Author’s Notes:

I am very, very sorry for the late update.

In this chapter, we move several months (two, I think) ahead.

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“Erestor? Ereinion? Where are you, little ones?”

Two forms shook underneath the big writing desk in Fingon’s private study.

“Boys? I need to talk about something with you.”

The two forms pressed closer against each other, huddled in a far corner. They were not a moment too soon, for then the chair which had obstructed their view was drawn back, and they saw the lower part of someone’s robes as the person skirted the chair to sit in it.

The smaller of the two crept out from the shared embrace, aiming for the long legs stretched far under the desk. He managed to touch one of them, but he did not succeed in retreating to the safety of the far corner and his companion. A muffled squeak of a child’s voice, followed by a restrained fit of giggling, was heard when the newcomer ducked under the desk and snatched the small being, all in a quick, smooth movement, like a striking snake.

“Ada! Ada! Let me go!” Ereinion shrieked not long after, his voice slightly muffled by the thick wood of the desk. Judging from the child’s uncontrolled laughter and his struggling form in Fingon’s lap, Erestor concluded that the Elfling was being tickled mercilessly by his father. He did not want to end up with the same fate…

He crawled gingerly away from the corner past Fingon’s legs. When he deemed it safe enough, he eased his way out of the desk’s dark interior.

That was when a hand grabbed the scruff of his neck. A light chuckle from Fingon informed the young ellon whose hand it was. Still, Erestor yelped and recoiled.

It only made Fingon’s job of herding him to between the former’s legs easier. Erestor did not have enough time to resist before his body was being pinched softly between the long robed legs of the King.

If he thought he could escape the punishment Ereinion was receiving, he was mistaken. Fingon’s feet, encased in thick socks, managed to find ticklish spots at his sides and hit them just as mercilessly. His squealing, albeit lower in pitch and noise, mingled with Ereinion’s. He would not have possibly known that punishment without violence could exist if he was not experiencing one right now. The tickling sensation was torturous!

Thus, he was beyond happy when Fingon finally released him. He shot out like a cork from a wine bottle, leaving the chamber as fast as he could. Unfortunately,  Fingon chased him before some seconds had passed by…

They ended up ensconced in the sitting-room beside the study. Ereinion, tired out by the previous excitement, was curled up in his father’s lap while his fingers were idly playing with Fingon’s braids. Erestor, meanwhile, was sitting as far as possible from his tormenter, almost on the opposite end of the long sofa. His eyes never left Fingon’s hands and feet.

His gaze, however, travelled upwards to the King’s face when Fingon began to talk in a tone more serious than before.

“I have thought about this since your arrival two months ago, Erestor,” he said. “You are proficient with many kinds of weapons and defenses, but I think you can benefit from more practice and knowledge from an expert.”

Erestor stiffened. “I was taught by Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, and he is an expert,” he stated with a guarded tone.

Fingon shook his head. “I was not trying to demean your teacher, young one. By the way, I have known the person you talked about back when I was small in Aman, and he was indeed an expert in many things,” he denied. “I in fact told you that you were proficient. I was only suggesting that you probably would benefit more from another person as well. I know of just the right one. If you would, we could leave for his dwelling the day after tomorrow.”

Erestor’s interest perked up on the mention of Fingon’s apparent acquaintance, if not friendship, with Glorfindel. But he was ashamed for misunderstanding Fingon, so he refrained from asking more about Glorfindel’s past in regard to the King. And about the offer…

He apologized to Fingon about his earlier assumption, yet he did not inquire further about the promised extensive lesson in fighting. When asked about what his decision on the offer was, he deflected it subtly by saying that he needed to think deeply and carefully about the chance Fingon was giving him.

Fingon relented at the moment, yet he brought up the topic again in their private dinner in the King’s study that night. Erestor, who had been enjoying his favourite dish (tiny chunks of venicent wrapped in bread and dipped into thick, spiced bowl of gravy), paused from his meal with a start. He had not really thought about the matter as he had promised.

