Two days of the sun and moon later, early before dawn, Erestor found himself riding on the back of a russet mare named Lagoryn. Ereinion was perched before him, and Fingon was riding beside him on Roherin, his white stallion. Behind the two horses, a small contingent of Fingon’s people – guards and servants alike – rode, and on the rear of the procession was a wagon of communal provisions and supplies.

The pack the young ellon had brought from Gondolin, which he had prepared two nights prior, was tied to Lagoryn’s saddle, along with several saddle-bags of immediate provisions – such as water skins – and Ereinion’s belongings. Erestor wore a woolen coat and a pair of rabbit-skin gloves for additional warmth. Ereinion, reclining snuggly to him, was garbed similarly.

What made Erestor somewhat uncomfortable – but which delighted Ereinion to no end – was the fact that he was wearing the same cloak as Fingon’s. He would not fret about it if only the guards and servants who accompanied them did not somehow see the King’s implied command through the garment. The young Gondolindrim, having never been paid attention to that closely, was flustered by the attention they rained on him with such degree of reverence. They were not even a league away from the heart of Hithlum, yet he had been asked three times already if he wished something light and warm to drink or eat, or if he was already tired and wanted to take a rest awhile in the wagon.

He felt like a frail elleth in that way, and people’s constant eyes on him frayed his nerves. But he also admitted to himself, with a measure of self-loathing, that he might not be able to stay on horseback for long without compromising his muscles. The open areas in Gondolin only permitted one to exercise endurance on horseback so much. He wondered what would happen if indeed later his body could not endure the strain. Would the guards and sservants mock him silently and to each other? They might just be amused, not derisive, since the people Finggon had chosen to accompany the little family to Himring seemed not to harbour any evil intentions to the youngling from Gondolin; yet still, it would wound his pride.

Dawn broke gloriously on the hazy eastern horizon while Erestor was still deep in his brooding. The warm, bright rays of the sun touching his face startled him out of his dark thoughts. Ereinion, who had dozed off in his arms, jerked in surprise.

“Sorry, little one,” Erestor murmured. He cradled the child’s head gently in the nook of his arm, trying to lull the latter back to sleep. However, now that Ereinion was fully awake, the Elfling refused to miss the experience of riding out of the only environment he knew. The little one peaked his head out of the folds of Erestor’s cloak and looked around with wide, curious eyes. The child’s expression was so endearing to Erestor that he paid attention to it instead of his own thoughts.

It did not stay for long, all the same. Soon his mind and eyes were drawn away again to another matter. Fingon was speaking, and Erestor had missed the beginning of the speech while being immersed in his reverie.

“…Makalaurë will probably be quite willing to teach you about music, but I will have to persuade Maitimo to teach you sword-play by practice. The last time I met him, he did not want to even touch his sword, although it has always been a constant presence at his side. Maybe, if you show him the extent of your skills with a sword, he will agree to spar with you.

“By the way, I will be spending a time with Maitimo once we arrive. Use the time to take as much rest as you can, children. Do not wander around the fortress by yourselves, save if Makalaurë accompanies you. There are still grudges between factions there, especially between the House of my father and Fëanor.”

“Yes, Sire,” Erestor responded dutifully.

“No fun, Ada!” Ereinion protested vehemently. “And what will I do there? You only mentioned about what Eros will do. Can I also learn sword-play from Maitimo?”

“You are still too young, Ereinion,” Fingon objected. “You can learn much from Makalaurë when Erestor is practicing his swordmanship, though. I do not think Maitimo… now… has any more passion or even patience to teach young children.”

Ereinion looked visibly dispirited, although he said nothing in protest to his father’s judgement of him. Erestor’s suggestion for them to play thumb-wrestling, a game which Erestor himself was not accustomed to and thought rather too childish, was met by silence; Ereinion was sulking.

`Ah… I was ready to sacrifice my peace for his,` the Gondolindrim mused. He let Ereinion bury the child’s tiny form deeper into his arms, and before long Ereinion had slipped into a fitful sleep haunted by the Elfling’s own ill mood.

