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The next days passed far too quickly for Ereinion and his family. Time spent together, despite the growing pressures on his parents' time.
They walked together among the trees that grew along the river, and in the evenings sat around the fire and talked. In the last few days he had heard more of his father's tales and history than he could recall being told in a lifetime. Due to the length of the tales, he often drowsed off in his mother's arms during the telling. Once he woke up in the middle of the night, and it was dark, and the fire was nothing but glowing embers. His mother was asleep, still holding him tightly, and he had wondered why she had stayed down here instead of carrying him up to his bed. But then he had noticed his father watching him, eyes bright through the darkness, and had snuggled down again and had gone to sleep. When morning came he was tucked into his bed, and he was half inclined to believe that he had dreamt it all. He did not want to say goodbye to his parents, and since there was no way that he could think of to put his feelings into words, he tried not to think of their imminent separation. He had to say goodbye to his nanny too, for she wished to stay with her people, and the guards that stood at the door, his tutor and the soldiers who had taught him of fencing and archery. All the friends he had made and known over the past ten years. And each one he gave a bright smile, and promised to return soon with plenty of stories and gifts of seashells. He would never, ever let anyone know how scared he was. ~*~ And now it was a bright and sunny afternoon, but instead of being outside collecting pebbles or climbing trees, he was stuck indoors sorting through his books and toys. He had not got so very many, for his mother did not think that it was right for him to have things that he did not need when the other children in the settlement did not even have enough to eat. And for his part he tended to agree with her. On the rare occasions that he had managed to escape for long enough to meet others his own age they had seem drab and dispirited, too hungry or sad to play. He knelt by his chest and rummaged through the toys inside. He had been told that he could choose three items, for space was limited and much was taken up by boring yet essential items such as undershirts. Not much sorting was required to find the first item - Arassė, his soft cuddly toy fawn. He was too big for Arassė now really, but he had had him for as long as he could remember, and he was loath to give him up. He still cuddled him close every night, but returned him to the toy box in the morning, before anyone else was up. He had to take Arassė! Ereinion buried his face against the worn fabric and pressed his fingers deep into the fur. It smelt rather musty, but it made him feel so safe. "Ereinion!" His father strode into his room, and paused in the middle of the floor, watching his son. Ereinion jerked his head round to look at his father, then cast Arassė aside in what he hoped was a casual manner. His father smiled at him, a little sadly. It was he who had given the child the toy many years before, when his son had been but a fretful little elfling breaking through some razor sharp incisors. Naturally he would now be becoming too old for the toy, but it still hurt him to see it being cast aside. "Adar!" Ereinion sprung to his feet and flung himself at his father with a joyful yell. It was only rarely now that his father would abandon his work to spend time with his family. "You are packing." The King observed looking at the piles of neatly folded clothing. Everything looked so small suddenly, and for a moment he was tempted to put an end to this ridiculous plan and keep his son with him, at least for a little while. "She is." Ereinion said shortly, hugging his father and keeping his cheek against the soft velvet of his father's regal gowns for longer than was necessary. "She is, is she?" The older elf's eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at his son's dark head, almost enveloped in the deep red fabric. He pitied the nanny sometimes. "Only boring things." The boy's voice was muffled. "Like shirts and soap." His father laughed and walked over to sit on the bed, scooping his son up to sit beside him. "Surely Cirdan has soap of his own, Adar?" Ereinion looked up at his father, his face a picture of puzzlement. "I am sure that Cirdan has soap in his house, Ereinion. You need not worry." He chuckled, brushing some dark strands back behind a small pointed ear. "But it is a long journey and you will need to wash." "Oh." Ereinion looked excited suddenly. "Will I ride a horse? Will we camp outside?" The grey eyes were dancing with anticipation of the adventure, and his father did not have the heart to mention that the journey was likely to be difficult and tiresome rather than a re-enactment of tales of bravery and valour. "I expect so. Some of my best soldiers will accompany you. And before long you will be with Cirdan." And he would be safe. "Adar?" Ereinion twisted to lay his head on his father's thigh and gazed up into the familiar face. His father looked at him, his dark eyebrows slightly raised as he waited for the next comment. "Cirdan will not know that I like my bath with bubbles will he?" The King sighed, recognising in the slow and careful tone the fear that his son would not voice. "No, he probably will not." He said evenly. "Or that I do not like turnip and that I like my milk really really cold." Ereinion looked anxious out of all proportion to the problem. "No." Fingon shook his head. "I do not suppose that he would know that either." "I do not want to live with Cirdan, Adar." Ereinion said with pleading eyes, wishing in vain for his father to change his mind. "I do not think that he will like me." "Of course he will like you!" Fingon said briskly, trying to push out the mental image of the shipwright that he