A Crucial Decision

by Gwedhiel

*canonical gap-filler* Elrond seeks out Círdan to find out why the Shipwright decided to give Gandalf the Elven Ring Narya. After all, the Three Rings were made for the Elven race, so by what reason should a Maia possess it? Will Elrond believe what happened? *full summary inside* *needs revision*

1. Chapter 1

Summary: Canonical gap-filler. Elrond seeks out Círdan to find out why the Shipwright had decided to give Gandalf the Elven Ring Narya. After all, the Three Rings were made for the Elven race, so by what reason should a Maia possess it? Will Elrond believe what happened?

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's marvelous world. I only own the character Ëarhín and the Fëagaer. I also do not own the uploaded "book cover" for this particular story. It is owned by "celebrusc" on tumblr and I have been given said artist's permission to use it.

All of my sources for all canonical facts, should you question their accuracy, are listed at the end of the story.

A/N: I can't believe how long this chapter ended up becoming! What I put for the genre, know that I'm using them lightly. I just don't know what else to call this. Anyway, this story, I guess, can be considered as a possible gap filler. I don't know – it's up to you to decide. This piece does contain a flashback and, like one of my others, it will be noticeably divided by a large – not small – large marker. Because the flashback is so large I didn't want it to be distracting by being all in italics. So, a large dividing marker marks the start and end of it. Though the goal of this story is to answer the question stated in the summary, of course, this fictional piece is also intended to be an exploration of Círdan's character. What exactly possessed Círdan to give up Narya the Great? Let's find out. And thank you, Tori of Lorien, for your help!

One last thing – I know that the people of Mithlond are rightfully called the Grey-elves. But, for the sake of making it less confusing, I'll be referring to them as that and also as the Sea-elves because the Grey-elves are not only in reference to Círdan's people, but also other Sindar such as Celeborn. So, to narrow it down, I'll be using both names. Hope you don't mind. Enjoy the story!

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I just remembered to include this at the last minute. They're just a couple of sailing terms that will be used in the story that you might want to familiarize yourself with first. I didn't think of mentioning them until I remembered how confusing it was for me to get them all straight all those years ago when I first learned them. If you already know them, awesome! You get a cookie. :) If there are any others I didn't mention or something you don't understand, feel free to PM me.

port/starboard = left side of the ship/right side of the ship
bow/prow = front of the ship
stern = rear of the ship (if someone says they're turning astern, it means their turning the ship around in the opposite direction)
mast = upright spar of the ship that carries the sails
masthead = top of the mast
bulwark = section of the ship's side above the deck
gunwale = "railing" along the top section of the bulwark
hull = body of the ship
keel = spine of the ship
tiller = handle for the steering oar
telltale = the pennant that indicates the wind's direction
reef = to bundle parts of the sail in against the yardarm to reduce the sail area
trim = adjusting the sail to a certain angle to insure efficient sailing
stay (back/fore) = the heavy ropes that support the mast (back/front, pretty obvious, right?)
yardarm = a wooden pole, or spar, that carries the sail when hoisted up the mast

I hope you enjoy the story! I certainly had fun writing it. Happy reading!

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"My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me." ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Chapter 1

Mithlond, 1001 TA

Glorfindel, swaying to the gentle trot of his mare, gave a sly smile. "You are doing it again."

Elrond's mind snapped back to the present, hearing the amusement in his Seneschal's voice. And then he gave a wan smile, shaking his head in self-admonishment. "I cannot help it and you know it," he said, though he couldn't find it in himself to sound angry or irritated, for far too content he was. "Ever since I was little this sensation has always persuaded me to drop my guard and become utterly relaxed."

Glorfindel chuckled. "How sweet," he teased. "You are letting your inner child break through for all to see." Elrond sent a glare to him and he chuckled again. "You also make an easy target to tease when you are like this." He saw Elrond open his mouth, no doubt to quickly refute that statement and prove it false, and he gestured lightheartedly to let it drop. "I know, Elrond," he said, equal content obviously present in him as well. "You need not explain it to me. Out of all the long years I have lived, in both of my lives, I have never become used to the sensation you speak of, or of how it lifts my spirit each time."

Elrond unconsciously nodded in agreement. He couldn't imagine anybody not being able to agree to that. And, once again, his mind started to drift off. He didn't necessarily think of anything. He simply allowed the bliss to seep through his being and become fully relaxed again, teasing Elda beside him or not. He relaxed on the back of his horse, tilted his head towards the sky, enjoying the feeling of the warmth of the Sun, as he took a deep breath. His sense of smell was overwhelmed with the power of salt in the air. But it was a small sense that he could quickly dismiss at the sight of what lay before them.

Mithlond was a Haven unimagined. He and Glorfindel had just passed through the inland homes of a large part of Mithlond's population. They were comforting shelters – cottages, some great and some small, but each quite easily represented the utter contentment the Sea-elves possessed. And now they were passing through Círdan's open gates – there was no immediate threat, after all – all the while making sure to rein in their mares' trot down to a slow walk. There was a constant stream of traffic moving in and out through the gates, people carrying bundles on their backs or in carts, taking them to their various homes before settling for the evening. But they passed through, returning the brief nods of welcome from the guards stationed on either side. Both Elrond and Glorfindel were familiar faces in the Grey Havens, he knew, and were, therefore, seldom barred from the gates with the formulaic command to be recognized.

But now they entered the heart of the city, an elaborate stone labyrinth that extended for miles across the land and up both of the north and south coasts, becoming incredibly busy and haphazard at the mouth of the River Lhûn, people meandering about across the cobblestones. But it was an architecture that had a beauty of its own, a beauty that no other Elven realm could possess and that was the beauty that age defined. The stone that crafted the city was worn smooth and stood with an ancient delicacy of its own.

Rather randomly, Glorfindel's words came back to him and he looked to him in slight confusion. "Wait, Glorfindel, you say that you are not used to it? Out of all the time you spent with the Elves in Aman, not to mention here?"

Glorfindel smiled. "That is different, Elrond. These Elves are different."

Elrond had to concur with that, for the sensation that Elrond so eagerly welcomed was wrought by the Elves of the Havens alone. The people here were more content, more at peace than any other Elf in Middle-earth, for the city had never been plagued or tainted by the evil hand of Sauron. But more than that, Círdan and his people remained distinct from all other Elves in many ways, which was why Elrond and many others found the aura they emanated very foreign. It was a different living of a different folk, an indescribable something that he wished the people of his own realm would be granted, for Mirkwood and the forests of Lórinand to be granted, for he truly believed that it would provide them a better living, to be more at peace in a world gone awry. But no; that something came only hand in hand with Círdan's folk, unfortunately, for they were so apart from the inland Elves that they could seldom be understood or a bridge ever formed with them.

And their voices, Elrond thought absently. In all the years he had been living and across all the lands he had traversed in Middle-earth he had heard many Elves sing and they had sung many tunes. But no Elf, of any place, he had learned, could sing more beautifully than the Sea-elves. Even now, as he and Glorfindel lead their horses closer to the harbor, they could hear a few Elves here and there lifting their voices together. But it always sounded as though their voices were being borne on the wind instead of coming from their own persons. Ever since his childhood, he had always equated their voices to be carrying the sound of the waves. And in the tales he had told his children, it had been the vast Sea singing itself, for, in their voices, one could always hear the yearning they burned with for the Waters. Though, hearing that harmonious sound again, he didn't believe he was far from the truth.

Glorfindel's voice, once again, interrupted his musings.

"Do you know what to speak about with him?" he asked lowly, cautious of the people that could overhear.

Elrond glanced at his serious demeanor and sighed. "There is nothing much to speak of, my friend. It is all very simple. I only hope that Círdan will be able to answer it. You know how vague he can be."

Glorfindel nodded. "Vague to the point of frustration, correct?"

"Correct."

If he answers at all, Elrond added silently. Approximately a year ago, Elrond and his House had been graced by the visit of a rather strange, old Man. Or, at least, he appeared to be a strange, old Man, Elrond thought. Mithrandir, he had said his name was. And the old being, whatever he was, seemed to get a great thrill in being extremely vague and mysterious himself whenever he had the opportunity to be. While becoming acquainted with him, Elrond received the impression that he was rather amused by it as well. But what alarmed him to no end was when, in the privacy of his own study, this Mithrandir presented his hand before him and the red-stoned Ring on it.

Narya. Elrond was still flummoxed to no end why Círdan had decided to give the Elven Ring to a stranger. Sure, Mithrandir was kind. He was wise. He was strong-willed, but…why? Mithrandir had provided no answer, of course, save for the amused twinkle in his eye, which, for some unexplainable reason, disarmed him. But –

"Stop thinking about it, Elrond." Glorfindel's voice interrupted him yet again. "You will get your answers soon enough."

Elrond rolled his eyes at that and said nothing. But he didn't have to. They finally reached the harbor; the many graceful ships moored against the docks that extended at least twenty meters and Elves going to and fro, the port proving to be as busy as ever. Even now, a ship, sails reefed, was coming into port, the Elves on the dock waiting for those on deck to throw them the mooring lines. The drawbridge, to which they were heading, elevated high above the water, was massive. The four towers, two on either side and reinforced by iron, were linked by heavy rope cables, coated in a hard layer of tar for protection. Elrond could smell its sweetish, aromatic scent as they lead their horses onto the wooden roadway, the thick planks heavy and hard and reinforced with steel bolts. It was a powerful bridge, one to withstand any type of weather – or attack – and one that was drawn whenever a ship had to pass up or down the river.