His guilt must have shown clearly on his face, for Fingon shook his head and smiled knowingly. “I suppose Ereinion has been underfoot since this morning, Erestor?” he laughed and winked. Erestor blushed red. Ereinion pouted and whined through his full mouth.

In truth, the Elfling had been tagging along the young ellon all day; however, Ereinion had never fussed about anything during the span of time, only chattering unceasingly about everything – from what room they were passing through, to what his dreams were for his future in the war-torn land of Beleriand. The child had not hindered Erestor in any way, although he had been a source of exasperated amusement for the older ellon.

“I was just… distracted, Sire,” he said. “I was paying more attention to what Ereinion was talking about.” He grinned meaningfully. Fingon grinned back at him, conveying that the King had ever experienced similar – if not the same – thing.

But still, he persisted, and this time Erestor had no other way to turn down the matter. Thus, the young ellon asked, “May I inquire to the identity of the expert you mentioned to me and the location of his dwelling?”

Fingon now looked slightly perturbed. Erestor’s insides squirmed uneasily.

At last, he asked the Gondolindrim back, “What do you know about the sons of Fëanor?”

Erestor bit his lower lip; his bones chilled and his skin crawled in an unpleasant manner. He had heard tales about the people Fingon had just mentioned a long time ago, when his mother had realised his dream to visit Doriath. None of them implied that Fëanor’s brood were good people. However, he had a suspicion that they were slightly biased, since the one who had told him the tales was Elu Thingol, the Lord of Doriath, and everyone knew that the Sindarin King hated the dysfunctional family passionately.

The young ellon fidgeted. Was the expert Fingon had told him about one of the sons of Fëanor? Would he be brought to one of the places in which they dwelled, then? If so, was he ready to face the truth in the form of reality? Or was he at least willing to see the events from another point of view – not from a biased perspective as told in the stories he knew? It was such a hard decision: whether to make himself brave enough to see any of the infamous mad Ellyn from across the Great Sea for himself, or to shirk from the chance and be content with the dark, one-sided tales about the elusive  kinslayers until the end of Arda.

But perhaps, if the one Fingon was referring about was the more calm-minded and well-behaved among all the seven sons, if there was any of them who fitted such criteria…

“Who is he? Where does he live?” he breathed. Fingon regarded him with an odd stare.

“You seem to have known deeply about them, at least from a second-hand telling,” the King observed. Erestor nodded but refused to elaborate. Fingon sighed in defeat and smiled ruefully. “I would like to know who told you,” he confessed.

Erestor arched a similar smile. “I would like to tell you, truthfully, Sire. But alas, the person who told me tales about them is… rather quick-tempered. I would love to avoid his wrath, if I could.” His smile became an apologetic one. Fingon stared at him shrewdly, and it was with all his might that Erestor did not let his will collapse under the scrutiny.

“Very well,” Fingon exhaled. He paused, then said, “I planned for us to go to Himring to see Maedhros and Maglor, if you would accept my offer.”

Erestor released the breath he had unknowingly held. Fingon, noting the woosh of air, chuckled softly. “It appears that they, at least, look more or less good in your eyes,” he remarked with a measure of amusement. The comment made Erestor blush a rather deep hue of red. Fingon was often too shrewd for his liking, and now he realised whence the sharp-mindedness Ereinion had displayed during their first day together had come.

“Are we agreed, then, to go there?”

Erestor, biting at the inside of his lips in order to seal them together, nodded. He could feel that his face was losing an amount of blood. He just hoped he did not look too pale. He did not wish to be regarded as a coward, although truthfully he was feeling like one right now. How not? He had foolishly capitulated to Fingon and agreed to see two of Fëanor’s scion at once!

Fingon’s expression, brightened by a smile, was enough a reward for him,  all the same, at least for now.

Erestor’s lightening mood only dropped down when Fingon spoke again, just a moment afterwards. He did not like what he heard, and Fingon did not make the inevitable trip to Himring more hopeful for the young ellon.

