG
Time: Five hundred years after the Ring was destroyed.
Whispering word..
A sigh of sighs,
The ebb and the flow
of the ocean tides.
Enya
It was late afternoon and storm clouds growled lowly on the horizon. The white and grey houses of the havens took on a deeper hue and the sun slipped behind the clouds.
The great main house was surrounded by the smaller, snugger cottages that were used by elves departing for Valinor. The land reaches out and holds the bay with thin promontory arms that stretch north and south, leaving the West a clear gateway to the sea and home.
Cirdan hammered the last nail into place and straightened his back. He surveyed the dock and tested his weight on the now secure board. He smiled with smug satisfaction, it was perfect.
He scooped up the little pouch of nails and slipped his hammer into his belt. As he walked back to his workshop, the elf took a minute to gaze at the half finished Swan boat that lay in the dry dock. A few more weeks would see it to completion, just in time for the arrival of the departing elves.
There were quite a lot of elves coming this time. When word had come of their number Cirdan had been forced to enlarge the plans and build the ship much bigger. Fifteen at least were coming for Imladris alone, plus three from Ithilien and one from Lorien.
As it always did, the departure filled Cirdan with a kind of melancholy happiness. Happy, that so many were returning home, but sadness for the dwindling population of elves in Arda.
"You're thinking about Valinor again aren't you?" a voice at his elbow asked. Itarildë Eärfalas stood there, smiling up at him.
"Yes, and no." he said, "I was just thinking that we shouldn't be in such a flurry of haste to leave Middle Earth."
"Oh, Cirdan! You're so transparent at times. You don't want elves to leave because when the last boat leaves you will go with it." she looped her arm through his and squeezed it slightly. "You old diehard. You don't want to leave Middle Earth."
Cirdan gave her a lopsided grin and said, "Right again, but I promised Mithrandir you know."
"Yes, you did. I can't help but think it was a bit rash of you." she answered. She tucked a strand of onyx hair behind her ear. Sauron, I thought… Well, it was rather foolish of me."
Itarildë shook her head, "Not foolish, hopeful." She smiled again, "But rash none the less."
"Have you never do something similar?" Cirdan said, "You choice to stay here was rash wasn't it?"
The elleth shook her head, "Now you can't corner me there Cirdan, and you know it. I made my decision after careful thought and council from my family. Besides, I have made it a point to never promise anything, because it always turns on you a moment later."
Cirdan listened half heartedly as she spoke, he was enjoying the emotions play across Itarildë's features. She wasn't exactly pretty, but she had a sweet contented expression that was lovely.
A gong boomed one ringing note that echoed all over the cove. Itarildë looked toward the house and said, "I'd better be off. I have supper detail tonight, and with the way those Ithilien elves eat! I'd better double everything!"
She slipped away and tripped lightly up the sandy path to the large stucco house. As she left, Cirdan sighed involuntarily. And felt the warmth of her touch fade. Itarildë was such a bright elleth, gentle, kind and in his opinion quite pretty. He found that he enjoyed her company more and more.
Even though they saw each other daily such confidential chats were few and far between. Besides, Cirdan was too busy to seek her out on purpose. And yet…he found himself doing just that, several times in fact.
The Shipwright shook himself a little and continued on to his workshop where he stowed his tools. He was too old to think of elleths, why he was nearly the oldest elf left in Middle Earth! There were times when Cirdan could hardly believe that it was almost five thousand years ago when he had first opened his eyes upon the world.
"Silly old fool." he muttered. Itarildë was barely more then twenty five hundred years old, young enough to be his daughter many times over. She would certainly never consider him as more then a father figure.
Not that he thought of her as more then a daughter, of course. When she had arrived over five hundred years ago she had chosen to stay behind when her parents and siblings had come on to Valinor. Cirdan never knew exactly why she had done it, but she had remained to this day.
