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All things considered, when Cirdan got into his little fishing boat that day, it was both a warm and pleasant day and he had the intention of catching nothing but perhaps dinner.
The waves rocked his little boat gently as he pushed off from the shore, arms pumping as he rowed. The breeze ruffled his hair and beard, carrying with it the sharp smell of salt and fish.
It all felt very normal.
After word had arrived of King Fingolfin’s demise, a sense of silence and fear had descended over him, and he had not felt well for several days. He had no particular fondness for the Noldor, had considered himself Sindar his entire life, but even the reminder that Melkor could kill someone so powerful so easily was upsetting. He had been in a foul mood for a long time. But now, sitting on the shore with a cool wind in his face, he was starting to feel okay once again.
He impaled a worm on his little hook and cast his line, letting it float on through the placid little waves, bobbing into the murky depths. Securing his line against his long legs, he looked up at the sky, the little fluffy clouds that drifted slowly by. A feeling of peace and untouchability descended on him, the feeling that all evil was somewhere very far away, and could not harm him.
Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to truly savor the moment for the first time in a very long time.
A few hours passed before the trunk bumped into his boat.
It was large, with golden hinges, and it was shut, but not locked. Huh. Whatever would someone dump into the sea? How could something that large just wash into the ocean? I have not heard of any shipwrecks, although information has been a bit scarce as of late.
Might as well open it. No one else is here to lay a claim. He carefully took hold of the trunk, steadying it against his dinghy, popped the lid, and gasped.
A small child sat crosslegged in the trunk, surrounded by what was clearly a dwindling amount of lembas bread and several bottles of water.
It took a moment for Cirdan’s mind to even form proper ideas, much less verbalize any of the levels of what-in-Melkor’s-knickers that were happening in said mind. The child was dirty and too thin, and he had some superficial sores from the salt of the sea, but other than that, he looked healthy enough. “... What…? How? Who are you?”
The child blinked at him with wide gray eyes. “... Ereinion.” He said it like Ewen’yin.
He must be very small if he still mixes his R’s and W’s. “... Ereinion?”
Ereinion nodded.
His mother must be a fascinating lady, if she named him that. “... Where is your mother?”
Ereinion’s face crumpled, tears welling in his eyes. “... Mommy sank in the ocean.”
“She sank in the ocean? Were you in a boat?”
Ereinion did not answer, only burst into tears.
Cirdan flinched. “... Hey, hey, do not cry. You are safe. We can ask questions later--how about we get you some food, now? You look terribly skinny and cold. If you will come with me, I can get you all the food and blankets you could ever want.” He pointed to a carriage on the shore, the horse munching some stiff shore grasses. “That is my carriage. My city is just beyond the horizon-- or one of them, anyway, but this one is called Eglarest. We will find you food, blankets and shelter there.”
Ereinion sniffled. “... Do you promise?”
“I do. I promise. I swear on Lord Ulmo--you know who that is, right?”
“The sea king?”
“The sea king,” Cirdan affirmed. “We shore-dwellers keep him in high regard, and he returns the favor. I think he loves you in particular very much. Now, climb in the boat and I will row you back to shore, okay?”
Ereinion studied Cirdan. “... What is your name?”
“They call me Cirdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Falas, little one.”
Ereinion cocked his head, thick black curls drifting to one side. “If you are a lord, can you find my Ata? I never knew him. I have always wanted to.”
Cirdan pursed his lips. “... I will try, little one.”
Ereinion wiped his eyes on his dirty tunic before giving a cheerful smile and scrambling into Cirdan’s boat. “Thank you, Lord Cirdan of the Falas!”
This poor babe’s father could be anyone, how in Angband will I find him? And if I find him, and he is some villainous deadbeat, will little Ereinion still want to go with him? And what indeed happened to Ereinion’s mother? “... You are welcome, little one.”