Missing Pieces.
by Maybe (miztruzt@blueyonder.co.uk)

Rating: PG -13 - NC-17
Characters: Elrond, Glorfindel, Círdan, Celebrían, Gandalf and others. Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of Tolkien and belong to him. New Line Cinema also has rights to them, which I cannot claim. No copyright infringement or offence intended by the use of them. No profit made.
** marks direct quotes from the Silmarillion, "Of the Silmarils."

It was in fact some days before Elrond saw anything of Ereinion again. And when he did come it was late, long after the evening meal and when the majority of the household were socially engaged within the grounds or in bed and resting. Elrond himself was at his desk, belatedly answering a correspondence from Glorfindel who was travelling elsewhere in Aman. Ereinion's now familiar knock barely preceded the opening of the chamber door and certainly did not wait for an answer. Laying aside his pen, Elrond glanced at him with a pleased smile, glad of his company again. As Elrond greeted him, Ereinion crossed the room and flung himself onto the bed, making the springs creak in protest.

"You were right about Cirdan," Ereinion remarked, not even answering the greeting.

Elrond, puzzled, opened his mouth to ask what he had meant.

Then suddenly, Ereinion lifted his head, sitting up awkwardly and apologised. "Forgive me," he said stiffly. "Good evening and I apologise for my rudeness." He grimaced, twisting his knuckles together until they cracked.

Elrond winced at the sound. Rising, he crossed the room, catching the youngster's hands to stop him.

"Did I show any sign of resenting your behaviour?" Elrond asked. "No? Then do not apologise."

He was slightly pained by the abrupt reversion back to formality between them; even in a space of a few months they had slid so easily into their former companionable ways, despite the differences now between them, that it came as a surprise to have them lost.

"I should treat you in a manner more in accordance with your rank and station from Middle-earth. You are my elder and...I should behave more respectfully toward you." The words sounded forced, and Ereinion's expression was resentful. He lifted his head, evidently crushing his feelings, and met Elrond's gaze with a neutral eye. "And so I ask your forgiveness."

"I have already granted you that. Ereinion, I am no longer in Middle-earth and so I cannot hold claim to the title I ruled under there - that has already been passed on. As far as respect goes, you have not insulted me nor given me reason to take offence."

"No, but..." Ereinion took a deep breath. "I am behaving 'as though you are a friend of mine and not a mature elf lord.'" He spoke with gritted teeth, quite plainly quoting Cirdan. "I apologise."

Elrond frowned.
"May Elbereth save me from being tied forever to the duties of a lord," he murmured softly. Cirdan was right on one level, yet the principles were not to Elrond's liking in the situation and he struggled to communicate this without undermining the tutoring of the guardian.
"Ereinion, if I tell you that I do not mind being treated as a friend, will that be sufficient for you to lay aside this business? Cirdan is quite right that you should ascertain this is acceptable first, but if I say now that it is, is that enough for you?"

Ereinion cast him a sideways look. "You are quite sure?"

"Completely," Elrond replied firmly.

Ereinion let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I know such formalities are necessary for the sake of courtesy, but it...I find them hard to keep to around you..." he faltered. "I am glad you do not mind."

Automatically, Elrond reached out to smooth the younger elf's hair. The gesture, long ago, would have induced the king to lay his head against Elrond's chest or draw him down into a kiss, so that they could find comfort when words no longer sufficed. Ereinion shied away from the touch. Scalded, Elrond pulled his hand back, remembering himself.

"My apologies," he said swiftly.

"I...it makes me feel like a child," Ereinion said, colouring slightly. "I do not like that."

Elrond nodded. "I understand. It was habit..."

Ereinion's gaze grew shrewd and he watched Elrond for a moment. "You have spent much time around children then and think of it as a comfort?" he said at last.

Elrond nodded and quickly changed the subject.

"What brings you here this night, or has Cirdan been keeping an eye upon you? I assume from your earlier comment you meant that Cirdan is not happy with us, as we suspected when first you came to me?"

Ereinion nodded. "Both are correct. Cirdan does not like me spending so much time with you."

"Perhaps this is because you have been known to shirk your duties and your classes," Elrond observed, smiling at the younger elf's discomfort.

"I suppose so," Ereinion admitted ungraciously. "But that is not a reason to keep me from you when I am on my own time."

"And with that you may do as you please," Elrond noted. "Yet you choose to spend the evening shut in a chamber with me; what pleasure can that hold?"

For you, I cannot now imagine. For myself...it hurts, but it is better than nothing.

"Would you not rather be with companions of your own age?"

Ereinion frowned, his expression uncertain. "You would wish me to go to them?"

"No, if you want to stay, feel free to do so. I will be glad of your company. But if you wish to be with your friends...?"

"No," Ereinion replied, shaking his head. "No, I do not - I cannot - be around them any more." He sighed a little, placing his palms flat upon the bed and letting his head fall forward. Thick locks of hair slipped over his shoulders to hang about his face. He lifted his gaze to Elrond's and continued. "It is strange being with them now. They do not remember that they have lived before. They do not even suspect. Yet I know, not only about myself, but that *they* have more years to their names than these few held currently. It is hard...hard to know and hard to conceal. I...I am always alone when I am with them." He held Elrond's eyes steadily for a moment. "I do not feel that when I am here."

A fluttering of emotion batted in Elrond's stomach. He knew well the feeling of being alone when surrounded; for many years he had wandered the halls of Rivendell in such a manner. And deep within him, he felt the smallest stirring of hope at the younger elf's words. A hope perhaps that Ereinion could come to find sanctuary once more in Elrond's company. Outwardly he simply smiled and nodded.

"Well then, how may we entertain ourselves?"

"The stars are out," Ereinion ventured, moving to the window.

Elrond followed him, snuffing out his candle that they could see the night better. He stood behind Ereinion, resting one hand against the stone window frame. "They are indeed."