Their mounts' hooves echoed loudly on the hard wood and, simultaneously, he and Glorfindel looked down at the ship that was docked just beside the end of the bridge and smiled. Sharing a knowing glance, they both reined in and dismounted, going over to lean on the broad railing and studied the ship beneath them. It possessed the grace and elegance that all of Círdan's ships were known for and was gently swaying to the motion of the current it rested upon. The two sails were reefed against their yardarms, which were anchored securely at an angle to the bottom of the mast and spars, and cargo was being loaded on by the many Elves at work and being stored beneath the deck.

"Welcome!"

Elrond and Glorfindel looked up towards the stern of the ship where the shout came from and broad smiles lit their faces at seeing a particular dark-haired Elf waving with furious vigor at them.

Elrond gave a short wave back, the smile still plastered on his face. "Well met, Ëarhín!" he called.

Both Elrond and the Elda couldn't suppress their chuckles as Ëarhín moved with the speed of a rabbit during the spring. He bounded towards the broad gunwale of the bulwark on the port stern and leapt over it with the excitement of a child, landing lightly on the dock two meters below. The other Elves aboard ship watched their exuberant fellow Sea-elf and skirl with patient, amused smiles as he ran at full speed up the cobblestone pathway that lead to the bridge.

Elrond and Glorfindel watched as Ëarhín, long hair flying and grey eyes lit with excitement and joy, skidded onto the bridge and ran at full speed towards them, a broad smile still lighting his face. And before Elrond could blink, he was engulfed in a rib-cracking bear hug with Glorfindel's sound laughter ringing in his ears.

Ëarhín released him and held him at arm's length, seemingly oblivious at the large breath of air that Elrond drew in. "Elrond, it is so good to see you!" And then he slapped his shoulder as his brow furrowed in anger. "What took you so long?" he demanded. But before he could reply, the bright smile was back as Ëarhín turned to the golden-haired Elda who stood watching with a tolerant grin.

"Lord Glorfindel," he greeted, clasping the warrior's forearm in a strong grip. "Thank you for seeing that Elrond arrived here safely. How have you been?" But again, before the twice-born warrior could answer, he turned back to Elrond with his brow furrowed once more and gave him a gentle shove to the shoulder. "Well, what took you so long?"

"Despite that it brings me joy to see you in such a cheerful mood," Elrond said, unable to keep a stern façade as a slow grin broke through, "would you mind explaining what it is you speak of? Why do you ask such a thing? I arrived here unannounced and I sent no missive in advance of my coming."

Ëarhín nodded impatiently. "Very true, but I wrote you a missive well over a year ago telling you to come to the Havens as soon as you could."

Elrond's eyebrow rose. "I never received a missive from you."

"Yes, you did," he argued. "I know I wrote it. I was too excited not to."

Glorfindel cleared his throat. "You may have wrote it," he inputted, "but are you sure you sent it?"

Ëarhín opened his mouth to reply and then closed it as he contemplated the question, trying to remember. Had he sent it? He knew that there had been a couple of incidents before when he had written the message and had forgotten the potentially important part of actually sending it.

"I might have," he said uncertainly, but then he shook his head, dismissing it. "A scribe, I am not. What matters is that you are finally here. Come, come," he ushered, waving his hand impatiently to follow him as he began to walk back across the bridge. "There is so much to discuss."

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged a knowing glance and grabbed the reins to their horses' bridles, gently leading them onward. "I wish I had his energy," he murmured to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel stifled a laugh as they caught up to Ëarhín, who had turned around, waiting for them. "What export are you planning so late in the evening?" he asked as the Sea-elf resumed his pace. Usually, he knew, any and all exports were prepped and planned in the early morning.

Ëarhín looked down at the ship nearly beneath the bridge, content to see that the Elves were still loading the cargo up the boarding platform. Despite his cheerful disposition, any who knew him well would say that Ëarhín watched with an eagle's eye to make sure that all details involving his, or any other, ship was carried out perfectly. Otherwise, he would breathe down one's neck until he got it right. What else could one expect from the Captain of the Shipyard, after all?

"I will be leaving shortly after dawn on the morrow," he explained, gesturing down to the ship beneath them as they made their way around and down the cobblestone pathway. "Due to the grace of the skies being clear for once in the past week, we decided to make a shipment up to three human settlements in the Hills of Evendim while the weather remains nice. It was a last minute decision and the crew is hauling the final load up to the deck."

"What are you exporting?" Elrond asked. It never hurt to be curious, particularly when he could make use of particular items. Some of the people yet milling about in the streets, seeing the two lords, nodded their heads briefly in respect before continuing on.

"The usual," he said dismissively, leading them at a leisurely pace down the street of the bay and turning down a smaller one as to lead them inland. "They requested mainly for our salt, of course. But we are also sending up jasmine, juniper and the like for medical purposes. We will also be sending them a large portion of bayberry bark and the candles made from their berries. And lastly, the ever present variety of fish."

Elrond's interest was caught. "If it will not be too much trouble, I would like to take some of the bayberry bark back with me." Bayberry bark, he knew, was invaluable to any healer. And it tended to be a rather large export to mannish settlements from the Havens. The tea made from the powdered bark was an excellent expectorant. For Men, it commonly promoted perspiration, to cause a fever to break through sweating it out, and to cause better circulation. He even managed to use it a few times to treat poisoning. But bayberry was hard to find and hard to grow. And the Grey Havens had an abundant supply of it due to the heavy salt on the wind.

"Of course, Elrond," he said with an easy smile. "You know you need not ask. We grow too much of it, anyway." With a short sigh he came to a stop and gestured towards one of the larger stables just a few meters ahead.

"Feel free, my lords, to leave your horses in the care of the horse-handlers. They will be well cared for, I assure you. They care for Círdan's own bay." But before they could head in that direction, he once again stopped them. "If you do not mind my asking, how long will the two of you be staying?"

The two shared a quick glance before Elrond gave an apologetic grin. "Not long, my friend. A day, at the most. We simply have to speak with Lord Círdan about something urgent and return home." His smile grew. "And as much as I would love to relax in the bliss of your Havens, I assured my people and family that I would return as soon as possible."

The Sea-elf shrugged it off. "Not to worry. You will just have to visit again soon." He took a small step back. "Well, I will let you take care of your horses before we continue."

"Could you point us in the direction of the guesthouse, Ëarhín?" Glorfindel asked. "We would like to get settled and refreshed before meeting with Círdan."

Ëarhín gave a derisive snort, crossing his arms in amusement. "Of course not. You are the guests of my lord and you shall stay up at his home. You and I know that he would have it no other way." Glorfindel went to speak and he pressed on. "Besides, consider yourselves invited to dinner and that you have already accepted it." Glorfindel went to speak again, but he gestured impatiently towards Elrond. "Take care of your horse, my lord. We will discuss it on the way up to his home."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes at the impossible Elf and followed Elrond to the stables. Once their mares' comfort were seen to and assured that they would be well watered and fed, they began the confusing walk through the labyrinth of stone that went up, down, sideways, and backwards.

"What is this about us staying in Círdan's home?" Elrond asked.

Ëarhín chuckled. "You know that Círdan would not see that you have any less hospitality than his own," he said cheerfully. "Besides, I managed to catch a wonderful cod not an hour ago and it is now waiting up in his kitchen to be prepared. It really is a beautiful fish."

"You are preparing dinner for him?" he asked casually, hoping to hide the worm of concern that sparked at hearing Ëarhín's words. He saw past the Elf's cheerful façade and spotted the worry hidden deep in his eyes.

Ëarhín glanced over and sighed, recognizing in the Noldo's eyes that he had been caught. Glorfindel, beside his lord, also looked concerned.

"Yes, Elrond," he said quietly, all previous jollity gone, "I am preparing dinner for him."

Elrond nodded, almost to himself. "He is still searching then?"

Ëarhín gave a single nod. "He is."

Elrond nodded again, feeling considerably downcast. For many centuries, he knew, Círdan left for a short period of time every decade or so to head out to the Great Sea and sail north to the upper reaches of Forlindon. It was of nothing important, which was why he seldom made the journey, but for an Elf of such humility, it was only a small desire of his heart, possibly the only desire he now ever had, to lay sight on a pearl. Before the start of the Second Age, before all of Beleriand was laid to waste and taken under water, the pearls Círdan had collected had been great and abundant for millennia. Though it was sometimes used as a form of payment, they were more as precious jewels. As gems were jewels to the Noldor, pearls were jewels to Círdan's people. But to Círdan, they didn't possess a value of money; they were a link to the past, a past long forgotten of in the First Age. And, to this day, he only wanted to see one.

Just one.

And he never had.

"Is it really so selfish to ask for?" Ëarhín said quietly. "I too share his hope that a pearl or two may have washed up on the northern coast eventually. But considering how much he has dedicated to this world and how little to himself, it is really so much to ask to simply see one? He does not desire to even possess one, only to see one."

