New Traditions

Played By:
AelKennyr Rhiano
Jasper Rhiano



Miro's dark hair lifts and shifts around his shoulders with the passing of the wind as he stands at the ship's helm. He glances up at the clear blue sky, assessing easily from long practice his heading and the hour of day. The ship is quieter now, after the bustle of leaving port, his passengers all below deck. For now at least, he is alone at the helm, and Miro lets himself indulge in the pleasure of the moment. The vessel beneath his feet rides the ocean with a sureness and swiftness that would please any mariner's heart. He feels the play of the ocean winds upon his bare skin, for, the sun having grown warm as the day progressed, as is his wont, he has shed his shirt and jerkin. His feet are planted firmly on the heaving deck, and with knees slightly bent he easily adjust to the tilt and dip of the deck as the craft crests yet another swell and dips into the following hollow, only to climb swiftly again to the next rolling swell. Standing there, his heart light and every bit in command of both himself and  the vessel, he laughs aloud his delight. "By Ulmo's beard this is the life!"

"By Ulmo's beard this is the life!"

The boat lurches, and Fafnir's stomach lurches. The boat sways and saws to the other side, and, stretching his hands, the young dwarf catches himself  against a hull...wall....side..He gnashes his teeth as he makes his way slowly up to the deck. By Aule's thumbnail, anywhere but where he can hear the sounds of groans and retching.  Tucked in a corner of the cavernous belly of this wooden ship, Nasi is nestled in a makeshift pallet, finally asleep after sipping from a concoction that, per the stone mason's report, tastes only slightly better than it smells. Below him, down below, the voices of dwarves complaining bitterly floats up like a  dark and poisonous cloud. 

The boat, no, ship, he corrects himself...the ship lurches again, and he turns an ankle trying to keep his balance. The boots were not his: one of the elven crew gave him the pair, along with  the belt that rides low on his hip.  One of the dwarven refugees missed the slop bucket, and spewed the contents of his stomach upon Fafnir's only pair of boots.  "By Aule's eyelashes and tiny hairy mole, " Fafnir swears under his breath as he finally stumbles onto the empty deck.   Reaching down he pulls and tugs on the too long short boots and looks about him."What a life!"

"By Aule's eyelashes and tiny hairy mole."

Movement on the deck below catches his eye and reluctantly Miro drops his gaze from the far horizon.  Quizzically, eyes as blue as the ocean around them watch the small figure as it pauses.  So, one of the wee ones has ventured upon deck, clearly a hardier soul than most of his kind, for as far as he knew most are below decks honouring Ulmo with the contents of their stomachs.  Quietly, his expression not unkind, he watches as the figure tugs on first one and then the other over-sized boot.  Like most in Mithlond, Miro had heard various tales about this rag-tag little band who have become his passengers.  Life in a busy port city often meant encounters with the Khazad, but they had been brief and little was really known of them, other than their excellence with Smithing, their shrewdness in bargaining, their love of their cups, and their determination to keep to themselves and say not one word more than was necessary to others.

...his expression not unkind, he watches...

Now, while apparently keeping his gaze upon the ocean so as not to appear rude, out of the corner of his eye Miro watches the one below with curiosity.  He had been told there are females in the party when they boarded, but for the life of him he has not been able to tell them apart.  All are bearded.  All are stocky of build.  All  carry both weapons and packs of belongings.   If the stories were even partly true, this group had been forced from their home with only what they could carry, which had not been much, going on what is stored in the hold of his ship.   They are not naturally a sea-faring race, he knows.  How dire must their circumstances be for this group to take to the ocean, under the care of an distant elven king?  Not wanting to startle the one below, he decides to continue to observe quietly as he continues to guide the ship upon the waves rather than call a greeting.  Patiently, his long slender hands strong upon the helm, he watches and waits.