He was silent for a moment, watching the younger elf, who was transfixed by the starlight above. In the semi-darkness of the chamber only the faint golden glow of the stars illuminated them. The moon was absent from the starry cape of night; dark in its new phase, only the faintest impression of where its hidden face was set, shadow on darkness. Before him, Ereinion's hair, unbraided, poured like liquid obsidian down over his shoulders, streaked with silver and gold by the starlight. He placed one knee on the window ledge, leaning forward to gaze out across the grounds to the wine-dark ocean, glittering as though it were inset with stars, as was the sky. The motion was strangely, erotically, feline. A hint of great strength rippled through his young muscles, the long, straight slope of his spine leading down to the smooth curve of his buttocks and the curled legs beneath. The sylvan coloured fabrics of his breeches tightened sensuously as he moved and, when he glanced back over his shoulder at Elrond, accentuated the fall of his ebony hair, offsetting his pale features. In the darkness, he looked older than his years, and his words, speaking of a sanctuary, a completeness, in Elrond's company drew the elder elf down the paths of memory, far removing him from the present - and all its barriers...

He is a child. A child. I cannot think of him as anything else. I must not. His heartbeat had quickened obliviously and heat pooled low in his abdomen. Elrond clenched his fingers into fists, hardly aware of the sting of his nails cutting into his palms. He gripped tighter, until the pain began to draw him back into the reality that was the present and not the perilous past that threatened to snatch away his control.

"Can you name the stars?" Elrond asked, forcing a sudden, teasing smile, relieved when Ereinion turned his gaze back to the sky. He barely heard Ereinion's chuckle as the younger elf asked whether this was to make up for his missing his studies in order to spend time with Elrond. Distantly he heard himself answer with a joking affirmative. None of the names of the stars reached his ears, as, pointing to the sky, the child began to prove his knowledge of the constellations.

Blood had risen in crescents upon his palms, and Elrond pressed his fingers over the nail bite marks, wincing a little. He closed his eyes, furious and disgusted with himself. Tentatively he lifted his eyes to the stars once more, watching the golden array scatter as his vision blurred. He blinked, forcing back the memories of the past, and the longing for them.

Movement caught his eye and Elrond became aware that Ereinion was looking at him. The younger elf had shifted to sit upon the window seat and, leaning back against the frame, was eyeing him curiously.

"A fine tutor you make if you do not pay attention to the lesson," Ereinion teased.

"I..." Elrond bowed his head, shame warmed his cheeks and he was grateful for the obscuring fall of his hair. "Forgive me, that was rude."

Ereinion grinned and then looked out at the night again. "It doesn't matter, I like the stars and so I know that I am right in my naming of them. The starlight...it fascinates me."

Elrond nodded, thinking to a time, long ago, when Gil-galad, as he was then, had fiercely promised the night to Elrond - it was the only time they had ever been able to call their own.

"You were named for the starlight," he murmured without thinking.

"By whom?" Ereinion frowned suddenly, turning away from the window. "My name...was it the same before? And how would I have come to be called it again?"

Elrond leaned his back against the wall, letting the cool of the stone seeping through his robes quiet what humiliating emotional stirrings his own self-disgust could not. "It was," he said quietly. "It is always so I am told, that one who has lived upon this earth with a name will assume it once more if reborn. I know that Glorfindel did. The matter of a naming is no simple procedure, for we are granted often a father name, a mother name or may later assume one of our own choosing. I think that whoever named you at your birth this time would have found the name inexplicably come to their tongue. It is yours and so it shall always be."

"Whoever..." Ereinion began and then stopped. "Elrond, who were my parents? Last time I mean, who was my sire - and my mother? Why cannot I remember them when..." He broke off suddenly, biting his lip and his scowl deepened.

"When what?" Elrond pressed.

"When I remember you." Ereinion slid abruptly off the window ledge and moved away into the room. "You were neither mother nor father to me and yet I recall you and not they. How is this so?"

Elrond watched the younger elf as he glanced back, his features crossed with his confusion and frustration.

"I think that you remember things that were particularly impor-..." Elrond broke off quickly, realising what he had been about to say.

But Ereinion had already caught on and finished the sentence with a new, wary light in his eyes.
"Particularly important to me." He glanced down at the floor and then up again, his mouth set with tension lines. "Who are you, Elrond? And who were you to me?"

Elrond ached to tell him, yet the sudden pang that struck him hearing the almost resentful note in his young charge's voice checked his answer. "A friend," he replied quietly. "A friend."

"Then you must be some friend!" Ereinion replied sharply. "If I know you above my parents! Should they not have been important to me?"

"Of course," Elrond said firmly. "Ereinion, this may not be as it appears. We cannot know why you remember what you do. Perhaps it is only because I am here that you know me."

"So where are my parents; what happened to them? Tell me, please, that they are not here and keep me at a distance as you did." Ereinion stared at Elrond with eyes that were very wide. His voice softened in his consternation and he scrubbed his knuckles restlessly across his brow. "I wish that I could remember all this, remember everything."

"Shh," Elrond crossed to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding the child to sit upon the chair by his desk. He knelt beside the youngster. "In time you shall."

"In time!" Ereinion dismissed it impatiently. "I would rather it were now!"

"If that were to happen you would not think it so." A voice from the doorway made them both look up. Glorfindel was framed there, his long golden hair escaping from his braids and his cloak muddied from travelling. "Forgive the intrusion, my lord Elrond; I believed that I would find you alone at this hour."

"Welcome home, Glorfindel. Tell me, what is the time?" Elrond asked, rising then and glancing at the window.

"Quite past the midnight hour," Glorfindel replied. "Had I not been so close I should have stopped to camp for the night and arrived here after dawn."

He entered the room, closing the door that had opened unheard. Setting his cloak and pack aside upon the end of Elrond's bed, he crossed the room and stood over Ereinion, eyeing him almost severely.
"As for your wishes, young sir, as I have said before, do not be so hasty to call up your past. The present is more valuable than you can know. Do not live so entirely in times gone that you forget what is now. And even if you wish to live in the past, think: this will soon become that very thing. Why each minute just gone by is now history and you may regret its loss if you fail to appreciate it."