Elrond understood that sentiment all too well. To him and to every other Elf in Middle-earth, Círdan was seen as a living link to a past that was so distant that it could not be remembered or conjured by any save himself. A time when there were no differences between the Elves, no royalty, no hierarchies, no shadow of the Kinslayings, when the World was young and vibrant, and unwithered by war and the passage of Time. Elrond knew that that in itself made Círdan priceless beyond measure to the Elves; as certain Elves could communicate from mind to mind, that past could only be reached through him; there were no others old enough.

And the pearls, Elrond knew, served as a visual reminder of that past. And anyone would have to be blind to not see that he wished to live in such a time again. And each time he returned home from a failed expedition, Elrond knew that Ëarhín prepared dinner for him as an apologetic gesture.

"But I have to say," Ëarhín continued, shaking off the melancholy, "that you certainly know how to make a good timing. He is just now returning from one such voyage and sent a missive ahead that he would arrive this evening."

Glorfindel glanced at him. "A good timing indeed."

"Well, his absence certainly answers my pondering of why you are not in Círdan's shadow," Elrond teased.

Ëarhín smirked at him, but said nothing. He knew of the whispers and jests spoken over the years about how he was Círdan's dog. He couldn't deny them since they were pretty much practically true. Whenever time allowed it, he tended to stick to Círdan like white on rice.

"Tell me, Ëarhín," Elrond said, "how is Círdan doing?"

"How do you mean?"

Elrond considered his words carefully. Ëarhín, despite being one of the Mariner's closest friends, did not know that Círdan had ever borne Narya for all those centuries and he didn't want his words to cause any suspicion now. Even though Círdan was now free of that burden of bearing a Ring, it could still potentially cause trouble should word get out that he once did bear it.

"Is there any change to him?" he asked eventually. "From when I last visited, anyway?"

Ëarhín smiled. "I would say there is. I cannot explain why, but it appears that his heart is lighter. It is a change that seemingly everyone can sense, but not pinpoint. I will not complain, for whatever happened to cause his spirit to be lifted, I am grateful. Though…."

"What is it?" Glorfindel asked quietly, sensing Ëarhín's change of mood from ease to concern.

Ëarhín glanced around and lowered his voice, not wanting to taint Círdan's reputation with what he was about to say. "There was an incident last year that made me question his sanity."

Glorfindel and Elrond exchanged a glance, both realizing that it was at the time when Círdan passed Narya to Mithrandir, but Ëarhín never knew about that. "What happened?" they both voiced.

Ëarhín went to speak and they both saw the reluctance in his coutenance. Elrond rested a hand on his well-muscled shoulder and spoke softly, "Tell us later, my friend. We understand that there are too many people about who can hear it."

Ëarhín nodded appreciatively and fell silent once again, his own mind occupied with the never ending thoughts of his lord. Elrond was about to comment before they finally passed out of the city limits and reached the lone, foliaged pathway to Círdan's home. And thus, no longer being dwarfed by the elegant, stone structures, he saw the silhouette of the house against the setting Sun.

It was still far away, at least three miles. And it was elevated high above the sea level, built from the southern rocky range of the Blue Mountains, which gave Círdan a clear view of his Havens for miles out. There were two watch towers set five miles out and the northern beacon, also built into the southern reaches of the Ered Luin, was lit during the night to signify the northern breakwater to any incoming ships. If the sails of a ship with foreign colors flying should be spotted by the watchmen, the southern beacon was then also lit to inform Mithlond and her security of the arrival.

They trudged up the misshaped pathway, the warmth of the air dropping and their garments flapping with more spirit now that they were hit with nearly the full force of the western wind from the Gulf. Elrond looked over at Ëarhín and, though his gaze was cast in a faraway world that neither he nor Glorfindel could see, he seemed to glide up the pathway, dodging all minor obstacles without a second thought as though he had walked this pathway tens of thousands of times before. He had, of course, but it was still admirable to watch that he performed such a hike with such an ease. But Elrond could see that his spirit was low, that it seemed to be locked away in a shadowed room. He could nearly feel the lack of optimism that his jubilant friend normally showed. And there was only one person he could be worrying about.

"Ëarhín," he said lightly, hoping to distract the elderly Sea-elf, "tell me, since you have not yet. What is this missive you speak of that you forgot to send me?"

Immediately, his silent, weighty melancholy seemed to vanish, as though it had never been there in the first place, as Ëarhín turned to send a glare of mock irritation to the Noldo. "I did not forget it," he said firmly. "It had probably become lost on the way."

Glorfindel shook his head. "Listen, you stubborn Elf, excluding the debate of whether you sent it or not, what did the missive say?"

Elrond startled when Ëarhín started bouncing like an excited Elf-child on his begetting day. A bright smile lit his fair face and eyes as he turned to his companions, exhilaration positively radiating off of him. "By the Valar, Elrond, Glorfindel, you have to see it. Círdan built a ship!"

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged a confused glance, wondering if the Grey-elf had taken leave of his senses. "What is so surprising about that?" Elrond asked, as kindly as can be. "Círdan has built many hundreds of ships. And has helped construct many beautiful ones at that," he added with an unconscious glance towards the multihued sky, where his father's ship Vingilot was to once again soon sail its set course. "Why should we be surprised that Círdan has crafted another? He is the Shipwright, it is what he is named for; it is his skill and his passion."

Ëarhín made motion to stop them in the road and both turned to look at him, the obvious question in both of their eyes. And though Ëarhín was still beyond excited, they could see the silent admiration and immense awe in his grey eyes. He shook his head slightly, just staring at the two, as though hoping that the silence would impress upon the two Elves just how inconceivable this ship was.

"It is not just any ship, Elrond," he said quietly. And though the smile still lingered, the two could see that Ëarhín was gravely serious. "How do I explain this?" he mumbled, looking towards the West. After a few moments, he looked back towards his friends. "You know that each ship bears a name in accordance to its creator, purpose, craft, or design, just as your father named his beloved ship Foamflower. You know that the name of each ship is unique and only meant for the ship herself."

"Yes," Elrond said slowly, wondering where this was leading. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"He has named her the Fëagaer," Ëarhín said meaningfully. This time, Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged a surprised glance.

"The Spirit of the Sea?" Glorfindel repeated, wondering if he had heard right, for that was indeed an unusual name to grace a ship with.

Ëarhín nodded eagerly. "That is her name, given by Círdan himself. And let me tell you," he added as he continued their walk up the path, "it is Mithlond's prized jewel. In all my millennia of living, never have I seen such a ship as this."

Elrond looked at him doubtfully for a moment. "You exaggerate." Ëarhín had been living for nigh on ten millennia, Elrond knew, and had, therefore, witnessed nearly every ship of Middle-earth being crafted over the Ages, having lived with the Elves of the Sea for his entire life. Despite Círdan's inconceivable skill and talent with designing and crafting a ship, for indeed he was the best of the best and the greatest of all mariners, Elrond found it hard to believe that Ëarhín, Círdan's long-time first mate and close friend, could be so shocked and astounded by him crafting another. Certainly, the vessels created by Círdan were beyond admirable and a sight to see that was easily coveted, but nothing to make one lose his breath over as Ëarhín did now.

"I do not exaggerate, Elrond," he said easily. "Any Elf of Mithlond would speak the same words I do, believe it or not. Just wait until you see her. Maybe, then, you will understand my wonder."

"How does she differ from the standard vessel that you Elves are known to make?" Glorfindel inquired.

"Trust me, Glorfindel," he said, shaking his head with the awe that still existed from over a year ago, "it is different – far different. Círdan did not name her the Fëagaer from just a moment of inspiration, as most mariners do. He knew that her name was destined to her since before he began crafting her. He knew what he was doing from the beginning."

Elrond noted the interesting wording that Ëarhín used. It sounded as though the Fëagaer had appeared out of nowhere. "Did you not help him to build it?" he asked. Even if there was only one craftsman who articulated every single detail of the ship's hull and her completion, it was very common and always recommended to work with a crew to build one's ship. Every available hand was a help and, though he knew that Círdan easily had the skill to build one on his own, he was surprised that he hadn't delegated some of the tasks to some others, as what would have been expected. After all, it was not as if any in Mithlond would refuse to aid him. Most would be thrilled to just help him, for their admiration and respect of the Shipwright did run deep.

Ëarhín shook his head. "I did not. It was rather strange how this all came about, actually. It had begun about two years ago. Nothing had really changed. Círdan was still as quiet as ever. And, as you know, he continued to leave every night for a few hours, as was his routine, always returning as the Sun was rising." Ëarhín sighed. "He always leaves down the beach, passing beyond the sight of our inland watch tower," he continued, gesturing vaguely towards the peak of stone visible several miles out. "Soon enough, he had begun to spend more time out of all sight, returning later and heading back to where it was that he spent his time more frequently during the day. After about two months of this pattern, I inquired him about it." He sighed again. "All he did was stare at me until I felt stupid. And then he told me, 'I am building a ship,' and then he left."

Elrond couldn't stop the grin from breaking through at hearing the frustration in Ëarhín's voice. Círdan was certainly known for his ambiguity. If any being knew how to keep his silence, it was he. If one asked him a question, most people knew that there was only half a chance that he would receive an accurate answer or even an answer at all. And one could not perceive the answer by looking at him, for he had mastered the art of hiding every thought. He was an unpredictable Elf of mystery that most people treaded warily around, for his connection with the Valar was intimidating to most.

