Fill The Night With Stories by Klose

Inheritance

A sort of missing moment story featuring Círdan and a very young Ereinion Gil-galad. Gen. Written Mar'10.

For the purposes of this ficlet, I assume that Gil-galad was Fingon's son.

Written for one of the Back to Middle-earth 2010 Challenges, specifically for Belegost: A character loses something seemingly mundane that possesses great personal importance or value. What does he or she do to recover it?

Rather rough & unpolished, but still readable, I hope.

Círdan eyed the shivering heap of blankets opposite him, and decided against harsh words. There had been enough of those today.

"I expect you've learnt your lesson," he said, leaning back in his chair. That was one benefit of near-death experiences, at least, although Círdan was certainly not going to say that to Mallael. She had been hysterical enough to see her young son floundering in the chaotic waves. Ereinion was quite a frisky child, but even for him, jumping off a pier and into choppy waves was a bit much. Fortunately, there had been several fisherman about who could swim, and they were able to fish the boy out before any great damage was done.

"The first thing for tomorrow is to teach you how to swim," Círdan continued, watching carefully for his young charge's reaction. The blankets bobbed up and down, agreeing with this statement.

Círdan waited several moments before speaking again, appreciating the warmth provided by the fireplace on that cold autumn night. No doubt Ereinion, chilled to the bone following his sea excursion, was just as appreciative, if not more.

"So," he said finally, keeping his voice gentle. "Would you like to tell me what happened today?"

A sniffle, followed by a hand poking out from one of the blankets. A gold coin lay upon the palm, and Círdan leaned in for a closer look. Two trees, standing side by side, one embellished with silver.

"Who gave you this?" asked Círdan quietly, though he suspected that he knew the answer already.

"Ada," came the reply, muffled by the thick blankets.

Círdan sighed. It all made sense now. The boy had nothing left of his father but his memories, and his mother's. And this coin, apparently.

"I think your father would have preferred to keep you alive," Círdan said drily. "Even if it meant losing his token. He sent you here to keep you safe, after all."

Ereinion stiffened, and the blanket covering his head fell back. He said nothing, but the scowl on his face spoke volumes.

"My meetings with Findekáno were few and far-between," said Círdan thoughtfully. "But I remember enough to know that your eyes are as grey and round as his, and seeing your mother's golden tresses, there can be no doubt that he gave you his thick dark hair. Most certainly, you share his smile."

Ereinion's expression turned pensive - a rather amusing sight on one so young, Círdan couldn't help but think. Their eyes met, then, but there was nothing comical about his piercing gaze. It wasn't just reminiscient of Fingon, but also of Fingolfin, and even Finwë. There was no doubt Ereinion had the blood of kings flowing in his veins. Círdan just had to make sure the boy stayed alive long enough to show the full extent of it.

"You only need look in the mirror to see things that your father has left you, Ereinion."

The boy leaned back in the armchair, further wrapping the blankets around him. Some time passed before he finally spoke.

"The coin is shiny, though."

Círdan laughed. Clearly, Ereinion had inherited the Noldorin obsession for anything that gleamed from his father, as well.