Ereinion fell silent as though chastised, oblivious to the quiet hand Elrond touched to Glorfindel's arm and the murmured, "Gently, my friend" that accompanied it.

"My apologies," Ereinion said after a moment. "I still find this frustrating, that is all."

"It is frustrating," Glorfindel admitted, shifting into a less imposing position and lowering himself to sit upon his heels. "The Lady knows how much I struggled with the same feelings you feel now. But not all that you come to remember will please you and there will be a time when you value greatly when you did not know of it."

Ereinion's expression grew still more guarded.
"Do you speak in general or of my life or of your own?"

"A little of all," Glorfindel replied. He rose once more and turned to Elrond. "I will leave you, my lor-..." He smiled suddenly as Elrond placed a finger across his lips warningly and then continued. "I will leave you - Elrond - I just wished to let you know that I had returned."

"Nay," Elrond protested. "Stay, will you not? I would gladly hear of your travels if you wish to tell of them."

"Happily," Glorfindel said, his smile suggesting that the visitations had gone well. "I would not wish though to intrude."

"You are not," Elrond answered, glancing at Ereinion. "Come, stay and tell us your tales."

He deliberately included Ereinion and was relieved when the younger elf made neither signs of resentment nor desire to leave. Ereinion stayed seated at the desk chair, while Elrond and Glorfindel settled themselves upon the fireside chair and the desk edge respectively. Glorfindel had left the welcoming house in Valinor in order to examine the various other abodes within Aman, for he was considering leaving at some point to construct his own refuge, as, Elrond realised, he too would eventually decide to do. The conversation turned to the travels of Glorfindel until the sun rose once more to paint the sky with dawn blushes.

Family Affairs.

"You did not answer my question."

Ereinion pushed the beam over, ducking beneath it, and then set a straight course once more across the harbour. The day following Glorfindel's return found Elrond bullied into sailing. Ereinion had a strange passion for boats, courtesy no doubt of Cirdan's raising of him. He was deeply wary of the sea, his Noldorin ancestry not endearing him to the sea maia Osse, but his relationship with Cirdan granting him the protection that even the detachment of the Valar in matters of historical grudges could not. The kin-slaughter of the Teleri by the Noldor had borne resentment against them from Osse. Ereinion was no longer truly aware of either, but his instinctive caution on the waves no doubt lingered from his previous knowledge. As Elrond recalled, the high king Gil-galad had been hugely distrustful of both the sea and sailing, despite his place of upbringing - courtesy no doubt of being in close contact with the irascible Osse in the earlier years that had followed the kin-slayings.

This clearly did not hold true any longer and Ereinion had insisted on taking Elrond out in the small ship that he and Ardís had built from scratch in previous years, under Cirdan's direction. He sailed the little boat with confidence and pleasure. This was fortunate, for Elrond was less at home on the ocean. He had not inherited Earendil's insatiable desire for sailing. Elrond would travel by boat without great fear, but he preferred the land, and was not quite so relaxed in the tiny dinghy that now spun him about the large harbour.

"Your question?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow at Ereinion.

The child shoved aside a lock of wind-blown hair that strayed into his eyes and nodded.
"Last night, before Glorfindel came," he reminded Elrond. "I asked you about my parents and you did not tell me."

"I cannot," Elrond replied truthfully. "I did not know your family at all. What little I knew was gleaned from your own stories, which were few, and their place in the historical records of our people."

Ereinion sighed. "I do not know why I do not remember them. I feel as though I should but I do not."

"And what about this time?" Elrond asked, suddenly puzzled. "Who were - are - your parents?"

Ereinion shrugged. "I do not know. As long as I can remember I have lived with Cirdan and Celebrian."

"Oh," Elrond said softly. "I see. I am sorry."

Inside his heart twisted. Why are you fated never to live with your own kin, but always you are raised by guardians? He stared at the child, now himself glancing out across the sea. The deep blue-green ripples of the waves formed an ever-changing backdrop to his motionless posture, only the dark fronds of his hair stirring in the breeze. Because he should not be bound to the fate of his kin, their curse, though he bears their name and their lineage strength in form and character. What made him the king he was to his people was his raising, his understanding of the different races of Middle-earth and his support of them. Whether Osse passed the thought to Elrond, or it was simply a logical realisation, Elrond was not certain. The words seemed to roll through his mind like the waves of the ocean, their truth infallible. Ereinion would not have been the same elf had he been brought up by his family, nor would he again come into that self were he to have been granted the boon of close blood kin this time.

Ereinion did not reply. His eyes stared vacantly off into the distance and a frown flickered on his brow. He was rocking in sync with the ocean and slowly his face grew pale. Almost imperceptibly at first, he bowed over, until he was hunched inward on himself as though his stomach made him feel nauseated. The fingers gripping the boat's tiller weakened their hold and he shivered a little. It looked almost as though he grew seasick, an unlikely thing in the eyes of his companion. Concerned, Elrond reached out and laid a hand over his, feeling the skin damp and clammy beneath his touch. Ereinion leapt like a startled beast, the boat wavering from its course. He stared at Elrond in blank incomprehension and then blinked, hastily regaining control of his wayward ship.

"They sent me away," he said, his voice distant and strained. "My parents...last time I mean... It was Cirdan who brought me up last time." He stared at Elrond, realisation painted across his features, underlined with further confusion. "Was it not?"

Elrond nodded, relived to note that the child had straightened up and, though the colour had yet to return to his cheeks, the boat moved cleanly through the water once more. It seemed the physical changes were directly connected to the memory, as though the recollection of being sent to the home of Cirdan brought with it the seasickness or homesickness experienced upon the journey. Elrond frowned to himself, uncertain as to whether this was the normal course of things. If it was...