"Are you so surprised that that was all he spoke?" he asked evenly. He heard a deep breath beside him and new that Glorfindel was too trying not to laugh at Ëarhín's frustration.

"No, I cannot say that I am," Ëarhín said, albeit grudgingly. And then he was back to his chipper self. "But I soon found out that I was not the only one to inquire of his absence. Many of the council members asked him as well and, apparently, received the same answer as I did. But," he added with a chuckle, "after a few more weeks of this, word eventually passed around and the gossip mill started churning. For many long months, Círdan's project, as it was soon called, became a large topic of discussion for the Elves of Mithlond. Though, no one dared to utter a word of it when Círdan was in hearing range. Though Círdan knew of the gossip, about him and his ship. Even if his ears did not pick it up, he is far too insightful not to have been aware of it. But the Sun rose and set and the days passed, one by one. Life continued and Círdan continued his project as the rumors spread and grew.

"Finally, about fifteen months ago, Círdan summoned me to his study shortly after dawn had come." Ëarhín paused, and Elrond wondered what the Elf was thinking as a thoughtful expression passed over his countenance. "He told me that his ship had been finished and that he wished to test the waters with her." He huffed in amusement. "As though anyone would think that problems would arise with a ship crafted by his hand. But, nonetheless, he asked me to gather the crew and head up the beach to about five miles out, where his ship had been anchored."

They finally reached the rocky, steep outcrop that lead up to Círdan's home. The stairs, made of stone, had become entrenched in the earth, leaving a worn surface with foliage growing around it. Barely enough room for two men abreast, Ëarhín went first and the other two followed, making their way up the steep stairway to the stone-built structure fifty meters up.

Ëarhín sighed again and spoke slightly louder, as to be heard by his companions behind him. "I have to confess that I did not know what to expect as I walked down the beach. For reasons I could not explain, my heart was pounding in my chest, adrenaline racing through my veins and it took all my willpower not to take off running towards the anchorage."

Elrond wasn't surprised to hear that. The Sea-elves of Círdan possessed such a passion for shipbuilding that the opportunity to first see a newly crafted one proved to be the anticipation of a year. And, though Elrond understood it, he couldn't fathom how spirit lifting it was to them. Their passion for such things was as nearly as great as their love for the Sea. It wasn't insane. It wasn't abnormal. It was simply their way of life.

"It was so silent," he continued. "No sound existed, save the crashing of the shoreline and the song of the gulls in the air. And then, rounding the bend, I saw it." By his tone of voice, Elrond knew that Ëarhín was reliving the moment when he saw the masterpiece. "Elrond, Glorfindel," he breathed, "by everything that is sacred, I swear that I have never seen such beauty. I remember, once looking upon it, that I could not speak; I could not even breathe, I do not believe. None of the crew could either. We had just stared. Círdan had stood at her bow, preparing to hoist the anchor." He shook his head. "I would describe her to you, but there are no words I can conjure that would do her justice."

Elrond looked beside him at Glorfindel; an interest in his eyes that he saw was reflected in the Elda's. "Then we will have to see it, if a talkative person such as you cannot even find words for it."

Ëarhín shot him an amused smile. "Yes, well…anyway, it was then that Círdan told us that she was to be named the Fëagaer. Though shocked by the name, I was skeptical of it, doubtful of the reason why. Again, I inquired Círdan for the reason behind the name, but he did not answer. We hauled her out and rowed her under way. Once far enough out, we raised the yardarm and trimmed the sail and just let the wind take over our course. The Gulf was calm enough near the bay, so the ship did not seem to go under way any different than his other vessels. But when we arrived to open sea, where the ferocity of the waves grew with the intensity of the wind, we were able to see just how magnificent the Fëagaer truly was."

He slowly shook his head, unconscious of the movement. "It was as though she were flying; so smooth, so balanced, so surreal. It truly was. The hull of the bow had not even broken the crest of the waves. She just sailed right on over. I felt no tension of the deck beneath my feet, no evidence that the ship was battling for dominance over the course of the waters. Instead of the ship working in accordance with the sea, it seemed as though that the sea was working in accordance with her. They became one. I know that it is a fanciful notion, but it was then that I believed that she was truly the Spirit of the Sea.

"Círdan decided to bring it in to port, so we brought her astern and headed back, though we would have given anything to sail on her longer." He chuckled. "You should have seen the astonishment and excitement of the crowd that had gathered as we rowed her in."

"If you were shocked by this ship, I can imagine their reaction," Elrond said, grateful that they were reaching the end of the stairway. "Why did we not see her back there? Is she not docked at the harbor?"

Ëarhín shook his head. "No. She is docked at Círdan's small anchorage," he said, gestured absently towards the stretch of beach west of them. "And finally, we are here." He took a deep breath as he stepped up on the verandah.

Elrond stepped up beside him followed closely by Glorfindel, taking a deep breath of his own. Despite being in excellent physical condition, that trek up the many stairs could still test one's stamina. Glorfindel, of course, was as unflustered as can be. The wind was stronger up here, the chill of the air greater, and the smell of salt as powerful as ever. Although he had stood on this verandah many times before, he still took a moment to appreciate the gorgeous view it provided. Being this high up, nearly as high as the watch tower, Círdan had a magnificent sight of everything. Over east a few miles, he could see the elegant architecture of the city of Mithlond with her multiple houses inland and, at the harbor, he could see the slight bobbing of the forest of mastheads of the countless beautiful ships perfectly aligned at both docks. But, as much as Círdan loved and adored his Havens, they weren't the main reason his home was elevated so high above sea level. Elrond turned to look west at the sight that, every time, without fail, captured Círdan's heart in an unrelenting grip each instance he cast his gaze upon it.

The sea. The deep water was rippling with the ever rhythmic role of the waves from the underwater current, breaking upon the shingles of the shoreline, white foam spraying, and the glint of the Sun reflecting in shimmering patterns of gold on the deep blue. The brilliance of the Sun was such a contrast to the deep hue of the horizon in that it set. Half way through setting, the golden disk breathlessly illuminated the beauty and majesty of the sea. The sky enveloping it, clear of the smallest wisp of a cloud, was a majestic array of enchanting hues of pink and orange, the peace and innocence of such a sight proving to be such a consolation to any spirit. Hearing the soft cry of the every present seagulls, Elrond cast up his gaze to witness the silhouette of the graceful birds gliding across the western sky. Having been raised by the sea, Elrond was used to such breathtaking sights, but he never did tire of them. But his love for them was practically nothing in comparison to Círdan's.

"Elrond, are you coming in or are you planning to sleep out there?" came Glorfindel's amused voice from inside.

With a roll of his eyes, Elrond turned around and stepped inside Círdan's house. It was a stone structure, worn smooth through the many centuries of salty air, and was large enough to host several guests. But unlike many lords' accommodations, it wasn't lavished and adorned with trinkets and creations that only money can buy. In every direction, it possessed the deep Elven elegance and grace Círdan had long lived with, but, like the sea, it had its own natural beauty through its simplistic nature. Even though it was structured with smooth stone, there were many windows and many balconies so that, in every direction one turned, he had a clear observation of either land or sea. It was truly a beautiful home, one that reflected Círdan's quiet nature and love of the Waters.

He walked into the large, open space of a combined kitchen and dining room. Only, the dining setup was placed on the long, open balcony to provide its occupants to eat, or drink, their fill with the beautiful sight of the sea to relax by. Even though the room was substantially illuminated by the light from the Sun, a grate had already been lit, along with the stove and several candles and lanterns – lanterns Elrond had always been fascinated in from a young age; though still, the silhouette of the metal encasing the flame seemed to come alive as the light flickered behind it, making the carvings of crashing waves upon the shore seem almost real.

"Sit down, Elrond," Ëarhín ordered. "May I offer you a drink?"

"I will take care of the drink," he said with a tolerant smile. "You are busy enough as it is." Indeed, Ëarhín had already filleted the cod, which Elrond had to admit was pretty larger than average, and was now candling the fish on a light box to check for any cod worms. Opting to let him get on with his cooking, Elrond poured himself a fine wine and joined Glorfindel by the fire, sitting on a chair between the grate and the threshold of the balcony.

"Now that we are in the privacy of Círdan's home," Elrond said, "would you now tell us about him?" He and Glorfindel truly wanted to know if Círdan was mentally all right after passing on Narya to someone else. Making such a crucial decision, he knew, could weigh on one's mind for many months afterwards, leaving one to ponder if he had made the right decision. Elrond knew that, despite his old age and wisdom, Círdan was still prone to doubt and worry, however rarely they may come to him. And apparently, according to Ëarhín, he suffered a brief lapse of insanity a year ago, though he didn't know if he was ready to believe that.

"He is doing well," Ëarhín answered, though his gaze was cast upon his work. "I am not certain on how to describe it. The change that has overcome him is so subtle, so minute that I almost did not see it. And I am not at all certain if anyone else has seen it either. To me, he still appears weary, but he does not allow it to slow or weigh him down. He does not even think of it. I am not even sure if he is aware of it. But, over the past year, his spirit just seems to have become slightly lighter, his mind less weighed down. I know not what has happened, but whatever it was, I am grateful that it did, for he seems to be more at peace. And peace is something that he has been cursed to be without these past millennia, as you know. So, to see the start of it is a relief."

