Chapter Text
Pushing his hand across the rough plank that is waiting to be sanded into shape, into the absolute perfection demanded of a ship's hull, Arafinwë, High King of the Noldor, sings. It's been such a long time since he's done this. In a different world.
A lifetime ago, before his children were born, before he was married, Arafinwë, the youngest son of the King of the Noldor, was once apprenticed to the master ship-builders of Alqualonde. It was a challenge, and a promise. Young Noldor wishing to prove their worth to their betrothed would make exquisite jewellery, or fine textiles, or breathe life into marble and stone- but to wed the Crown Princess of Alqualonde, young Arafinwë had decided to prove himself by following Teleri custom, and building a boat. A boat that would symbolise their new life, and their unbroken horizons.
He had soon discovered that ship-building was as demanding and delicate a craft as the finest jewel-smithing of the Noldor forges. Or an occupation beneath a son of Finwë- depending on whom you asked. In any case, most people shook their heads in bemusement- how very like him, the least Noldor-like of all the Noldor princes, to spend his days sanding planks, covered in saw-dust, and no individual achievement to show for it. He never heeded any of them. As a young man, this craft had been to him more fascinating than any other- the care, and careful coordination of every little detail that went to keeping a giant ship afloat, dancing on the waves, its prow held aloft and its sails hoisted by the wind. How much thought and planning and trial went to make a ship lighter, faster, more nimble- and ended with wonders like the great Swan Ships, that responded to the slightest steering like an extension of their captain's body and mind. And this, too- that ship-building, like ship-sailing- was very rarely a solitary occupation. The masters of the Noldorin forges could spend days in solitude, trying and failing, in their quest to perfect their craft and wrestle the creations out of their mind's eye and into tangible reality of stone, and metal, and light. A wonder of focus, and genius, and creation. Arafinwë had been in awe of it. And he had tried to emulate it- how could he not? But he was not a natural jewel-smith. HIs hands were adequate enough, and his progress admirable- or so his teachers said. But his mind did not have that spark, that singular focus and force of will to bring new visions into reality- of shapes and hues and textures that had never before existed. To labour in a forge, day after day, until he had reached perfection... It felt so...lonely.
But the birth- like the sailing- of a great ship, Arafinwë had seen, was an effort of many. Standing shoulder to shoulder, pulling and pushing together, every single move and adjustment to be in perfect unison with every other. Which led to the singing- the Singing Ones, the Teleri were called, and not for nothing. They accompanied every task by a song, keeping the rhythm, lifting the spirits, pouring themselves and their feelings into their work. As a young man, Arafinwë had never felt more at peace than when he was working on a ship, muscles aching, with the music of a work song reverberating through his chest. He felt he belonged, here- no longer the odd one out, lesser, inadequate. Here, he was part of a whole.
Once. In a different world.