Elrond shuddered suddenly, thinking with a swoop of blinding horror of the death Ereinion would one day be forced to face, to relive through his own memories. Elrond stared at the child, feeling his eyes burn painfully. That moment, that ghastly moment, which had torn his living heart from his breast upon the slopes of the Mountain of Doom. The moment, witnessed with Cirdan and the weak-willed Isildur, was a memory of the blackest hue. Cirdan himself had not the courage to face it once again and Elrond, feeling the grip of horror at the prospect flex its deadly fingers about his soul, offered a silent prayer to the Valar to send him the strength he needed.

Ereinion however, continued speaking, thinking back to another time and failing to notice Elrond's momentary lapse.
"I did not realise before, because I have always known Cirdan to be my guardian, I thought I was just mixing up the past and present, seeing him then as I do now, but it is not so. I still do not know who my family was, but they sent me to him on a boat and I..." he faltered. "I did not see them again, I think. They...they are dead too, are they not?"

Elrond could not bring himself to reply. For another reason this time. He thought of the time in which Celebrian had broken the news of her leaving for the West to their children, or, more accurately, dropped the news like a blow and walked away, leaving Elrond to pick up the pieces that consequently shattered. The loss of a parent, he had witnessed the grievous effect upon his own children, the thirst for revenge-tainted blood that had grown to consume his twin sons.

Arwen had fled instead to the sanctuary of a home in which her grandparents resided, namely the Golden Wood, where no traces of the loss that scarred Rivendell's walls could be found. She had turned from the life of the Eldar, finding one to keep her and care for her devotedly in Aragorn and becoming his queen. She had seen her mother's torment and dreaded a lonely life, which no love nor beauty could repair should one find ill fate during its course. Fearing that fate, Arwen had taken upon her the mortal life.

Elrond knew that he had not eased her fears; unable to erase the ever-lingering sadness he still suffered from the losses that peppered his own life: Elros, and his own parents, he had grown accustomed to early in his years, but the devastating loss of Gil-galad had coloured much of his married life and the subsequent loss of Celebrian had shaken Elrond greatly. Though he had sought to comfort his children, he had found himself offering consoling words in which he did not believe and all the while they knew it was so.

The twins seemed undecided; they had not been ready to leave with Elrond and their only chance remained in Celeborn, to depart for Valinor with their grandfather. Whatever their choice, Elrond knew that what one did, the other would also. He did not believe that they would come. Neither of the twins had ever married, nor seemed to care to. They grew instead closer, seeking only each other for company and turning a barely-civilised nature to the rest. Revenge was their passion, their penance...their solace.

He looked at Ereinion for a long moment of silence, wondering what to tell him. The sudden sharpening of the child's tone startled him.

"Are you going to ignore me?"

"If you speak to me like that I might," Elrond cautioned mildly.

Ereinion apologised, but kept his eyes upon his companion.

Finally, reluctantly, Elrond nodded. "Yes, your parents are long passed into the Halls and have not returned."

But Ereinion showed no signs of distress or dismay. He too nodded.
"I would like to know who they were," he said pensively. "But I suppose it explains why I cannot recall them."

His matter-of-fact tone shook Elrond almost more than a display of grief would have done. But then, as Elrond well knew, Gil-galad had always spoken rather calmly of his family. He had cared for them, but they had long been absent from his life. Cirdan told that Gil-galad, as a child for the first time brought to his shores, had greatly missed his parents for many years. He had often expressed desires return to his home to help in the wars that had led to his fostering. But his sadness at the demise of his father, and later his uncle, had been fierce and short-lived. As a child he had been upset that he could not help and felt he had failed his father, but as an adult he had come to accept that he would have been more a liability than an aid, something for his father to protect, not a protection for his father. In later years he had spoken more warmly of Cirdan, with whom the greater part of his childhood had been shared.

The remainder of their boat ride they continued speaking only of the places Glorfindel had visited and talking of the routes to reach them by land or water. Ereinion had sailed considerable distances, usually with Cirdan and Ardís. It was only as they pulled the little ship up the beach and moored her that Ereinion mentioned their earlier discussion once more.

"If Cirdan raised me before, he must have known me. Would I be wrong in thinking that he then knew you and possibly also of our friendship as you spoke of it last night?"

When Elrond replied that he was not wrong, Ereinion paused. He knotted the painter rope and then lifted wary eyes to Elrond. "Why then does he try to keep me from you?" he asked.

That the question was asked while the boat stood like a barrier between them and the distance to the house on fleet elvin feet was minimal, Elrond knew the younger elf to be troubled. The guarded expression moved Elrond to think with haste of words to soothe away the suspicion that was only natural and wise. Yet to see the suspicion directed his way pained him, for the familiar eyes had never before held such doubt of him. Even in the bleakest hours of their former acquaintance, when the world was swathed in shadow and Ereinion's eyes were scarred with wariness as a near permanent feature, never had such a look been turned upon Elrond, always it had softened to trust - and love. Anor, shut out your light if I can never behold that again, the former lord of Imladris silently asked. To lose him a second time or never to regain him does not bear contemplation.

"I would like to think that it is not personal," Elrond replied. "Cirdan is still concerned about you. I think he feels that you will remember too much if you spend time with me."

Ereinion perceptibly relaxed, sitting on the edge of the ship's bow with a sigh of annoyance.
"It was my life," he protested. "Why should I not recall it?"

"I think," Elrond said with a sigh. "Cirdan is just worried, as Glorfindel was, that you will concentrate too much upon what has gone before and neglect the life you live now. And maybe..." He sighed again. "Maybe they are right."

Maybe you deserve a life that is not laden with the shadows of your past, such dark times did you see before. As did we all. Would that you could put them aside, for I cannot and you may witness in my misery the result of an age with shadows in my heart.

"No," Ereinion was adamant. "No, they are not, Elrond, we have talked of this. This life is strange and haunted with these memories..."
"Which you only discovered after I came here," Elrond said softly, guiltily.