Elrond furrowed his brow, contemplating on how to phrase his question without hinting at anything. "Does he not worry over anything? Are his thoughts no longer burdened with weight beyond the governing of Mithlond?"

Ëarhín laughed at that; he couldn't help it. "Please Elrond, spare me the jest." He smiled at his friend to take any sting out of the harmless words. "You both know as well as I do that if there was ever a being that worried and pondered the most over the fate of Middle-earth, it is he and no one else."

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged rueful grins. That was true, after all. But, also in the exchange, there was relief in both of their eyes, relief at knowing that Círdan had obtained a peace about him, a peace that he had long ago deserved more than any other, but had never received.

"Of course his mind is still burdened by those thoughts," Ëarhín continued, oblivious to the other two's exchange, so focused he was on his cooking. "The day when Círdan no longer ponders or worries over such things will be the day when I turn into a fish."

"You already are a fish," Glorfindel said playfully, "considering how much time you spend in the water."

"If you are basing that ridiculous notion by how often I swim, then Círdan is a much larger fish than I am," he argued back, lighthearted. Though, he couldn't deny it; every spare moment that he could grab that wasn't spent on sleeping, he was in the water swimming, as were many other Elves. "There is something else," he added as an afterthought, "something I believe that both of you will be relieved to hear." He saw their anticipation and smiled at them. "He no longer rests with his eyes closed."

Elrond didn't even bother to hide his surprise at hearing that. "Are you being serious?"

The Sea-elf laughed. "Yes, I am. I understand your surprise. Like you, I had become used to the fact that he normally rested as such, so to see the change surprised me as well."

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged another glance and he saw the astonishment in the Elda's eyes also. Whatever they had been expecting to hear, it wasn't that. Still waiting for that fact to sink in, Elrond put forth another question. "What is this spark of insanity you say that Círdan went through last year?"

Silence. He didn't speak and Elrond was unsure if he was reluctant to or simply didn't know where to start. It looked like both. Ëarhín glanced through the window in front of him, his countenance illuminated by the Sun, and a bright, yet sad smile graced his face. "Here he comes," he said quietly. "I will let him tell you himself. Perhaps you will achieve greater understanding of it than I did."

Elrond and Glorfindel both craned their necks to peer over the balcony railing and, just in the distance, they spotted a lone figure walking leisurely up the shoreline. Even from this distance, Elrond could easily see that it was, indeed, Círdan. Hair so silver, that while under the setting Sun it looked purely white, was gently wafting in the breeze. His feet bare, he walked ankle deep in the water, the seashore receding out only to surge back in against him and the white sand, and his gaze was cast upon the waters flowing beside him. Elrond had to smile at that habit of his long-time friend and mentor; whenever there was an opportunity to feel the water upon his skin, he took it.

"Is he carrying anything?" Ëarhín asked.

"Besides his boots, no," Elrond answered.

"I did not think so," he murmured, slightly melancholic. That there both answered his question and proved his prediction; Círdan had, once again, failed to find any pearls. And he knew that his lord would be depressed because of it, which was why he was here preparing dinner for him – to give his lord a chance to relax and rest his mind from the weight of a failed expedition.

Ëarhín sighed. He truly yearned that his lord would have no burdens upon his shoulders or mind for just one day. He wished Círdan would be blessed with the opportunity to spend time with his heart's up most desire; taking his ship far out at sea and being amongst its waters, fully enjoying the relaxation and peace he drew from it like no other and swimming the entire day through.

"Why the long face, Ëarhín?" Elrond asked gently, feeling his friend's melancholy.

Ëarhín gave a rueful smile and a small shake of his head. "If Círdan could live in the Sea, he would," the Sea-elf said with a hint of humor, though his far-cast gaze upon the Elf he admired second to none was heavily wistful. "As the Valar blessed you through your abundant ability to heal, I am faintly stunned that the Valar did not bless Círdan with the ability to breathe under water."

Elrond turned to him, unable to stop the smile from breaking through. "Now, I know you jest," he said with a small laugh.

Ëarhín glanced at him before looking once more to the Sea he loved. "Perhaps so, Elrond, perhaps so, but only by a little. His heart is alive and at home in the Sea."

Glorfindel furrowed his brow. "How did he come to arrive back here? Did he not sail the Fëagaer up north?"

Ëarhín shook his head. "No, a coastal trading ship took him up there. You probably saw the ship come into the harbor as you arrived. My guess is that, when they fetched him, he instructed them to drop him off a couple of miles up shore. Hence, he is now walking."

The three sat – and stood – in companionable silence for the best part of an hour, waiting for Círdan to arrive. The lingering traces of the sunset were now almost fully gone, the Sun now absent from view, though the colors of the skyline were as intense as ever. As the minutes passed, the smell of a perfectly seared fish entrenched the air and set their mouths watering, along with the other fixings Ëarhín had been preparing. He was just laying the first of the food on the table when soft footfalls were heard outside the door. And soon enough, the door opened to admit an incredibly tall Elf, whose head was just shy of sweeping the top of the high doorframe. He possessed a lithe physique, not that of a warrior, even though he had long had the power and skill of one with deadly precision, having been one for most of his life. His was a physique that was shaped by the sea, as a stone at the bottom of the ocean would be after being worn away through centuries of being in the water. His hair, like spun silver, fell over his broad shoulders and seemed to gleam with white in certain parts from the light, and his beard, evidence of how unfathomably old he was, shone just as bright as his hair.

When Círdan entered, both Elrond and Glorfindel stood to greet him, waiting for his acknowledgment, though it was obvious that the Mariner had not seen them yet, not having expected any company to begin with. Ëarhín was right; he did look disheartened as he removed his cloak and outer jerkin.

"My lord," Ëarhín called mockingly, "you have company."

Círdan's head jerked towards the kitchen, his piercing grey gaze locked on the two Elves from Imladris, genuine surprise easily seen in his eyes, eyes as keen as the stars and that seemed to reflect the depth of the Sea in their great age. And then, after a few moments, a small grin touched his fair, elderly face that soon grew to be wide and full of joy, a rare display for such a private Elf.

Elrond returned the smile, beyond jubilant to be once again seeing the Elf he considered to be part of his family. "Círdan," he greeted warmly, and then added teasingly, "You did not foresee us coming, did you?"

If possible, Círdan's smile grew wider as he stepped forward and embraced the Peredhel in warm hug that lasted for several seconds. Despite being a fully grown Elf, Elrond always was somewhat reminded of being a child when being hugged by Círdan or standing next to him – he was so very tall, taller than even Glorfindel, and that was saying something. Though, with the Shipwright being the kinsman of Thingol, the tallest Elf to ever exist, he shouldn't be surprised.

Círdan held him at arm's length and looked him up and down. "Elrond," he said, his gruff voice lined with heartfelt warmth and something like relief, "it does an old heart great good to see you again." And again, he gave a small, tired smile. With a light touch, he swept Elrond's brow with his thumb and lightly ran his fingers along the side of his visage, his calloused hand incredibly rough, not just from handling a weapon for countless years, but also from the millennia of hauling and handling wood and rope. "I have missed you," he whispered. He leant forward and bestowed a light kiss upon his forehead. And Elrond couldn't resist embracing him once again; he truly had missed him.

"What about me?" Glorfindel complained, hands on his hips and looking positively grumpy.

Círdan rolled his eyes at the Balrog-slayer and let go a small sigh of resignation. "Very well, Glorfindel. You I also missed greatly."

Glorfindel nodded emphatically. "Good." And then, with a bright, genuine smile, he stepped forward and embraced the Mariner. "It is so very good to see you well, Círdan," he whispered in his ear.

Círdan stepped back and gave him a brief nod of respect. "What are the two of you doing here?" he asked quietly. "I had received no word of your arrival."

"We came unannounced," Elrond said. "And just in time, according to Ëarhín."

"Indeed they did," the Sea-elf interjected. "And dinner is ready, so let us all eat."

Not allowing them to speak another word, Ëarhín ushered them out to the balcony where an array of food was neatly set up on the dining table. As Elrond sat down, he watched as Círdan sat at the head of the table. As Ëarhín had said, the Mariner did seem slightly more at ease. His glow seemed brighter and his presence a tad less tense. But Elrond studied his eyes; though Elrond too saw the subtle change that Ëarhín spoke of, it was all too obvious that, by his eyes, the Mariner was tired. Though Elrond equated the exhaustion from the journey he had just completed. He doubted Círdan had rested on the voyage back. And for an Elf who never allowed someone to see his status of health, that he couldn't even hide his fatigue said something great about how fatigued he felt. And he felt just a sliver of guilt for preventing the Mariner from obtaining the rest he had obviously been expecting.

Elrond remembered the smiles Círdan had greeted them with when he had walked into the house. That there had been evidence to the Noldo of just how much his appearance had meant to the old Sea-elf; Círdan rarely smiled and rarely, if not never, let his thoughts be read through his countenance. It wasn't as though he practiced and preferred keeping a stoic façade as some people did, such as his own Chief Counselor. For Círdan, it was an unconscious action. His deep connection with the Sea and the powers behind it tended to make him detached from the average way of living, without him realizing it half the time. He had lived for far too long and had seen and experienced far too much, even by Elven standards, to be considered a normal person. In simple words, Círdan was not a normal Elf – far from it – and that he gave a smile proved just how great his joy had been upon arriving.