Erestor did not count the days they spent travelling. As he had expected, his back was sore from the movements of his steed, and overall his body felt stiff due to sitting for long periods of time – and in a saddle no less. He was too occupied with curing his body of the problem without inviting help from anyone to pay attention to anything else. Outwardly, he looked only grumpy, yet inside he was leaning more and more towards despair, thinking himself unfit for long, hard journeys; unfit to be a true ellon – in his own opinion.

Ereinion’s mood, in the contrary, brightened as time went by. One evening, he even demanded a story from Erestor about the latter and Idril; something that he had never done when sulking.

Erestor, not expecting the Elfling to ask for a story after said Elfling’s seeming disinterest of him lately, capitulated to his wish without any consideration. Afterwards Ereinion pestered him about his life and the hidden realm of Gondolin nearly at every opportunity, and now Erestor was occupied with the child instead of his own problems. However, he once again paid no attention to both his surroundings and the time. He was reluctant to ask Fingon about any of the matters, however, since the King looked to be in a strange mood and more often than not kept to himself, deep in reverie. The young ellon had several guesses pertaining to the odd air about the father of his little friend, but he refused to delve into any of them by way of thoughts.

His concern about Fingon was brought into a new level early in the evening some time into the journey. A lone rider galloped towards their company. When the person slowed, they saw that it was an ellon with characteristically Ñoldorin complexion and deep, dark red hair.

Fingon, not heeding the dismayed cries of his guards, instructed the company to wait while he rode ahead – in the same speed – to question the red-haired Elf.

Erestor’s chest tightened, and his stomach heaved at the same time; it was quite an unpleasant sensation. He did not know what should he think about what was happening. And who was the rider? There were three red-haired Ellyn in Fëanor’s brood, or so King Elu had told him, but anyway Erestor did not desire to meet any of them, be he Maedhros or the twins Amrod and Amras, this quickly and suddenly.

And worse, Fingon was now beckoning him to approach, and motioning the rest of the company to do the same.

He obliged, but in a slower pace. His heart thumped as rapidly as Lagoryn’s hoofbeats.

He forced himself not to cower and shy away as Lagoryn brought him and Ereinion closer to Fingon and the red-haired rider. The presence of the scion of Fëanor, albeit as sensed from afar, was overwhelming.

Ereinion seemed to feel the same, for the usually-unflappable child – much like his father – shrunk deeper into Erestor’s embrace when, on Erestor’s hand command, Lagoryn slowed her pace and finally pulled to a stop beside Roheryn. Fingon was absent from the stallion’s saddle. The King was presently sprinting, quite forgetting his title and the image he should keep up, towards the rider, who had halted a distance away in a tense pose.

“Let’s go there,” Ereinion urged, although with only half his usual confidence. He fidgeted and tugged at Erestor’s cloak, only stopping when Erestor froze him with a hiss.

“We have to give them a measure of privacy, Erin,” Erestor argued.

“But Ada can be in danger,” the child persisted, his tone somewhat plaintive.

“He can defend himself, little one; perhaps better than what I can do for him,” Erestor reasoned with all patience he had.

“But Eros…”

Ereinion did not finish his argument. Fingon had just beckoned them to come to him, again. He seemed to have just finished arguing with the stranger rider about his contingent, and now said rider was focusing his attention to them also. Erestor entrusted Roheryn and Lagoryn to a servant, then, with Ereinion in his arms, jogged up to Fingon. He forced a calm countenance on his face and posture, but inwardly he was very nervous. He hoped he would not have to look at the red-haired ellon, for the anchor of this façade of his was that he only focused his attention on Fingon.

“This is my cousin Maitimo, children. He may be recognised with the name Maedhros here in Beleriand,” Fingon introduced the rider when Erestor arrived before him. Ereinion kept clinging to Erestor, even though now the older ellon was not moving anymore. Fingon did not perceive it, since much of the child’s body was concealed underneath Erestor’s cloak. And, while Erestor’s eyes were fixed on Fingon, awaiting further instruction, the Elfling’s were on the rider, wide with consternation.