Ereinion shook his head. "No, it is not so. Looking back now there were things before: sword skills picked up too quickly, little things in the main, but still there. I...I want to know who I was - and what you remember." He paused, offering Elrond a small, touching smile. "And perhaps I can put the past to rest. It is done and I cannot change it, but I cannot accept it and find peace from it until I remember it."

Calmed by the sentiments and the surprising wisdom with which they were spoken, Elrond smiled.
"I am glad to hear you say it," he said.

Ereinion's sapphire eyes shone in the sunlight as the child looked up. He smiled briefly and then, falling into step with Elrond, continued. "I want to know more about my family, Elrond. I tire of this eternal procrastination. I am older than I was when I first came to you. I am more than old enough to hear of it."

Elrond realised then that even Glorfindel's warnings had come to nothing. All the elder elves, Cirdan and Glorfindel and himself alike, had served to do with their cautions had initially been to cause the child fear. Yet Ereinion would not run from his fears and instead chose to turn and confront them. Granted it had taken a little time, but he was yet young and still inexperienced in the ways of life. Looking at the stubborn set of the youngster's jaw and the determination glinting in the midnight eyes, Elrond knew Ereinion had come to a decision. If Elrond failed to rise to the occasion Ereinion was perfectly capable of seeking other ends to achieve his goal. Elrond nodded slowly.

"Very well. I will tell you what I know of your descent."

Elrond took a seat upon a rock a few yards from the water's edge and eyed the sea thoughtfully. He wondered briefly how wise it would be to speak of the kin-slayers in the presence of Osse and then chose to continue.

Sins of the Forefathers.

"So," Ereinion said after a few moments long silence had followed Elrond's rather convoluted recounting of the history of Ereinion Gil-galad. "My father's name was Fingon, son of Fingolfin, who was son of Finwe."

"Yes." Elrond confirmed, mentally trying to recollect what he had said and its accuracy. He had struggled a little with the history, for Gil-galad had spoken very little of his blood-relatives to Elrond in their last relationship and what he had learned of the Noldorin line as a lore-master had been some considerable years ago.

"Finwe had three sons, Feanor by Miriel Serinde and Finarfin and Fingolfin by Indis, who was Vanyar?"

Again Elrond nodded. "Of the three your grandfather was the most valiant, he was both steadfast and strong, Ereinion. In many ways you are very much like him."

"Or I was," Ereinion shrugged.

"No, you are," Elrond said firmly. "Whether or not you feel it to be so, you are the same in spirit, in essence as you ever were. Those laudable traits of character are a part of you now as much as they ever were."

Ereinion did not reply to this. Instead he slid from his rock and, with a forefinger, began to write names in the damp sand at their feet. With quiet absorption he began to describe his family tree, drawing in the sons of Feanor: Maedhros, at whose name Elrond still shuddered, recalling the kidnapping of himself and his twin, Elros, at the hand of the tall elf. Then Maglor, who had taken the half-elvin twins into his care and whom Elrond had grown to respect, if not quite love, during their years with him. Celegorm and Caranthir were duly inscribed and then too the names of the youngest, flame-haired twins Amrod and Amras. The hunters. And here Ereinion paused suddenly, his expression flickering with perplexity. He glanced up at Elrond and the elder elf had to quell another shiver as he remembered the ransack of his family home by the predatory twins.

But Ereinion failed to make the connection it seemed, for he simply turned back to his task, marking out his uncle and aunt, Turgon and Aredhel, brother and sister to Fingon. He added almost without thinking the daughter of Turgon: Idril, and her husband, Tuor. Cautiously, Elrond reached out with a toe to indicate the names and then raised an eyebrow in question when the younger elf looked up.

"Glorfindel mentioned them when he spoke of Gondolin," Ereinion replied with a grin.

"Interesting," Elrond noted. "Earendil, the son of Tuor, was my father."

Ereinion's expression was surprised. "We are related then?"

"Distantly," Elrond acknowledged with a slight grimace, recalling one disgusted comment in previous years that their "reprehensible" relationship was also "incestuous." The remark had been made by an imprudent, incorrect, and much younger Erestor, when he had first arrived in the court of Elrond in Imladris. Gil-galad had overheard the comment, intended clearly for Elrond's ears alone, and scathingly rebuked the elf, leaving the youngster scarlet with humiliation and subsequently far more considerate. Gil-galad had remained angry about it for some time, Elrond recalled. But then, in their relationship had been an ever-present threat to their political positions, hence the utmost discretion with which they had conducted themselves for the entire duration of their relationship.

"Very distantly," Ereinion agreed. "What was the name of your mother?"

"Elwing," Elrond replied, sparing a moment to ponder over the fate of his own parents. His father still lit the sky as the star Earendil, with the Silmaril upon his brow. His mother... Elrond was not certain of her final fate. Elros of course had committed himself to whatever realm in which men find their peace after death.

"And my mother...?"

"I am sorry, Ereinion, I cannot remember her name," Elrond confessed. "I believe that she died in childbirth. As I recall Cirdan said you had a nurse for many of your very early years."

The child nodded, and sighed. "I will ask Cirdan, I think. I would like to know."

Elrond nodded. "That is probably a good idea, though he may not recall it either, for it is a great many years ago now and our memories are not endless."

"It is said that an elf never forgets," Ereinion replied. "Or so Cirdan once told me. I believe though that he was teasing, for he was chiding me for somewhat as I recall."

"More of your sparring with Oropher, perchance?" Elrond enquired.

Ereinion's sheepish grin was answer enough.

Once again he returned his attention to the sand and completed the family tree with the additions of the children of Finarfin, including Galadriel and in writing her name, he paused once more.

"Is this the same Galadriel who now resides here - wedded to Celeborn and mother to Celebrian?"

"That is so," Elrond confirmed.

Ereinion rose to sit back on his heels and brushed the sand from his palms.
"I would not have you speak of this to her, but if I may ask...? I have heard Galadriel referred to as being 'of the line of the kin-slayers.' Firstly, what does that mean and secondly, does it not mean that I too am related to them?"

