Disclaimer: NOT MINE.
Summary: Fingon tries to explain to a young Ereinion why he is being sent to the Havens.
Dedication: To my grandmother, who understood.
Author's Note: In one of those weird moments of foresight that people are sometimes gifted (or cursed) with, I wrote this a week before my grandmother died. And reading it now, I'm feeling very much like little Ereinion.
Ereinion had learned at a very young age that being called to his father's study was never a good thing. But as far as the elfling could remember he had not done anything that might mean he was in trouble. Unsure and not just a little nervous of facing his father in the very imposing and grand room, Ereinion was not rushing to get there. In fact, he was trying his utmost best to drag his feet for as long as he could on the short walk to the study.
But no matter how slowly he shuffled his feet, the Laws of Arda could not be broken. Ereinion glanced up at the carved door in front of him and frowned. With a sigh uncharacteristic of an eleven-year-old elf, he lifted his small fist and knocked on the door.
The knock was soft, but Elven hearing is sharp, and Fingon's strong voice bid him enter. Ereinion pushed the door open slightly and slipped inside.
Fingon was sitting behind his desk and Ereinion, glancing at his father, stopped short in shock. The elder elf looked horrible: exhaustion was clear on his face and his son would almost swear, if he was a little older, that it looked as if Fingon had been crying.
"Ada," he cried, and rushed forward to his father's knees. "Ada, what's wrong?"
Fingon looked down at his son with sorrow, but conceded to Ereinion's pleas and lifted the elfling up into his lap. Then he hugged him close; a little too tightly for his son's comfort, but Ereinion felt he dare not complain.
"Ion nin…" he trailed off and took a deep breathe. "Ereinion," he started again, "I need to speak with you about something very important and serious. Do you understand me?"
Ereinion nodded silently, gazing at his father.
"Ereinion, a messenger came this morning. Ion nin, I know you likely do not remember him, but your daeradar Fingolfin, my father…he has been killed." Fingon paused, allowing that to sink in. Ereinion stared at him. Fingon knew his son understood death; though an elf, they lived in a time of war and Fingon and his wife had decided it would be best to explain the concept to their little son.
"Your adar is gone?" The child's voice was barely a whisper. "He's not coming back?"
"No my little one, he is not. But one day, perhaps, we will meet again. But Ereinion," he said, drawing back his son's attention. "There is more, ion nin. Your daeradar was king, as you know. With his death, it is my duty to take the crown. Erei…" he grasped his son's head between his hands. "That means that you are heir now. And you are in danger."
"But, but I will be safe here. You will protect me. And all the guards. Won't you?" Ereinion was on the verge of tears.
"Hush, ion, hush. I would protect you, of course I would. But your mother and I have talked. The enemy is gaining power; my father's death proves that. It is no secret that I am here. That puts me now into grave danger, and I will not expose you to that. You must go away somewhere both safe and secret. And you must go soon."
"And you can't come." The elfling looked crestfallen, and no wonder.
"No, ion, I cannot. And neither can your mother. You must go alone, with a guard only."
"Naneth? But, ada, I need her. I need you!"
Fingon enveloped his crying son in his arms. "This is the way it must be, at least for a time. Perhaps in a few years you may return. But I can make no promises."
"But where—" he choked on a sob. "Where will I go?"
"To Círdan, at the Havens. You will like it there, but the sea. There will be many new places to explore and people to meet. And Círdan knows many stories. I am sure he will be happy to tell them to you." Fingon paused. "Ereinion, I know you are very young, and this is a great deal to understand, but I have faith in you, ion nin. I know you will make your mother and I proud. You are the Crown Prince now, Erei, and you must conduct yourself as such. I will always love you, ion, no matter how far apart we are."
Two days later Ereinion set off south with a guard of his father's most trusted men. He tried to be strong, but he cried when his naneth hugged him farewell, but she had tears in her eyes as well. But he was strong enough not to beg once more to stay, even though he wanted nothing more.
Sixteen years later Ereinion would be brought news of his father's death, just as Fingon was of Fingolfin's. But still a young elf, he would not be able to find his father's strength to conduct himself as a Royal should, and so it would come as a great relief when he learned his uncle had taken up the empty throne. Ereinion would never fully be able to live with the grief that he had not seen his father since he had ridden away to the Havens at the age of eleven.