knew, and replace it with one that was entirely different. "He will be looking forward to your coming. It will do him good to have a child about the place." Ereinion sat up again, looking if anything, even more worried. Nobody wanted to do anything that did them good. "Anyway, you must finish your packing." The King stood up and tidied two piles of shirts that he had accidentally disturbed. Ereinion's face instantly clouded with disappointment. He had wanted his Adar to stay with him. "Yes Adar." He said in a resigned voice. "I do not suppose that you have packed your weapons yet?" The King asked in a casual voice, although one corner of his mouth twisted up slightly as Ereinion whirled round to look at him, his face shining in excitement. "My weapons?" "You would like to continue your training whilst you are away, would you not?" Ereinion nodded with a hopeful smile. He loved practising with his sword and bow, pretending he was a warrior marching into battle and defeating orcs left, right and centre. "Then we must find you some weapons to take with you." The father placed a large hand on his son's bony shoulder. "I cannot have the Prince of my people heading out on his first adventure unarmed." ~*~ "And now we must find you a sword." Fingon stood up and strode past the usual bundles of small swords. Somewhat puzzled, Ereinion struggled after him, rather overwhelmed by his new bow and precariously piled quiver of arrows. "Am I not to take my own sword with me?" Ereinion queried, trying to keep from sounding as if he was complaining. He liked his sword, and did not have to waste any time in his training getting used to the weight or feel of an unfamiliar implement. His father did not turn round to look at him, instead striding to the chests where his own weapons resided. "Adar?" Ereinion dropped to his knees beside the chest that his father was opening, and rubbed his finger in the dust on its surface. "May I not take my sword?" "You do not need that sword, Ereinion." His father mused absently as he carefully began searching through the assortment of blades inside. "It is far too small for you." "Oh." Ereinion clearly did not understand, but queried no further. He peered around his father's shoulder into the dark mustiness of the chest. "Now, here is a sword to be proud of." The King's voice boomed in the sparsely furnished room as he drew out a half-sized sword, sheathed in black leather embedded with silver stars. The light wood hilt was similarly decorated, and when unsheathed the blade was engraved with fine script. "This was my sword once." Ereinion ran his fingers lightly along the flat of the blade, aware from a nick in his index finger that the blade was far sharper that he was accustomed too. He glanced up at his father, and found that the grey eyes were distant, remembering some events of the days long past. "It is a nice sword, Adar." Ereinion licked his lips, then gently rested his head against his father's arm. His father was so stressed and worried so much of the time now, and he wanted so badly to help him or make him smile. But even his mother wasn't very good at that anymore. The King shook himself slightly and turned his mind from his own early attempts at fencing, to his young son. He was a strong healthy child, and was going to be tall. Much like his father at the same age, in fact. However the boy used his weapons with metered calm, unlike the swings that his father had once dealt out with wild abandon. Ereinion was more quiet and reserved in general, Fingon reflected, maybe a little too quiet for a healthy happy elfling. But then so were all the children that lived here. He tried to visit the families of those captains of his army that had fallen in battle, and each one seemed to have a clutch of lurking children, staring at him from dark distrustful eyes. It would do good to send the boy elsewhere. It would be a gift - he would get no childhood here. Even when the children played, it was always games of war. A far cry from an indulgent childhood where the largest fears were of being caught in the kitchens or being beaten in swordplay. "It is yours." The King held the sword out flat, supporting it with both hands. "It is time it passed to you." "Mine?" Ereinion's voice grew high-pitched in surprise, and his eyes widened. "For me?" His father gifted him with a rare smile that meant far more to Ereinion than the sword. "Yes, it is yours. May it serve you well." Ereinion beamed and wriggled excitedly, already unbuckling the straps. "Thank you, Adar!" He held his arms above his head as his father rapidly adjusted the straps to fit. The moment that his father had finished, Ereinion took a few steps forwards. The end of the sheath dragged on the floor. Ereinion frowned. "I think that it might be a bit big for me as yet." His father smiled at the disappointed face and ruffled the child's hair. "You will grow into it." "Perhaps. . ." Ereinion shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Perhaps it would be better if I left this sword here for now. It will be too big for me for a long time." The King said nothing, and did not meet his son's eyes. "Am I going to stay with Cirdan for a very long time, Adar?" Ereinion asked in a woebegone little voice. "I do not know, child." Fingon picked up his son, and was rather surprised by the force with which the boy clung to him. "But until I am big enough to use the sword?" Fingon sighed, then nodded. "Probably until you are big enough to use the sword, yes." Ereinion suddenly felt cold all through and shivered miserably. He suddenly wanted Arassė very badly. The only hope on his horizon, a joyful homecoming with his family and friends delighted to see him, had just vanished. He dropped back down onto the floor, and unsheathed the sword to take an experimental swing. "Thank you for the sword, Adar. I will keep it with me always." The King sighed. That was not the point. |
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