Work Text:
Year 47 FoA
The blue sky was clear of clouds, and the Sun’s light glimmered in the waters of the Anduin like jewels. There was a breeze that cooled the tightly-packed crowd that had gathered at the port of Harlond. It was a perfect day for a military ceremony.
The newest recruits of the King’s Ships were receiving their emblems from King Elessar and a blessing from Queen Arwen. They underwent their training a month prior, and the names of those who completed the training and were welcomed into the ranks were released two weeks later. The first few rows consisted of the recipients of the honors, while the ranks at their back were the rest of the fleet. Behind the formation of sailors were several of the newest ships in the Gondorian Navy. Their silver sails shimmered like stardust in the wind, and their hulls gleamed like pearls.
Boromir stood at the front of the assembled guests, in an area reserved for the Stewards and other high-ranking Gondorian officials and their families. This was his first time in attendance, for he’d never had responsibilities with regard to the Gondorian Navy. But today was an important day, and one that he refused to miss.
He leaned part of his weight on the cane he clutched in his right hand, while his wife, Anael, held his other arm. To Anael’s left was their youngest daughter, Aerdis, her husband, Galvorn, and their son, Vorondil. To Boromir’s right was their oldest, Finduilas, and her husband and daughter, Elenna. He felt Finduilas thrumming with impatience, a trait she had inherited from him. But before he could say anything to her, her husband whispered something in her ear, and it calmed her in an instant. Boromir smiled, then turned his gaze to the front when the king began to speak.
“Today, I am honored to personally welcome all of you into the King’s Ships, a fairly young institution in these times, but one with a legacy that dates back to the days when the Kingdom of Númenor still stood far in the West. Our ancestors, the Men of Westernesse, were a people known for their naval prowess. Elendil, my ancestor, whose standard adorns the sails of our fleet, and the Faithful escaped the floodwaters that consumed Númenor on their ships, settling in our sister region of Arnor and here in Gondor, building the greatest among the kingdoms of Men. Though the prevalence of seafaring waned in favor of land-based defense, command of the sea endured, in Belfalas, Anfalas, and the southernmost regions of Gondor, and the legacy that has been built today will live on through each one of you.”
Elessar turned to his right and nodded once at Erchirion, the son of the late Prince Imrahil and the highest-ranking officer in the King’s Ships, named the Captain of Ships. Erchirion stepped forward, followed by another officer who was carrying a flat but wide wooden chest. Elessar opened the chest and lifted one of the silver emblems that would be pinned to each recipient’s uniform, symbolizing their acceptance into the King’s Ships.
Finduilas started to fidget again. Boromir gently nudged her with his arm, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I suppose I have been looking forward to this for what felt like ages.”
“Imagine how Cirion must feel,” he said. He felt her nod against his arm.
Erchirion drew out a roll of parchment and began to read the names aloud. Elessar pinned the medals—bearing the likeness of a ship with the White Tree and the seven stars and Crown of Elendil upon its sails—to the recruits’ shirts as they came forward. They then knelt before Queen Arwen, who sprinkled water from a silver basin that she and the king had blessed over their bowed heads.
“Tiro le Uiar,” she said softly.
“I Aear cân ven na mar,” the recipients of her blessing answered.
After receiving the King and Queen’s blessings, the recruits returned to their places in the formation and stood at Attention. Erchirion had a neutral expression until he paused at the next name, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.
“Cirion son of Bergil.”
Finduilas released her pent-up excitement in a loud cheer, drawing a few gazes from the applauding attendees, though most people who knew or knew of her were used to it. Cirion stepped out of formation and approached the dais. Erchirion’s smile widened as he passed him.
“Congratulations,” Elessar said as he pinned the medal on Cirion’s shirt. “I know you will make your family proud, and the King’s Ships are lucky to have you among their ranks.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Cirion bowed and then moved to the left to kneel before Queen Arwen. He closed his eyes as rivulets of water dripped from his hair and rolled down his cheeks.
“Tiro le Uiar.”
“I Aear cân ven na mar.”
He stepped off the dais and shook his hair out a bit when water was close to getting in his eyes. As he returned to his place, he looked over at his family and gave them a smile before facing forward again, eliciting another enthusiastic cheer and a wave from his mother.
When the last recipient left the dais, the empty chest and water basin were taken away. Queen Arwen stood with her hands clasped in front of her and her head held high, looking every bit a queen among Elves and Men. Elessar took a step forward, placing himself slightly in front of his queen and his commanding officer, before telling the sailors and their guests that a feast had been prepared for them in the Citadel. He then offered his hand to Arwen and nodded to Erchirion to take over as they departed to receive their guests. Erchirion rolled up the list of names and held behind his back.