A sudden clap of thunder announced a coming storm and the Shipwright bolted outside to cover the half finished ship with the heavy sail clothes. Cold drops of rain pelted down in furious haste and thoroughly soaked Cirdan before he finished with the sails. Then, instead of running for the house and shelter, he stood still.
The Shipwright lifted his face to the watery onslaught for a moment. He would have stayed out in the rain if the supper gong had not sounded a soggy note. Inside a roaring fire and the sound of clinking dishware meant dinner was in full swing. Cirdan changed out of his dripping tunic before he took his usual place at the head of the room.
A rowdy bunch of Ithilien elves were talking loudly in one corner while the quieter Mirkwood elves murmured across from them. Both groups had converged on the Havens a few months ago and they were a lively addition to the peaceful Haven population. The leader of the Mirkwood elves was a dark haired ellon named Eglerion.
He was hard working and jovial, but Cirdan found it hard to like him. The Haven Lord wasn't sure exactly what it was about this elf that he found so unlikable, everyone else in the Havens enjoyed his company. Perhaps that was it, everyone wanted to do whatever Eglerion was doing.
"Good evening Eglerion." Cirdan said as he passed. The dark elf nodded and lifted his glass in acknowledgment. One of his companions said something funny and Eglerion laughed heartily.
As Cirdan sat, Eglerion rose and rushed to help Itarildë who had just entered with a steaming tray. He relieved the elleth of her burden and went about the room serving so Itarildë could rest. Cirdan scowled into his cup at the delicate blush that colored Itarildë's cheeks, and the grateful glance she gave the young ellon. Why should she care so much for this noisy so and so?
"I declare we should have some music and dancing tonight!" Eglerion suddenly announced, "Does anyone know how to play a harp? I'm perfectly useless with one myself."
A laugh rippled around the room at this self-depreciating remark. A few elves volunteered and ran to fetch their instruments. They reappeared a few minutes later with a flute, a harp and a lute. They tuned their instruments and with a nod began playing a merry tune, the silver sound even drowning out of the pounding of the rain.
Watching from his table at the top of the room, Cirdan found himself smiling on the couples as they joined hands and danced. Soon they would be going to the Blessed Realm and all their cares would be ended, only this kind of joy remembered.
"Will you not dance Cirdan?" Itarildë asked. Her eyes shone bright with merriment and he hand was held out in a silent offer.
"I don't know. I haven't danced in…well, quite a long time." Cirdan shrugged.
"All the more reason to do so now!" she declared and taking his hand pulled him reluctantly to the dance floor. The other elves shouted and gave a few cat calls and whistles as the Lord of the Havens joined them.
"Just the thing Cirdan! Show them how it's done!" Someone called out.
Itarildë took his right hand in hers and rested her left on his shoulder. Almost shyly Cirdan pulled her closer as he out his hand around her waist. Trying not to blush the Shipwright swept the girl around the room with the other couples.
It felt good, comfortable to hold Itarildë near him as they followed the intricate steps of the dancers. Itarildë smiled happily and followed Cirdan's lead carefully. Everything faded as they danced and Cirdan didn't see anything but the glossy braids of the elleth and the felt only her soft form in his arms.
"Cutting in!" Eglerion sang out and neatly stepped between them and claiming Itarildë's hands. With a devilish grin Eglerion twirled her away; leaving Cirdan watching helplessly as Eglerion claimed a place he wished to fill.
Coming back to himself the Shipwright smiled and returned to his seat where he sat brooding. The dancing continued late into the night but Cirdan didn't join them again. He wasn't angry, he told himself. Itarildë could dance with whom ever she pleased.
Of course, it didn't bother him at all Cirdan told himself again. He told himself this as he read, while he worked and while he drew ship plans. He told himself this when he woke, and when he watched Itarildë serve breakfast to Eglerion. He told himself this as he welcomed the new arrivals to the Havens. But when Itarildë smiled at him across the table that night at dinner knew he was lying to himself.
He did care, very much.