Straightening up, Fafnir looks about, a frank curiosity in his honey amber eyes. The breeze off the water plucks  playfully at his cropped hair, running airy fingers across the locks and leaves him sporting a mass of tangles. Reaching up, he pushes it out of his eyes as he turns in a circle.  The deck stretches out before him, an expense of weathered wood, the creaks and squeaks, and the groan of rope foreign sounds, not comforting at all.  Slowly, he rests his gaze upon the waves, and crosses with a drunkard's gait to the railing. Clutching the rail so hard that his knuckles whiten, he looks out upon the sea.  So much water!  The horizon of sky met water and all about him there was not so much as a hint of land.  He gasps and feels a lightheadedness.  His mouth drops open as the ship dips up and down, but forgotten was the motion, the sounds, the smells.  His mind filled with sight before his eyes.  So much water.   

So much water.

Miro watches silently as the Khazad moves to the side of the ship.  His sharp eyes take in the whiteness of the other's knuckles as he holds fast to the railing, hair and beard ruffled by the wind as his amber eyes take in the expanse of the ocean.  "Aye, 'tis different to what ye be used to, little one." With a start he realises he has spoken the words out loud, and he flushes awkwardly and ducks his head, cursing himself for being a loose-lipped fool under his breath.  In an effort to recover his manners, he looks up again and continues with a respectful nod of his head.  "I am called Miro.  I am at your service."

Fafnir jumps, startled, and grips the railing even harder as he turns and looks about him wildly.  Lifting his eyes up, he spies the source of the voice. There on that upper deck...floor...whatever these elves call it...stands a dark-haired, barechested elf.  Regal he stands, proud as any prince, with his long dark hair  like a dark halo about his chiseled features.  He remembers this one now. He caught glimpses of this elf as they came aboard. Was it just this morning?  He looks back over the railing, and notes the position of  Arien's vessel.  "A lifetime, and it is not even nightfall," he murmurs and catches himself. 

Turning back to the railing, he bites his bottom lip and slowly releases one hand from the viselike grip, reaching blindly for the stairs beside him. Or are they ladders? He shakes his head.  Names, names, names. Whatever they are, he must go up them to reach the tall elf.  He pulls his other hand away from the railing and grabs the same side of the stairs, transferring his other hand to the other side.  Taking a deep breath, he calls out, "Wee one, long shanks. I've not been called that since I learned to stand up to relieve myself. I am called Fafnir."  He put into his voice all the bravado he could not feel as he forced shaky legs in too big boots to carry him up to where the handsome elf stands

"...I am called Fafnir."

Miro forgets manners and decorum and chuckles softly at the Khazad's spirited reply.  Aye, this one is bold indeed.  Reaching forward he secures the helm to continue on current course and then turns to openly regard his visitor, folding his long arms thoughtfully across his chest.  "Well then, Fafnir it is."  His lips curl into a warm smile as his eyes take in more detail now the dwarf is closer.  Young, this one, compared to some he has seen, and male too, if he was not mistaken, unless the females have the same deep voice.  Realising he is staring, he lets his eyes slide to take in the ocean around them and nods towards the horizon behind them. "Nothing but ocean all around us.  A new experience for us both."

"...A new experience for us both."

Fafnir reaches out and grabs the railing with a hand, clutching it tightly.  The wind kisses his cheeks and for one wild moment, he imagines the kiss turning into an embrace and sweeping off the deck and into the endless expanse of water. To feed the fish or sea serpents, or maybe a hungry creature of the watery depths.  He tosses a quick glance back over his shoulder at Miro's words and then whips his head back around as he asks in an alarmed voice, "New experience? New? You are new to the ....the ocean?" He looks over at the wheel of crescent moons.  "You are guiding the boat, and you are new?" He looks at Miro with eyes that show too much white and reaches to clutch at the rail with his other hand.

 Miro tries to hide a smile at the reaction his words had caused. Far from reassuring the other, they have precipitated a near panic. His eyes twinkling merrily, still his demeanor is calm and reassuring as he steps away from the wheel and stands near the rail next to Fafnir. "Be at ease. I am new to the open ocean, true, but I have been on ships from the time I was born. Indeed, I build them." He pats the wooden railing affectionately. "I built this sturdy beauty which carries us now." His gaze takes in the craft from stem to stern and then settles warmly back on Fafnir. He lowers his voice conspiratorially as he continues. "They are stronger than you think, not so different to a wilful female, I have been told. You just have to know how to handle her right. When to use a firm hand and when to let her run free." His eyes soften as he remembers his father's words.