“Lasta ana canya.” The sailors all moved as one unit to Attention. “Lelya sero. Mado a sogo uin mereth.”
Erchirion hadn’t even finished speaking when Finduilas made a beeline for Cirion, forcing several of his comrades create a path for her to avoid being run over. Bergil trailed behind holding onto his daughter’s hand. Following them were Aerdis, Galvorn, and their son, with Boromir and Anael taking up the rear. Cirion opened his arms for his mother and closed one eye as she kissed his cheek.
“My hair is still wet.”
“There are worse things than wet hair,” Finduilas said dismissively. She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. “I am so proud of you!”
“Thank you, Mother.” He turned to Bergil and embraced him.
“You are going to do great. I am so, so proud.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Can I see your pin?” his sister asked. Cirion got down on one knee so that she could get a closer look.
“I want to see, too!” said his cousin.
“Alright, you can have a look.”
“It’s so pretty,” Elenna said. She turned and looked up at her parents. “I want to have one, too!”
“So do I!” Aerdis only smiled patiently at her son, while her husband chuckled and pulled him into a hug.
“Arnor has no fleet, and the only ships near us are the ones bringing the Elves into the West. Maybe we can have Armegil make you a similar pin when we return to Annúminas.” Galvorn held a hand out to Cirion as he stood up and brushed some dirt from his knee. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Uncle. Auntie.” Aerdis beamed and kissed his cheek. “And thank you for coming all the way here. I know it is a long journey from Arnor.”
“Distance matters little when it comes to family,” said Aerdis. “We were happy to be here for this special occasion.”
“And it gives you a chance to see your cousin,” Galvorn added, lightly ruffling his son’s hair, which drew a laugh from the boy.
Movement over his mother’s shoulder drew Cirion’s gaze. His grandparents approached slowly. Boromir’s knuckles were red and white as he leaned much of his weight on his cane. Anael looked more like a daughter or young relative than his wife, thanks to her Elvish blood. They were similar to King Elessar and his ageless queen, though the signs of old age were not as prevalent in the king’s features. Anael released Boromir’s arm and embraced Cirion.
“Harthon gerithach aeair vilui.”
“Le hannon.” After drawing away from her, Cirion turned to Boromir with a sheepish grin. “I hope you are not too upset that I didn’t join the army.”
“Of course, not. Your parents did well in naming you.” Boromir laid his hand on Cirion’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before patting his cheek. “And how could I possibly disapprove of anyone who serves their country?”
“He is more upset with me because I stole a potential recruit from him.” Erchirion stood nearby with his arms crossed and a slight smirk on his face. Boromir scoffed.
“Keep telling yourself that, cousin.” Erchirion merely shrugged before taking a few steps closer.
“I have a gift for you, Cirion.”
“For me?” Erchirion reached into the pocket of his trousers and drew out a circular object made of brass.
“This compass has guided me through many storms. May it serve you well and lead you home.”
“Thank you. I mean—thank you, sir.” Erchirion chuckled and patted Cirion’s arm.
“There is no need for such formality. Right now, we are family and nothing else.”
“Even though Cirion has a compass now, you’re still going to look after him, aren’t you, Chiri?” Finduilas asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course. Your son is in good hands.”
“Good.” She gave him a sly smile, as though telling him to prepare for her wrath should he not keep his word.
“Shall we head up, then? If we do not hurry, the food will be gone before we even arrive. And sailors are known to eat a lot whenever they are on land.”
As they slowly made their way over to where they had left their horses, Vorondil sidled up next to Cirion, who had been staring at the compass. Cirion’s gaze flickered over to his cousin.
“Yes?”
“Can I see what your compass looks like inside?”
Cirion flicked it open. On the inside of the cover was a carved swan with its wings spread and its beak pointed up at a single star. The arrow wavered as he walked, but he frowned when he noticed something odd—it wasn’t pointing North.
“Cousin Erchirion—” He glanced up and saw that Erchirion was already far ahead of them and out of hearing range.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think something is wrong with this. It seems to be pointing in the wrong direction. Wait…”
After shaking the compass and tapping on it, with no change, he came to a stop and held it out. He turned and allowed his gaze to follow the path it was pointing. Though it was hidden from view by the Rammas Echor, Cirion knew now what the compass was pointing to.
Osgiliath. Home.