"Yet again, you are doing it, Ëarhín."

Elrond was dragged out of his musing by Círdan's mock patronizing tone. Ëarhín looked about innocently, though Elrond doubted that his confusion was genuine.

"What am I doing?" he asked.

Círdan narrowed his eyes. "You have prepared me dinner."

The Sea-elf shrugged. "So?"

Círdan stared at him for a long, hard minute until the younger Elf broke his gaze. "You only prepare the food for me when I yet return from another failed search."

Again, Ëarhín shrugged. "Is that a crime?"

Dismissing the Elf with a contemptuous shake of his head, he turned to Elrond. "Tell me, young one, how fare your wife and children?"

O = O = O

Dinner had been a pleasant affair. Partaking in the gaily chatter, discussing a whole manner of subjects, whether they would be of importance or immaterial, it was a relaxing hour of great delight. There was laughter, there were quiet moments, there was harassment being exchanged only one too many times, but, all in all, Elrond didn't regret one moment of it in the end. In a comparative way, it had felt like a long awaited family reunion. But most of all, Elrond was overjoyed to see that most of the melancholy that the old Elf seemed to carry appeared to fade away during the evening. And, of course, the companionable meal was set to great heights by the delicious dinner that Ëarhín had made.

"I am grateful for the meal, Ëarhín," Círdan said, lightly pushing his plate away. "Thank you. You never have to, yet you always bless me with that kindness."

Ëarhín nodded and gave a small, apologetic smile. "I do regret that you were unable to find anything this time."

Círdan gave a small shrug, seeming to dismiss it, but they could all see that he also regretted it and regretted it deeply; it disheartened him. "Everything will come gradually at its appointed hour," he said softly. "Moreover, if the leeway of failure is absent, then triumph is hollow."

"Further more," Glorfindel added meaningfully, "it was you, Círdan, who once told me to neither let victories enter your head nor let failures indwell your heart."

There was a moment of silence until Círdan gave him a wry grin. "I see my words are to be used against me," he murmured. He then took a deep breath and smiled, though his eyes translated that exhaustion. "Though, I deduce that the two of you are not only gracing my home for a leisurely visit. For what reason has my heart been uplifted by your presence in my Havens?"

Elrond hesitated, not because he didn't know what to say, for he did know what to speak for months now, but because he was unsure with how to dismiss Ëarhín without hurting him; the Elf had been Círdan's closest in confidence since before Elrond had been born, after all. The Elf might not be the brightest in the batch, but he knew how to bear knowledge and keep it silent.

During Elrond's silence, Círdan kept an observant eye on him and, seeming to comprehend his thoughts, for he knew him better than the Half-elf realized, he turned to Ëarhín and grasped his hand. "Ëarhín, will you excuse us, please? I am convinced that what he has come to speak with me about is not for all to hear." Aside from that, he had a pretty shrewd idea on what Elrond wished to discuss with him anyway.

"Of course I will," he said with an easy smile as he stood from the table, taking no offense. "I have plenty to do." He turned to leave, but then spun around like an excited cat to address Círdan again. "Though, may I suggest that you soon take them to see the Fëagaer? They both wish to see it."

"That we do," Glorfindel said.

Círdan paused thoughtfully for a moment before standing from the table. "Why do we not go down to the anchorage now? We can speak of whatever it is you wish to, Elrond, on the ship. I much rather prefer to hold such discussions amongst the water." He turned to Ëarhín. "Will you guide them down there, by way of the lanterns? I would like to change into some fresh clothing before I join you."

That childlike excitement was now fully back in Ëarhín's system as he beamed with joy. "Come, come," he said hastily, waving for them to follow him. He led them over to the cabinet of lanterns while Círdan headed towards his room. Quickly selecting and lighting three for them to carry, he lead them out the door and they were immediately hit with the full force of the northern wind, which intensified greatly due to the clear sky. The flames inside their lanterns danced furiously, along with their raiment and hair. Very little light remained from the long set Sun and Elrond knew that, by time they reached the beach, the only light to guide them, aside from the ones they carried, would be from the stars and Moon.

"Is there a storm coming?" Elrond asked, alarmed with how atrocious the wind blew. He knew that such a sign meant a possible storm the following day.

"Possibly," he replied, sounding only a little concerned, as he looked to the north. "We still receive the effects of the winter gales early spring, so possibly. I doubt it, though; most of these winds tend to be false alarms. Not to worry, the wind will be subtle to nothing down at the anchorage. It is only the height of where we stand."

Ëarhín then walked towards the stairs. At the sight of them, Elrond took a moment to sigh and glare at them sulkily. Time for another beautiful trek by way of the stairs, he thought irritably. He heard a chuckle beside him and turned to see Glorfindel smirking at him, as though reading his every thought.

Rolling his eyes, he turned to follow Ëarhín down the stairs who, once again, looked like he was gliding, not even having to think about where he placed his feet. And Glorfindel and Elrond nearly had to run down the stairs to keep up with the energized Elf. They made their long walk silently and when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, instead of taking the pathway, Ëarhín cut right and made his way through the underbrush and reeds, heading directly for the white sand of the shore not a hundred meters away. Ëarhín had been right; only the smallest breeze could now be felt and, craning his head, he saw the dark silhouette of a ship in the distance, just visible do to the night light.

Elrond couldn't believe it, but he was starting to feel a glimmer of what Ëarhín had described. Anticipation was creeping in his bones, his heart rate picking up slightly and he had an unnatural urge to rush up to the ship so that it would no longer be covered by shadow. But soon enough, the ship was encompassed by the light of their lanterns as they walked up the platform of the dock. And, indeed, Elrond became breathless as he stared at it with open amazement.

"Valar," he muttered absently. He heard Glorfindel's short intake of breath beside him and didn't need to turn to know of the Elda's shocked reaction.

Ëarhín had spoken the truth about the Fëagaer. She was beyond words. Though Elrond had seen much larger vessels in his lifetime, she was still massive in her own right, the mast soaring high and the mooring lines creaking as they stretched and slackened with the movement of the water. The sturdy hull was riveting patterns of red cedar and her keel was a graceful display of narrow elegance that reminded him of the Bruinen. And the sheen sails of white were reefed against their yardarms, smoothly cinched, and the peaks of the prow and stern reminded him of a swan's grace and beauty. Like Ëarhín, Elrond had never seen such a ship before. Seeing and understanding her craft was one thing, but to describe her majestic, almost ethereal, beauty was nigh on impossible. She was simply beyond words.

"Is she not beautiful?" Ëarhín asked, resting his lantern and hand on the gunwale and looking up at the masthead where the telltale lightly fluttered towards the east. He chuckled. "One of the rumors I have heard is that, throughout the construction, his hand was guided by the King of the Sea. Though I doubt it is beyond a rumor, you cannot deny that it is a compliment to the great skill he is known for."

Elrond ran his fingers along the gunwale, amazed by how smooth and worn it already felt, despite the enhancing sheen coating the dark wood. "Mayhap he crafted it with song."

They saw the illumination of another lantern behind them accompanied by footfalls on the soft sand. They turned to find Círdan coming towards them, clothed in the Eglain colors of white, blue, and grey. And his silver hair looked equally white under the night sky. Though, Elrond noted with amusement, his feet were still bare.

"He is not likely to drop that habit any time soon," Glorfindel whispered in his ear, a smile in his voice. Elrond nodded in agreement.

"Círdan," Elrond said, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice, as the Mariner walked up the dock, "what possessed you to build such a ship? She is beautiful."

He was silent for a moment as he studied his ship. "I know not," he said quietly. "The desire to craft her by my own hand simply burned within me. I questioned it not, for I would never bypass the chance to craft a new ship."

While he had been speaking, Glorfindel had studied her design and architecture with a keen eye. "I do not recognize this design, Círdan. Out of all the ships I have seen, the look of this one is utterly unfamiliar."

He ran his hand with a loving caress over the dark wood, his fingers tracing the smooth groves. "I am not surprised, for it once existed long before Ëarhín was born." He sighed. "This design only remains in my memory. None are left to recognize or remember it." He said nothing more and the others knew that they had to be content with that. With a deep breath, Círdan turned to his long time first mate and rested a hand on Ëarhín's shoulder. "My friend, you may want to acquire some rest now. You will want to set sail an hour early to make clear of the storm coming."

Ëarhín furrowed his brow. "You are certain that a storm is coming? Do you foresee one?"

Círdan turned and cast his gaze to the northern sky. Simply by studying the sky, Elrond knew, Círdan was aware of what the weather was destined to be, where it would go, and when it would arrive. He didn't know if this talent was developed and perfected over the long millennia of his long life or if it was just a mariner's skill he had been blessed with. Maybe both.

Círdan nodded. "I am certain. It will be here in the morn."

Ëarhín sighed. "Well, then I must take my leave." The Sea-elf turned towards him and Glorfindel and slightly bowed. "My lords, I bid you a good evening and I hope that I will see you in the morning before our departure."

Elrond smiled. "We will be sure to say farewell."