Elrond swallowed rather hard. "Who spoke of this in your hearing?" he asked, covering his surprise with gruffness.

"Galdor," Ereinion replied. "It was before the great ship brought you and the other ring-bearers to this land; he mentioned to Ecthelion that the last of the kin-slayers was coming to the shore. He did not speak with kindness, I thought, and Ecthelion merely shrugged, saying that time could change many things."

"And what had Galdor to say to that?" Elrond said.

"He snorted and looked at me and said no more," Ereinion answered. He rose with a frown and dusted himself off. "Elrond, what were the kin-slayers, what did they do?"

Elrond contemplated his words for a moment. "In short then," he unwillingly began. "The tale of the kin-slayings relates to something of which we have spoken of before - do you recall the story of the Silmarils?"

"Aye," Ereinion confirmed.

"Good," Elrond replied. He paused then and glanced out at the sea. There was a change in the waves. The rippling waters were moving up the beach, swelling and rising like the enraged heaving of a great breast in tremulous inhalation afore an explosive ejaculation of words. The sea had grown darker too in hue and, as he watched, a paw of water curled wrathfully up the beach and tore away the disturbed shingle that marked the names of the kin-slayers upon the sand. "Come away," Elrond said quickly, feeling a frission of unease travel down his spine.

Ereinion too was staring at the swirling waters and he backed away swiftly, keeping wary eyes on the sea as they retreated to the cliff paths and began their slow ascension.

"Well then," Elrond continued as Ereinion prompted him with a glance. "The Silmarils were imbued, as you know, with some of the essence of the two trees, the illumination of Valinor itself. Now, their radiance was unsurpassable by any other jewel ever crafted." For a moment he paused, for images of his childhood grew in his mind and the faint shape of a woman, vague and insubstantial from the haze of distant memory, flickered before his eyes. She was shielded from distinction by the fierce glow that hung upon a mithril chain above her breasts. The Silmaril. A blazing stone, many-faceted like the finest wrought diamond, yet harder than adamant. Elrond's thumb drifted briefly over the face of Vilya, wondering at the twist of fate that had seen his family bear through generations the fate-laden jewels of the Noldor, crafted alone, yet each caught within Morgoth's web to bring not beauty but sorrow to their bearers. And just fleetingly, the features of Elwing became sharply defined and a smile seemed to touch her lips. Then the image was lost and Elrond found Ereinion watching him, frowning curiously.

"The stones were hallowed by Varda, blessed so that no mortal flesh nor unclean soul could lay hand upon them without fearful burning of their flesh. Mandos foresaw that the very fate of Arda was locked within them, and he urged her to this guarding, which willingly she did. The Valar were awed and admired the Silmarils, as did all who laid eyes upon them..."

Once more Elrond paused, recalling dimly the faint tingles of power and the shiver of light and warmth that would pass through his veins, when, as an inquisitive child, he would run reverent fingers across the stones as he rested beside Elwing beneath the stars of the night. He heard her laugh softly in his mind, an anxious, yet touched laugh, as though she half feared for him, and half took motherly pride in the gasp that would escape his lips and the questions he would ask her again and again, while Elros rolled his eyes and drew maps in the earth, or climbed trees to watch the stars from above. Never had Elrond tired of listening to the histories Elwing would in soft voice retell. In the wisdom of age, Elrond could now hear the troubled notes in her voice, and knew that she had feared each day the coming of the Noldor to reclaim their gem. And as she spoke Elros would dismount his tree, or turn from his restive tasks, demanding to know more of the Noldor, their actions and their battles, while Elrond would ask of Valinor, and the Valar, seeking the reasons, the motivations. Quickly their questions would turn to squabble for Elwing's instant replies - and she would laughingly chide them until they listened to her tales in peace once more.

"Morgoth too?" Ereinion's tone of voice suggested that he had asked the question more than once.

Elrond nodded.
"Indeed. And in his desire for them, he wrought much evil upon the Noldor."

He broke off for a moment to catch his breath, for the path to the cliff-tops was a steep one.

"And?" Ereinion impelled him.

"Let me breathe, wretched creature," Elrond gaspingly retorted.
Ereinion rolled his eyes. "Can you not talk and climb?" he asked, the hint of a taunt in his eyes.

Elrond shook his head. "You are twenty-three to my six thousand five hundred and twenty," he answered.

Ereinion shrugged, smirking.

"Mind your tongue," Elrond warned him.

"I did not say anything!" Ereinion objected, but his cry held little outrage.

"I could see you thinking," Elrond darkly returned.

Ereinion snickered, running ahead a few steps and lightly leaping atop the final rise of the cliff. He held out a hand and, though the glint was of mischief in his eyes, Elrond took it, letting the younger elf pull him over the lip of the cliff. Ereinion released him, grinning, but fell into step with him once more, awaiting the continuation of the tale.

Elrond turned away from the Welcome House and led the youngster almost unconsciously in the direction of the Pelori, the mountains of Manwe's realm. Instinctively he shunned the north of Valinor, wherein Morgoth, or Melkor as then he was known, had resided in hiding from the wrath of Tulkas after the slaying of Finwe.

"Morgoth spread dissention among the Noldor, Ereinion," Elrond continued. "Whispering evil of the Valar and rumouring that the Eldar held the power to rule above and beyond the will of the Ainur. He spoke too of the coming of men, the Followers, and Children of Illuvatar as much as we. Yet by Morgoth's black tongue they seemed but usurpers of our kind. And Morgoth touched too upon the hearts of your grandfather, and his brother Feanor, raising envy and pride between them, claiming to each that the other sought to exile him from their homelands. Feanor, greatly incensed, began to forge, with all the skills he, great craftsman, possessed, weapons for his unneeded defence. He spoke out against the Valar, and claimed that the elves in coming to Valinor had enslaved themselves to Manwe, and pledged to lead the Noldor to freedom."

