Of Ships and Sealing Wax by Grundy  

Arafinwë normally treasured these quiet moments in bed with his wife, with him the only one awake before the day began.

Now even that was changing.

“’S too early for worrying,” Eärwen mumbled. “Go back to sleep. The sun isn’t even up yet.”

He had only to glance out the window to see that while he couldn’t say that was not true, it wouldn’t be much longer before it was. The horizon already had the tell-tale glow of imminent daybreak.

That was another thing disconcerting him at the moment. The sea usually brought him peace. Now it was carrying him to war.

“We’ve another week at least before we reach land,” Eärwen sighed. “Fretting the whole way won’t help anyone, including yourself.”

She paused.

“My king,” she added mischievously.

Arafinwë didn’t particularly want to be king, but Findis had announced that was the title he was to use in Beleriand. As if being in charge of the host of the West wasn’t enough.

“She was trying to save you headaches,” his wife sighed.

“I can’t really see anyone left quibbling about precedence,” Arafinwë snorted.

The list of who they knew had died was far longer than the list of those they hoped might yet live. Naro and all but his eldest two. Nolo and all his children. Their own sons. Rillë and Eärendil weren’t permitted to join them, not that his grandniece or her son were much inclined to fuss about such things.

“Resto hardly will,” Eärwen agreed. “Which would make it a bit awkward for his children to try. Nerwen knows better. But we’ve no idea if any of the others had children who might have ideas.”

“Or what our other grandson may think,” Arafinwë said softly.

Ingo’s boy had been sent to the Falas, and moved to Balar when they fell. But that was the extent of what Eärendil was able to tell them – though he knew Gildor for a cousin, they’d only met a few times.

“Ingo said the boy is clever, and mostly sensible. I don’t see him picking a fight with his grandfather.”

No, likely not. Particularly not if he took after Ingo and didn’t much want the bother of being in charge of everything.

“I didn’t want to be king.”

He was sure his beloved knew that already. But he hadn’t said it to her out loud.

“No. That was Naro and Nolo,” she replied pensively, tracing an idle doodle on his bare chest. “Naro wanted the title but not the responsibility. Nolo mostly just wanted the recognition, though he took on the responsibility. You wanted them both to make peace.”

“I wasn’t trained for any of this,” he said quietly. “The fifth child? Third son? I was just supposed to help whoever was in charge, not be the one in charge.”

“You’ve never failed your father.”

“This isn’t about Father.”

“I’m not sure going back to Beleriand ever truly was.”

“It certainly ceased to be about him around the time Naro got himself killed.”

“Before that, I’d have said,” Eärwen sniffed. “Around the time he stole my father’s ship.”

That was far from the only thing Naro and his boys had done that day.

Arafinwë stared out the window. The sun must be up ahead of them now – the colors outside were now blue and blue.

“My love, whatever we find on the far shore, you will be more than equal to it,” Eärwen said firmly. “You have ever been the wisest and strongest of your father’s sons – the one who learned to hold his tongue and keep the peace, the one who learned how to reverse from a foolish course  and apologize as needed. War may be new to you, but protecting those that look to you is not.”

“So long as you are with me.”

“In spirit, always,” she said wryly, kissing him. “Though once you are inland, I may have to settle for that. I doubt many of my mariners will be as tempted to take up arms as I am. And my father did name me the leader of the fleet.”

“Only after you argued him into sending a fleet in the first place,” Arafinwë replied, arms tightening around her. “We wouldn’t have ships at all if not for you.”

“Father forgot when he first declined to get involved that I have a daughter and two grandchildren to retrieve.”

“Let us hope Artanis sees matters your way,” Arafinwë murmured.

“She can drag her husband with her,” Eärwen said firmly. “But she’s coming.”

Assuming, of course, they all survived the imminent war. But Arafinwë felt he’d been gloomy enough for one morning.

“And any children?” he prompted.

“If she’s had children without me as well as married…”

“You’ll be absolutely delighted to have more grandsons to dote on?”

“She might have a daughter!”

Arafinwë stifled a snicker. The lopsided numbers of boys born to the House of Finwë had been deplored by his wife, sisters, and law-sisters for some time. His wife had been pinning her hopes for granddaughters on her only daughter since Artaresto’s begetting.

“Let us hope,” he laughed, his dark mood lifting.

“We always have,” she said softly.

“I suppose we had better get out of bed,” he sighed. “The captain has to set an example.”

“The captain has a few more minutes to spare,” Eärwen informed him. “And idea on how to use those minutes.”

The next kiss and the caress that went with it robbed him of any coherent argument.

Besides, Arafinwë might be a king now, but one obeyed the captain of the ship.

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