As Ëarhín left, Círdan gestured for them to follow him on deck. Glorfindel went and Elrond followed, grabbing hold of the forestay to balance himself against the rocking of the hull. He grimaced though, instantly regretting it as he pulled his hand away, now covered in the fine layer of oil that prevented the twisted ropes from fraying. They followed Círdan towards the stern and sat down along the back rowing benches, placing their lanterns beside them. This was peaceful, Elrond thought. The starlight, the soft wind, the soothing rocking of the ship…very peaceful.

Círdan smiled as the soft silence fell. "Despite being in the open air, none can hear us, Elrond," he reassured. "Please, speak your mind, for I know you desire to discuss Narya."

Elrond gave a wry smile. "You gave Narya to Mithrandir," he stated bluntly.

Círdan nodded. "I did."

"Why?"

The question hung in the salt encrusted air as an amused twinkle appeared in Círdan's eyes. "Do you not trust my judgment?" he asked teasingly.

Elrond rolled his eyes and gave a small laugh. "I have always trusted your judgment, Círdan, and have never doubted it. And I still trust your judgment for giving Narya to Mithrandir. But I cannot help but wonder why."

Another silence fell as Círdan studied the Half-elf. Normally, such a piercing gaze would encourage the one under it to look away. But Elrond had known Círdan since his childhood and met the gaze; however, it didn't stop him from being unnerved by it. It made him feel as though his mind was being lain out as an open book. But Círdan said nothing as he turned his curious gaze to the golden-haired Elda.

"I know now why Elrond is here," he said, "but why are you here, Glorfindel?" Glorfindel looked completely unflustered, after all and unconcerned about hearing his explanation.

He shrugged, nonchalant. "Wherever Elrond goes, I go with him." And then he smiled. "Worry not, Círdan. Though I am also curious to know what lead you to make that decision to pass on Narya, I am not concerned that you did."

Elrond unconsciously nodded. Even in Imladris when Glorfindel had first been informed that Narya was now borne by another carrier, he appeared completely unconcerned about it. And that alarmed Elrond, understandably. But Glorfindel had said that Círdan had his reasons, to trust those reasons, and to let it be that. Elrond couldn't quite comprehend it, but ever since that old Man had come to his realm, he had a suspicion that Glorfindel knew something about him that he himself didn't, if the way he had acted was anything to go by. Yes, they had befriended this Mithrandir, but Glorfindel's persona when around him had been like that of a long lost friend.

Círdan smiled at Glorfindel's words and turned his attention back to Elrond. "At what time did Mithrandir grace you with his presence?"

"About nine months ago," Elrond said. And then he narrowed his eyes. "Though he bears the appearance of an old, decrepit Man, Círdan, his aura is anything but." He saw a strange light appear in Círdan's old eyes and cocked his head. "He is no Man, is he?"

Another short silence fell. But after a while, a small smile creased the Mariner's face. "If he saw it essential to not inform you of his origin, then neither shall I. Worry not, young one," he added as Elrond went to interject, "he will speak words of it one day soon. You can trust him."

Elrond sighed. "It is not that I do not trust him, Círdan. I do trust him. I admire him, I am awed by him, I respect him, and I like him. And after speaking with him, I am content with him bearing Narya, particularly since I find it has brought you some peace of mind. I simply wish to know why you gave her to him."

Círdan cocked his head in amusement. "You sound put out by this, Elrond. You speak that you trust my reasoning, and yet you sound as though you wish I had not." He saw the truth strike home in Elrond's eyes and added quietly, "What is it, my friend? Why do you wish I still bore her?"

Elrond gave a rueful smile. "I will miss being able to mind-speak with you," he said a tad trifled. "I know that Galadriel will miss your council as well. Your insight and wisdom were always invaluable concerning the future of Middle-earth, more so than any other being I have ever known."

"Thank you for that," Glorfindel said dryly, though the humor was bright in his eyes.

Círdan gave a wan smile of understanding at the Half-elf's words, but the warmth he felt for Elrond was easily seen in it. "My words will ever be available to you, Elrond. They always have been and they always will be. You have but to ask. You know this."

"And he does like to babble from time to time," Glorfindel added as a helpful aside to Elrond, an easy grin on his face.

Círdan turned his narrowed eyes on the golden-haired Elda. "You, penneth, are a pest."

Glorfindel stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in genuine shock. He shook his head, as though trying to clear it of confusion, and stuttered slightly before asking, "D-did you just call me 'penneth'?"

Círdan just looked at him with no trace of a smile, but with plenty of mock acerbity. "You are twice-born, Glorfindel, not deaf."

Glorfindel just stared at him, the immense shock still blatantly evident. Though, Elrond had to admit that it was immeasurably amusing and awfully strange to hear someone as old and ancient as Glorfindel be called 'penneth'.

Glorfindel leaned back against the gunwale with his arms crossed. "Mongrel," he muttered.

"Dullard," the Mariner replied.

"Sea rat."

"Ai," Elrond mumbled. Despite his mock weariness, he was grateful to see a glimpse of the lightheartedness that Círdan had been absent of for long time, longer than he could remember. And his lightheartedness had been extreme to come by even before he bore Narya. He didn't know what had led Círdan to his decision to give up the Elven Ring, but he was grateful to see that some good came of it in the Elf before him. "Círdan, please," he said with a light smile, "could you inform me of the reasoning for your decision now?"

Círdan became silent as a grave weariness crossed over his face. "Every day," he said quietly, "I wish that the dreams of my past would be the reality of the future." He sighed. "Yet fate aspires to unravel with its own will. The future is prominent and must be prepared for, though we live in the present, for we are made wise not by our memories of the past, but of our responsibilities for what is coming." He paused thoughtfully. "It is with that understanding that I released Narya from my bearing, for the future, though in my sight, is not in my hands." Círdan bowed his head, tired, and Elrond felt briefly guilty again for keeping the Mariner awake when it was so obvious that he needed to rest.

"You know I desired not to bear her," he continued. "But, in the wisdom I obtained a year prior, I knew that Mithrandir's need of the Elven Ring would be greater than mine."

Elrond and Glorfindel exchanged a suspicious glance while a dawning comprehension grew in the former.

"You foresaw something, did you not, Círdan?" Elrond asked, leaving no room in the question for denial. "You speak of wisdom you gained at the time when Mithrandir told me he had been given Narya. How, in such short a time, could you have made that decision without foreseeing the wisdom to make it?"

Círdan gave a sad smile. "I know not what happened on that day over a year ago, Elrond," he said. "To this day, I am still plagued with confusion over it and cannot solve it. For a long time, even still, I am tempted to question my sanity over it."

"What happened?" Glorfindel asked. "When we arrived this evening, Ëarhín spoke that he had been concerned about your sanity a year back. Is this what he was referring to?"

Círdan huffed in amusement. "How polite of him to put it so nicely," he murmured. "Yes, Glorfindel, this is the incident in which Ëarhín informed you of. When I enlightened him of it, he believed me not at all. No one believed me. And after much negative response, I had begun to ponder if I continued to believe it. And that is why I hesitate on telling you what lead me to give Narya away."

"Perhaps we will believe you," Elrond said calmly. "Strange happenings occur in Middle-earth endlessly. Who is to say that this may not be another one? And you, my friend," he added with a teasing smile, "are not exactly seen by the general eye as ordinary." Círdan playfully scowled at him and Elrond laughed. "Tell us, my lord, please. I could never place judgment on you and we know that you will speak the truth."

Glorfindel nodded in agreement. "You have an open ear."

Círdan inwardly smiled, wondering if these two would actually believe what no other has yet. And then he shrugged. "Very well, I will speak."

OOOOO = OOO = OOOOO = OOO = OOOOO = OOO = OOOOO

Mithlond, 1000 TA

His eyes, glazed with sleep, cleared as he suddenly awoke. He lay there unmoving; pondering what disturbance had touched his core deep enough to wake him, as though shaking his inner being awake. But it wasn't a disturbance that struck him with fear or uncertainty or alarm. It was just…a disturbance; something out of the ordinary. He stared at his ceiling, wracking his brain for unbearable minutes, trying to figure out what had woken him on a seemingly peaceful night. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and shut off his mind, allowing only his other senses to take over.

Despite the light blanket covering him, he could feel the chill of the night air creep across his skin. He could smell the salt empowering the air along with the bitter scent of the trees growing at the base of the Ered Luin. And his heart and soul throbbed with warmth as he heard the soothing sound of the rolling waves of the waters and deep rumbling of the ocean. But he laid perfectly still, eyes closed, and waited…and waited. He listened carefully, all of his senses on alert…and waited.

There it was!

His eyes snapped opened and he sat up from his soft mattress, the sheet pooling around his waist, as he looked keenly around his room. He was on his guard as he looked deep into every shadow, every corner and crevice. But there was nothing, he could see nothing. He glanced warily towards his balcony, which gave him the perfect view of the sea, seeing by the risen Moon that it was just past midnight, wondering if it had been his imagination that had heard the soft whisper on the wind. After all, a slight breeze was coming in from the balcony.

There it was again!

He turned around, hearing the sound come now from behind him, only to find nothing. No disturbance, no sound, no movement. But he wasn't insane; he knew he had heard the noise. Fully on alert, he stood from his bed, slipping on a thin, white robe, his eyes constantly scanning around the room, examining everything from wall to wall. Was someone in his house? Quietly, he lit a candle that had burned low on its wick and, eyes still peering around, he picked up the brass taper and looked carefully into the shadows now illuminated. Nothing. No one and nothing was in his room.