“You might not like being in the place, I guess, but you will probably see those two brothers as a welcome change for the weather. It is windy but cold and dry there, so near to the fortress of the Enemy.”

The Gondolindrim stifled a cringe. He did not like living in a rough-weathered place or journeying to places under that category (Hithlum excluded), since he was too accustomed and content with the mild one in Gondolin. Unfortunately, now he saw no way to somehow shirk from the trip to Himring, since he had agreed to go there.

He spent that night brooding about the trip and what he would do to prepare himself. Ereinion, tired out – as usual – by the activities the child had done that day, fell asleep easily, snuggling to his side, just like the nights before in these last two months. He wished he could be as uncaring as the little Elfling, so trustful to his elders, believing that everything would be right when Ada or Eros – or both – put a hand in a situation, as troubling as said situation was.

Yes, Ereinion had trusted him whole-heartedly. It was a child’s wont to do, a natural and even expected thing to happen, in fact; yet, in this case, Erestor had to pay a toll for that against his will. Fingon, on Ereinion’s constant pleading, had dismissed the child’s nursemaid and gave the task of taking care of his son to Erestor. Later, when Ereinion became enamoured of Erestor’s story-telling-styled teaching of history, numbers and letters, the delighted father also dismissed his son’s tutors and made Erestor teach the Elfling in all subjects. Erestor, as the ellon had expected with some consternation, was the one to bear the brunt of the employees’ displeasure. When he was alone, one or more of the former employees were always there, accusing him of being on his way to usurp the kingship which Fingon was holding through winning Ereinion’s heart. Such accusation was accompanied by various – and inventive, more often than not – threats which made the Gondolindrim’s skin crawl with dread.

It was, now that he could leisurely reflect about everything, one of the reasons why he had agreed to take the trip to Himring. He would gladly leave Hithlum and those loyal but paranoid servants of Fingon. Perhaps he would escape the realisation of their threats also in that way, since Fingon had stated that he would only inform related parties about the journey, and in as short a time as possible. The King had reasoned that there might be a chaos around if people knew he was going away just shortly after his father’s fated journey to challenge Morgoth, and he suspected that, to many, Himring was just as bad a place as Melkor’s lair.

The King just did not know that Erestor was one of the supposed many that viewed the dwelling of Maedhros – and recently, according to Fingon, Maglor – in almost the same light.

“What should I bring? How should I behave there? As what will I be viewed? As Turgon’s representative? As Ereinion’s caretaker and tutor?” the Sindarin youngling muttered. He eased his way carefully out of the bed and padded around the room in search of his pack. Since sleep would not come even after so many tries, he thought peevishly, he might as well kill the time by doing something useful instead of just lying awake and brooding.

If Fingon had highlit the bad weather, then he should pack extra warm clothing and accessories with him. Extra papers and writing tools would be welcome too in case he would be trapped in a place with nothing to do…

He puttered about, forgetting the passing time. Dawn was breaking when he finally stopped and lay back in the bed beside the quiescent Ereinion. His pack was ready, parked by the nightstand holding the shuttered lamp. Strangely, now that he had actually prepared to leave for Himring, the prospect of engaging Fëanor’s brood was not so imposing anymore.

“What will be, will be,” he muttered and sighed. His right hand strayed to his left one where an unadorned opal bracelet, shaped just like a large ring, hung. The bracelet could detect the works of the Shadow and thus would save him from most harms, or so the giver of it had said. He hoped that it was true, for he put much faith in its protection.

`You fret too much.`

The young ellon froze. He did not know if it was his mind playing tricks on him or someone else talking to him. The statement was nevertheless true, yet it did not offer him any comfort.

Instead, he got the convenience and reassurance he sought from another source entirely.

Ereinion murmured in his sleep and threw his small limbs onto Erestor’s body. The Elfling snuggled closer to his elder and sighed in contentment in his slumber. Erestor wound an arm around the child’s tiny frame and smiled. His half-open eyes dulled as he slipped into the paths of Elven dreams at last.