"...not so different to a wilful female."

Miro's gaze drops to Fafnir's white-knuckled grip upon the rail.  "It's all a matter of balance, you know.   Part your feet more, like so."  He points down to his own feet, planted firmly apart. "And let your knees relax, so they give with the rise and fall of the ship, then the movement will not buffet you so."

Fafnir watches as the elf with the grace of a dancer crosses over to him and lovingly touches the wooden railing.  As graceful as his movements, his words flow, like well aged beer from his lips, and he finds himself watching the lips form the words.  Build...ships...he blinks, and forgets to smile at the banter.  

"...let your knees relax.." He looks down as Miro directs him, and sees how the elf is standing. Slowly, still clutching the railing with a white knuckled hand, he does as the elven shipwright instructs, sliding a foot slowly  apart from the other, until a shoulder's width is between his feet.  "Like that?" He asks, glancing up.  

Miro nods encouragingly as he watches Fafnir struggle to loosen up.  "Yes. Like that.  Now let your knees relax.  Bend them a little.  The trick is to go with the flow of the movement of the ship, not fight it.   I know the wind buffets, but she be not as fierce as she pretends to be."  He winks and whispers, 'If a longshanks such as I be not blown away, a wee one such as yourself is quite safe."

Heartened by the encouragement in Miro's tone, and considering the logic behind the elf's statement, Fafnir bends his knees a little, looks over at Miro, and then bends his  knees a little more.  "Just a word, there, Long Shanks.  'Wee one' the wrong one, and we could be seeing eye-to-eye.   Particularly if you should have the misfortune to say that to Eilif," he warns.  He feels the ship dip, a little, but he keeps his balance.  "This ...this works!"

Miro chuckles softly as he leans against the rail, again folding his long arms across his chest as he considers Fafnir, nodding in approval as he sees him weather the next dip of the ship much better.  Wondering who this Eilif is, he decides on being a little cautious nonetheless. It never bodes well to upset passengers or clients. "I shall only 'wee one' those who 'longshanks' me.  How is that?"  His eyes twinkle merrily as he regards the dwarf. "You are doing quite well.  There are some who never manage to find their 'sea legs'."  He tilts is head as he regards Fafnir thoughtfully, "How is it that you are upon deck when it seems all the others are prostrate below?"

"How is it that you are upon deck..

Fafnir watches Miro, his brown eyes intense now that he is less worried about being swept up and thrown overboard by an angry wind.  His hand relaxes its grip, though he does not feel near so comfortable as to lounge against the railing as yonder tall elf.  His gaze moves from the shirtless elf before him to the horizon, and instantly he regrets it and instead tilts his head to meet the blue-eyed steady gaze of the other.  "I don't know," he confesses.  "Some are well enough to fill their lungs with complaints.  Others are emptying their stomachs. Wiser heads are choosing to dose themselves into uneasy slumbers." He pauses as his mind flashes to the image of Nasi's face, relaxed in slumber.  "Still others," He pauses and then continues..."others are choosing to sit and moisten their resolve with what passes for stout ale amongst you elves."  

Fafnir pauses and then looks up at the tall elf. "But as for me, neither draught nor beer is my resolve,  for I have heard that the princes of such ...boats..ships...erm..vessels, " he pauses, and then continues, "That those who commands these ships, they have certain powers given them Like justicars would have, or clan elders, or ," he pauses and says softly, "or kings."  He lifts his hand off the railing and drops it down by his side, unaware of his growing comfort.  "I want to ask a favor, a boon." He turns and  reaches into the pouch at his belt. "I can pay. In gold coin. It is important." 

"...It is most important."

Miro 's sharp young eyes, honed by a lifetime of watching his father deal with clients, and in his turn, doing the dealing, take in the play of emotions that flit across Fafnir's face as he speaks.  He sees the disdain he holds for some of his kind, and hears it in his voice.  He watches as the features soften, wondering who it is that has caused it and then watches still as he speaks of the boon he would seek, the earnestness clear upon his features, and he smiles for it would seem clear now the cause of the earlier softening.