His head snapped around to the door as he heard the soft, subtle whisper of a noise again. Cautiously, he walked over and, opening the door to find nothing, stepped outside his room, peering slowly into the hallway, left and right. Shadows covered the small corridor and it was silent. He couldn't see anything different. His whole being on alert and with impossibly slow steps, he stepped out into the hallway and walked down it.

There it was again.

He heard it. This time he was for certain that he had heard it. Though, from which of the rooms, he didn't know. It seemed to come from all four at once. There had to be someone in his house, he surmised. Who else could be making such a small noise that was just audible? But how could they have entered his home when it was constantly guarded, this night – as well as most nights – by Ëarhín? Maybe it was Ëarhín himself that had entered, though Círdan dared not to call out his name. It was because of being careful that he had lived so long and he looked forward to maintaining that record.

But as he walked down the hallway, approaching the first door on his left, he strained his hearing, which was incredibly sharp already, and still heard nothing save for his own soft footfalls that were practically inaudible anyway. Without the smallest sound, he grasped the brass door handle. It would have probably been smart to carry a small weapon with him in case there was an intruder, but he trusted his reflexes and ability to safeguard himself. He didn't need a weapon.

He hoped.

With the minimal noise of metal scraping on metal, he swung the door open and held the taper high, its illumination reaching to the furthest corner. And he found nothing. No one was here. Nothing was disturbed. But it had sounded as though the sound came from this room.

What is happening, he thought, becoming now a little worried. But he wasn't scared. Why wasn't he scared? He was alarmed and cautious, but not scared. Deep down, he knew he sensed that peril was not present; there was no source of evil approaching him. And through Narya, resting on his finger, he perceived no danger anywhere in his Havens; they were peaceful with everyone resting. But what caused this disturbance that he not only heard, but knew he felt deep within him?

There it was again.

Círdan froze and gently closed his eyes, bowing his head. The sound was strange – it was as though someone was breathing in his ear; gentle, soft, subtle, but audible. And he heard it again, a soft breath of wind in his ear. But this time, he felt a small tug on his heart, as though a hand were gently coaxing his soul to move forward. He took a deep breath, absorbing the sensation, not even realizing that his candle had blown out, though there was no breeze. After seconds passed and the pressing of his heart grew, his being flooded with warmth as he heard the deep grumble of the Waters grow in intensity. And then, almost unconsciously, he opened his eyes and looked out the large window.

The Sea.

The Sea was calling him. The deep of the Waters and rolling waves were beckoning him. It was whispering to him in his ear. He heard it; he knew he did. And his heart felt it, flooding with warmth and comfort, as a gentle tug that moved his feet forward. Absently setting the taper down on a table, he made his way to the door, stepping outside, his gaze set only on his destination.

O = O = O

Ëarhín scowled as he studied the skies far over the waters. Judging by the black clouds in the far distance and the not-so-gentle wind that bombarded him now, there would be a nasty storm come morn. Indeed, he thought sourly, the waters of the Gulf already seemed to enter the beginning stages of tumult. But he smiled and felt considerably lighter at knowing that he did not have to sail anywhere tomorrow. He crossed his arms and nodded, feeling a sense of satisfaction, and leaned back on the smooth rock behind him.

Despite the heavy sound of the wind and waves, Ëarhín heard rushing feet behind him and he turned around, alarmed to find Círdan hurrying down the last of the steps from his home. The Mariner was then walking across the sand, his loose hair blowing in the wind, flashing white as the moonlight struck it, and Ëarhín took a moment to be amazed at his lord's state of dress; his feet were, unsurprisingly, bare, but he wore nothing on him save a pair of sleeping pants and a light robe. Waiting for Círdan to be in hearing distance, Ëarhín felt a small sense of alarm in the back of his mind to find his elder's eyes focused on the water beyond him – he had thought the Mariner had needed something from him. Apparently not, he thought.

"I have never seen you so minimally dressed," he teased lightly as Círdan approached.

"Not now, Ëarhín," he said quietly, looking past him out to the vastness of the sea.

Pretty well alarmed now, Ëarhín reached out with a firm grip and stopped the tall Elf from continuing any further, only to receive an annoyed glare from Círdan. But he dismissed that.

"My friend," he said, concern lacing his voice, "what is wrong? You are not acting as yourself."

Círdan's annoyance cleared to be replaced with calm patience. He took the hand from his arm and grasped it firmly. "I will be back shortly, my friend. A sound interrupted my sleep and I need to find out what it was."

Ëarhín raised an eyebrow. "What do you hear?"

"The Sea."

Ëarhín rolled his eyes at the vague answer. Of course he heard the Sea, he thought irritably. He always hears the Sea! "What do you hear in the sea?" he asked patiently. "I hear nothing."

"If you listen closely enough, you can hear him," he replied.

Ëarhín's confusion cleared instantly and a small smile appeared on his face. By him, he knew, Círdan meant Ulmo, Lord of the Waters. Grasping the hand in return, he stepped out of his lord's way. "Go, my lord. I understand and will await your return."

Círdan nodded, briefly resting his palm against the younger Elf's cheek – for he knew that Ëarhín looked out for him constantly – and headed his way. Ëarhín watched him go up the beach with a tolerant smile. At a leisurely pace, he began to make his way towards the northern watch tower to keep an eye out for Círdan when he returned. He had been alarmed at seeing his lord rise so early – Círdan normally woke three or four hours after midnight since he loved to spend the beginning of his day simply gazing up the stars and nothing else. Ëarhín knew that his lord had done so since long ago when he had first awoken and that watching them never failed to relax him. And it was at that time when Círdan would rise to go about his walk that Ëarhín would leave from his shift.

Though Ëarhín was too senior in rank to be officiated the bore of guard duty, he frequently volunteered himself for the night shift of guarding his lord's house. His request was always met without argument, for he was the Lord of the Havens' closest friend. But Ëarhín believed the acceptance of his request to guard Círdan's home went deeper than that; he believed that he was really the only Elf brave enough to do so. Many were wary around Círdan and tended to unconsciously walk on eggshells when he was in the vicinity. Not because of fear, but because of the uncertainty they felt when Círdan was near them.

Círdan was not the type of Elf that people tended to feel comfortable around or to befriend like they would with Elrond, Ëarhín knew, briefly wondering how the Lord of Imladris was faring. He would have to send him a letter sometime soon, he thought. Elrond possessed a soul as kind as Summer and a gentleness, which belied his kingly venerability, that often persuaded people to drop their guard and trust him. That wasn't to say that Círdan was the opposite, for he was kind of heart and spirit and emanated humility and wisdom. But people, whether they'd be Elves or Men or any other creature, seemed to unconsciously sense how old Círdan actually was, a sentiment that was backed when they looked into his aged eyes that swam with memories unimaginable. That, for some reason, tended to make most people wary, Ëarhín reflected sadly. But Elves, whose spirits endlessly aged in their own right, tended to be wary around Círdan for a whole other reason.

His connection with the Valar was uncanny. That he had actually been befriended by Ulmo and his vassal, Ossë - a being whom he was personally terrified of, still remained a marvel to all. He hadn't been the only Elf to be befriended as such, Ëarhín knew, but none of the others who had been befriended now lived. Or they at least no longer remained in Middle-earth. Despite how aged Ëarhín was, which was old even by Elven standards, that time of friendship that Círdan had lived to witness and enjoy now only remained a distant memory in Círdan's mind. Ëarhín hadn't been alive then. But out of all the years he had lived, he had been present when Ulmo apparently summoned his lord to speak with time and time again. And that mixed with his age seemed to make him detached from the world around him, thus resulting people being awe-strucked by him rather than wanting to befriend him. Even his own people, here at the Havens, treaded warily around Círdan, even though their respect and awe for their lord ran unfathomably deep. All Sea-elves possessed a longing for the Sea, yet it was seemingly nothing when compared to the Mariner's. Círdan was like a Sea-elf existing alone amongst the Sea-elves that existed in their own way of living, a diamond in the ruff. So he was simply seen different by everybody. Not that Círdan cared, Ëarhín thought. His mind was so preoccupied these days with thoughts of Middle-earth that Ëarhín thought he would go mad if it were him.

Although, now, he couldn't help but wonder what was in store for Círdan when he arrived at the destination only he knew of, if he truly had heard the summons of Ulmo. What could the Vala possibly want to inform him of this time? Well, time would tell, he knew. He just had to wait for Círdan to return and find out himself. He always did.

"Be careful, Círdan," he murmured.

To be continued….

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Ëarhín = 'sea-child' or child of the sea
Fëagaer = 'sea-spirit' or spirit of the sea
Ered Luin = Blue Mountains
Ossë = vassal of Ulmo and charged with the waters of the Hither Lands (Middle-earth)

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A/N: Well, that's chapter one finished. I'm still amazed with how long it became. If long chapters are not your taste, I do apologize for that, though the coming chapters won't be any better in that regard, aside from a good deal shorter (I hope). The next chapter continues with Círdan's tale of what exactly had led him to make the decision to give Narya to Gandalf. And as Elrond said, it's not normal. :) For this chapter, please review! Any and all words are welcome.