Elrond paused for a moment, shaking his head in his own disapproval. Children of Illuvatar that the elves were, in his mind, too often had they been swayed in their loyalty, led astray by the wiles of the darkness. His hand strayed to his waist, where the remembered ghost of his sword hung, though its tangible self resided there no more, suspended instead upon his chamber wall. Darkness there is in us all, he mused. And so perhaps in Illuvatar too. Intrigued as he was by this course of thought, he returned his attention to the child at his side, remembering briefly Ereinion's proud head held high while he resisted the attempts of Annatar to bring the dissention of darkness into Lindon.

"The Valar acted not, for the Eldar were free to come and leave as they pleased, and so I believe we are now too, at least for a time, though unwise it would be to return to Middle-earth, for it is the realm now of men."

"So are not Morgoth's words then true?" Ereinion asked. "That men have now supplanted us?"

Elrond started, staring at the perceptive child in honest astonishment. "I... Perhaps," he acknowledged, thinking carefully. "Yet do we not have this realm?"

"We do," Ereinion admitted. "Into which men cannot pass."

Somewhat uneasy made by the observations, Elrond turned to retrace his tracks, heading now toward the libraries of the Welcome House to search his favoured reference point.

"The Valar did nothing, as I said," Elrond began again, searching for his lost train of thought.

"Why?" Ereinion interrupted once again. "Why did they do nothing? They who have lived since the creation of time abandoned their children, naïve and ill-influenced by one of the Valar's own kindred, to their fates." He shook his head in disgust, his expression grim, and Elrond recognised the old anger, the old defence of Gil-galad for his ill-fated kin. But, and Elrond shivered almost to hear it, though the words were far pleasanter, Ereinion spoke again and laughed suddenly. "What is this that I think? How else were we to learn? Independent of Illuvatar we are not, yet we are not merely toys of the gods, to be moved at will, as are pawns in a chess game. They had not cause enough to intervene!"

Elrond kept his gaze ahead, the contradiction in opinion the child had expressed unsettling him. The latter spoke plainly of his raising in Valinor, the closeness of the Valar burning bright and trusting flames in the hearts of the elves, as indeed Elbereth's presence in moments of Elrond's own despair had similarly done for him. Yet Elrond half wished for the support Ereinion had afore expressed for his own kin. Whether or nay he condoned their actions, he had understood them.

* * * * *

Entering the Welcome House they fell into silence, passing through the gently bustling corridors and keeping a mutually acknowledged, wary eye out for the shipwright, Cirdan. But they reached the library without interception, and weaved their way through the maze of shelves to a lone table, set alongside the vast fireplace in the deepest depths of the chamber.

"Finwe, in concern for the action of his son, summoned a council, and to him Fingolfin came, asking his father's aid to calm Feanor and his hasty heart. Yet into this walked Feanor, helmed in mithril wrought armour, with scarlet plume and great sword at his side. And in that moment he believed Morgoth's words true, that his brother meant to bring him to exile; he drew his sword and sent his half-brother from the chamber. He later followed, content not with this lone threat and, with sword at Fingolfin's breast, vowed to slay him should the need arise." Realising he could hear footsteps, though he had missed the opening of the library door, Elrond broke off for a moment to twist a smile at Ereinion. "Had he done so we should not be seated here now, I think, and how differently the course of the world might have elapsed."

Ereinion quirked his eyebrows and rolled his eyes.
"You think too much, Elrond."

"Yes, he does," a quiet voice from amidst the books remarked, and Elrond grimaced inwardly as Cirdan emerged from betwixt the shelves. The shipwright's expression was grave as he moved to the table, and Elrond met his eyes implacably. But Cirdan held out a book to them, and Ereinion took the worn and battered volume, lifting an eyebrow at the title.

"Be gentle with it," Cirdan said. "For the text is old and many times corrected. The centre pages are loose and may fall without due care, but I believe the account to be both whole and thorough. Though," he added with a small, reluctant smile, "I believe your narrator here to well know the tale himself."

"Aye, indeed," Celebrian's voice cheerfully sang out as she approached. "I know not of what tale you speak, but if there is a history of our people that dear Elrond is unaware of I think it not likely. Tell me, loremaster, did you eat each text of your library ere you came that you need not trouble yourself with the carrying of them?"

Ereinion and Cirdan chuckled. Elrond regarded his wife with mock-disapproval.

"Sadly no, though perhaps your suggestion would not have been unwelcome had you been with me," he returned, teasing himself as much as her.

Celebrian smiled, and then took Cirdan's arm. "Come, ere the youngsters cast off their ships alone in impatience. Ereinion - you will not come to sail?"

Ereinion shook his head, though he thanked her for the invitation, and his guardians departed.

The soft click of the library door closing they awaited before Ereinion looked to Elrond once more and asked him to continue. The elder elf nodded slowly, considering his words.

"The Valar, whom you earlier questioned, took action when they saw of Feanor's actions. As it is now, it was then a crime of highest penalty to shed blood in these lands."

"It is said that the doom of exile will be imposed upon any who should break that rule," Ereinion quietly confirmed.

"The same then was true."

Ereinion was quiet, then released his breath in a hissing exhale. "What happened?"

Elrond took the book Cirdan had handed to Ereinion and opened it upon his knee. He leaned back in his chair and let his eyes scan the text, allowing his words to flow.

Manwe rose in anger from his great throne atop the high mountains of the Pelori and began to pace the flags of his hall. The grief that had weighed upon his heart since the discontented murmurings of the Noldor had begun now lay cold upon his chest. Fingolfin's eyes, wide with alarm, bored into his soul, the very memory of the elf's shock and fear biting deep. Then that fear was Manwe's as Feanor loomed above him, envy-narrowed eyes seeming to burn green in the grim features. The sharp, foreign press of steel against his chest pricked the sensitive flesh, and as he caught his breath, Feanor's crimson plume trailed its feathery ends against his cheek, mingling with the cool, silken touch of his hair against Manwe's face - as he felt each moment of Fingolfin's entrapment. Manwe loosed his physical form, swirling in an angry gust around the chamber and sending the doors to his hall clapping open and shut until the walls shuddered.