“Who is he?” the rider, Maedhros, spoke for the first time. His head jerked briefly to Erestor’s direction. His tone was cold but not hostile; yet still, Erestor had to suppress a cringe on that.

“His name is Erestor. I will tell you everything else later,” Fingon blurted. Meanwhile, he threw Erestor and Ereinion a warning glance.

A no-less-condescending smile blossomed on Maedhros’ impassive countenance. “I permit no tricks around me, less in my direct presence, little Káno,” he warned sharply. Erestor did cringe now. Ereinion clutched at his clothing tighter. But Fingon looked just mildly annoyed.

The King glared up at Maedhros, then said with a touch of exasperation, “To summary a long story, Erestor is my ward.”

Erestor went stiff. He was disbelieving. Fingon had gone so far with making the scion of the House of the Fountain his own family. The former messenger wondered what Fingon would do more about it; to what extent the new High King would go to inform everyone he met about this strange idea of his?

“Ward, eh? You have much to explain, indeed, little cousin.”

Erestor jerked ‘awake’ from his reverie. It was just as Maedhros transvered his unwavering, penetrating gaze from him and the half-hidden Ereinion to behind them, to the rest of the contingent.

Then, before he had a time to absorb the present situation, the red-haired ellon spoke in a booming voice that made him take three steps backwards in surprise. “Follow us to Himring if you wish so. Your lord is with me.”

What happened next occurred in a very short moment. Maedhros pulled Fingon onto the saddle before him, then he galloped away, bearing the shell-shocked Fingon with him. Erestor, in a moment of panic, raced wildly back to Lagoryn and perched Ereinion in her saddle. Before he could mount up behind the child, however, a whisper of thought touched his mind; it was from Fingon. `See that Roheryn and Ereinion are safe with you. See also that our companions do not scatter or shoot my cousin down.` The link was severed before Erestor had a chance to ask or argue.

Indeed, by then the company had begun to recover from what Maedhros had said and done, and a cacophony of furious cries rose among them.

“Traitor!” one yelled, crowing with emotions. It was one of the guards, and he was already preparing to gallop ahead to launch his spear to the receding form of Maedhros.

“The Doom of Mandos…” a young elleth, a scullery servant, moaned with despair and covered her face with her splayed hands.

“He takes the King as hostage! How dare he?!” It was the head of the guards, and he had already ridden up to Erestor and Ereinion from his former position on the rear of the group.

`Calm down… Calm down…` Erestor whispered to himself. He was just as furious as the guards and servants, but he was also confused, as though a henless chick. He mounted Lagoryn behind Ereinion, then took hold of Roheryn’s reins. When the head guard was about to proceed him, he halted him with a single word.

The look on the older ellon’s daunted Erestor, but then he recalled King Elu’s wrathful expression and took comfort from the notion that this ellon had much less severe countenance on him. Calmly, he declared, “His Majesty the King has bidden me to see that everyone be well and do not scatter.” He spoke with such authority in his voice that the guard obeyed him without any question.

Albeit, Erestor’s task was not ended there. Only then he found out that herding a pack of frantic Elves was harder than sheperding a pack of sheep. He had exploded to a recalcitrant new warrior-to-be early in his training as fighting instructor, and Glorfindel had assigned him to sheperd a Gondolin farmer’s sheep for that. While Erestor had scorned upon the punishment, now he wished he were sheperding the sheep instead of this panicked and furious company of guards and servants. His sore muscles and sorer mind were stretched to the limit. It was only his devotion to Fingon that made him refrain from forsaking the contingent and pursuing Fingon on Lagoryn with only Ereinion and Roheryn as company.

Thus, when they arrived at their destination, Erestor was a portrait of strict leader, made more fearsome by his state of disarray. Gone was his worry and fear of the sons of Fëanor, replaced by numb confidence. He was ready to face anything ahead… as long as he was free from the ‘chicks’ trusted to him that were the guards and servants.