Holding up a hand he shakes his head. "Please, no.  If what you seek is what I think it is, I would ask no reward for such a service."  He regards the dwarf steadily as he gathers his thoughts.  "These powers you speak of, those of a ship's commander.  Be it the power to conduct a ceremony of marriage that you seek? Has some fine figure of a woman caught your heart, perhaps?"

Fafnir feels his face color and juts his chin a little forward.  His voice is gruff and brusque as he pulls his hand back out of his pouch and fastens it again.  "Perhaps, it is not a woman who has caught my heart," he says, careful in his words, his eyes and expression cool now. "What if it be not a female at all? Would you still offer the same service?"

Miro's eyes continue to regard Fafnir steadily, even as his words fall like hammers about his ears.  Not a woman?  If not a woman then... a man? He blinks slowly as he absorbs this, careful not to keep his features neutral even as his mind races.  He had heard whispers from time to time about love between two males but, working long days and late nights learning his craft, he has never seriously thought about it, simply thinking it the great love of boon companions or comrades in arms who have faced danger together.  But to love, deeply for one glance at Fafnir's expression said this was so, to love deeply as a man and a woman love?

Miro blinks again as his thoughts take a leap, and the image of Nole floats clearly in his mind.  The silver hair, the gentle eyes and kind mouth.  The master mariner is never far from his thoughts, and if Miro were truthful, he would admit to himself that he seeks out the gentle Teleri Prince at every opportunity.  Is this why?  Did Miro love him in such a way? Would it be possible for the Prince to love him in return?  By Eru's light, a Prince!  What is he thinking?  But now that the notion has been put in his head, it is hard to dislodge.  Am I in love? Is that it?

Am I in love?

Miro blushes as he realises he is keeping the eager young dwarf waiting for his reply.  He lifts his chin and looks him levelly in the eye as at last he answers, "It would be my great honour to offer such a service to you and yours."

That silence between them as Miro considers the request is not lost on Fafnir, who watches Miro's face, spies the blinks,  notes how the the jaw is set, how the eyes seem to be focused elsewhere.  He cocks his head as he watches, but knows not what it means.  Finally the elf blushes. Why?  And he gives the answer Fafnir hopes for, longs for.  "You...you would join us," he says, and tries to keep his voice level and calm, despite the hard thudding of his heart and the lightness of his mind.  "You would seal  us, Nasi and I?  Can it be done ere we set foot in this.." he pauses and tries to pronounce the word as he hears the elves do, "Ack-cue-lon-day? Once we are in sight of it, you will marry us?"  He flexes and unflexes a hand, curling it into  a fist and forcing it back into a more relaxed state. 

"You would seal us, Nasi and I?"

Miro's steady blue gaze cannot fail to see the longing in the other.  So he truly loves this Nasi.  Deep inside him, something stirs.  In his young life there has never been time for thoughts of love, romance or a life's partner.  There has always been so much else to do.  Now though, he finds there is a hitherto unsuspected emptiness there, hidden away behind responsibility and duty, an emptiness that craves to be filled with a love such as this one bears his Nasi.  He nods slowly to the would-be bridegroom. "Aye. I will seal you, if that is what you seek, although there be a King on board who is equally able to do so, if you would prefer it."  He tilts his head and regards Fafnir through eyes narrowed in thought before he continues. "Your Nasi is very lucky to be loved as you love him, methinks."

Fafnir quickly ducks his head, refusing to look into the other's eyes as his face flushes at the compliment.  "Yes," he says, "There is a king. There is our Elder, too," he continues after a pause. "It shall be a thing never known to my people, to be married by a ship's captain. But to have an elven king and our Elder stand as witnesses AND be married by a captain?" He stops as he realizes he has not even considered asking the elven king before this moment. "And why not?" he says aloud, as much to himself as to the elf before him. "I am marrying Nasi, Master Stonemason and dragonslayer. Why should not an elven king and an elder witness such a union?" He looks up, now, at Miro.  

"I mean to marry him. We may live or we may die in this new land...this land that even the elves speak of with reverence and awe.  But we shall live or die as lifemates to each other, as husbands.  It is a new world and a new way for our clan.  Time for new traditions."