The sudden appearance of Varda startled him back into physical form, and he faced his wife with his long hair windswept about his features. Her own were cool, glacial, but he sensed the sadness within her and she sighed, shaking her silver hair. He caught her hands in his, collecting himself once more, and she gripped his fingers tightly for a moment. Her voice spoke into his mind.

"This cannot be ignored."

"Cannot and should not." The low ripple of Ulmo's mind-voice sounded in Manwe's head. "The idle speak of a reckless elf alone is harm to none. But this unnatural behaviour must instantly be stilled, lest we lose the Children of Illuvatar to their own selves."

"One life would mean another," Manwe agreed, speaking both aloud and in his thoughts. "Melkor wreaks his destructions, and through each deed desires to wreak yet more devastation. The children will not learn of such cruelties."

"A council then?" Ulmo anticipated him.

"Summon Feanor to the Ring of Doom. His actions he will explain," Manwe affirmed.

"And his fate?" Varda enquired.

"Perhaps we should see how well he likes his plans of exile, when they are enforced upon him," Mandos' low, dark tones inserted.

"To Middle-earth and the uncompleted lands you would banish him?" Nienna, alarmed, questioned.

"Nay," Manwe replied. "But the Judge speaks well. If Feanor would bring rift between his kindred, let us divide him from them. He shall be exiled from Tirion."

"For what duration?" Varda prompted.

"His actions, though a danger, were not carried through," Manwe began, though Ulmo interrupted.

"You cannot deny the intent was there!"

"Of his free will he curtailed the action. 'Twas a threat, Ulmo; there was no intent to kill."

"In his vow there lay truth that in a future time, the need arising, Feanor would slay his half-brother," Ulmo countered, and even as he spoke Manwe could hear the faint echoes of Ulmo's watery whispers, calling the other Valar forth to the Ring of Doom.

"'Tis true, my lord," Varda agreed.

"He will be punished not for what is not yet done, yet chastised well enough that such actions may afore be averted," Manwe decided.

"I second you, my lord," Ulmo said, after a moment.

* * * *

And in that fateful circle, the doom upon Feanor was laid, and Manwe he proudly faced, while the words of Mandos, Judge for the Valar, echoed about him:

"Thou speak of thraldom. If thraldom it be, thou canst not escape it: for Manwe is king of Arda, and not of Aman only. And this deed was unlawful, whether in Aman or not in Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: for twelve years thou shalt leave Tirion where this threat was uttered. In that time take counsel with thyself, and remember who and what thou art. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace, and held redressed, if others will release thee."**

Fingolfin, summoned forth also, for he was the victim and with whom at least a part of the decision should rightly rest, spoke then his forgiveness of his brother. But Feanor departed instantly without a word, and into banishment retreated, with his seven sons, and his father followed him into his exile.

Elrond looked up, glancing quickly at Ereinion's face. The younger elf was leaning forward over the table, his knuckles braced against his lips, listening intently.

"Yet in the circle, Morgoth's deceit was revealed to the Valar, and immediately Tulkas set forth to hunt for him. Yet it was a fruitless search, for Morgoth secreted himself."

"And what of Fingolfin?" Ereinion asked.

"Oh, he took up his father's position within the city," Elrond replied, adding, as Ereinion's expression twisted wryly, "and so yes, Morgoth's warning of the younger usurping the elder did indeed come to pass."

"Nicely ironic," Ereinion commented.

Elrond nodded pensively. He glanced out at the sky, realising the hour was late for the first stars were beginning to shimmer from the sky, bathed lilac and tangerine with the blending colours of day and night.

"Elrond," Ereinion's voice drew his attention once more, and reproach coloured the younger elf's tone. "Leave the tale not there because of the coming of night! A torturous story-teller you are that you would pause at such a point!"

Elrond quirked the corner of his mouth into a smile. "Nay, I think that I must there cease, for I tire at my great age..."

Ereinion glared at him. "I promise henceforth to tease you not for your years, though incidentally they have such little effect upon you that you cannot be offended!"

Elrond faked a yawn. "Well I know not about that..."

"Elrond!" Ereinion cried, and then laughed as Elrond smirked at him. "You are a tease, Elrond," the younger elf chided.

Elrond smiled and leaned forward, gently cupping the younger elf's cheek.
"Shall I let you into a secret?" he asked, lips close to Ereinion's ear.

Ereinion tilted his head slightly to eye Elrond from the corner of his eye.
"And what is that?"

"Well," Elrond said softly. "I know I am a tease." He sat back again, chuckling as Ereinion rolled his eyes.

* * * * *

The exiled years in Formeros held whispers of the very ironies that Ereinion had chanced to notice, for it was then that Melkor came once more to the side of Feanor. It was in the twilight gloaming, when the long hours are shadowy and the silence thick that Melkor spoke his most deceitful words. The eve was chill and Feanor restlessly paced alongside his fire, his thick hair trailing loose from its constricting braid and lit with the colours of the dancing flames that warmed his encampment. The shadows were longer in these days, he noted, though it brought him to wonder if he had but failed to notice the darker hours, for Tirion sparkled as bright as day, even after nightfall, its many bejewelled surfaces reflecting the silvered rays of Yavanna's paler tree. The years of his banishment lay heavy upon him as he watched his sons beside the fire, the twins tossing fractured sticks into the blaze, their identical expressions of boredom commonly seen upon their features. The resources here were few, and though temporary homes they had constructed, Feanor refused to suffer the construction of a city more permanent lest Fingolfin never be held to his promised forgiveness.

Bleak was his heart at the sight of his people humiliated thus, and the words of the Judge echoed like the tolling of a great bell in his mind. Feanor wheeled from his course and strode deep into the forest, as though to leave the echoing voice behind him. Yet ever in his mind it remained. And his features blazed hotter than the fire with his remembered shame.

Amidst the shadows of the trees, robed in a cloak of the very darkness itself, a figure watched the eldest son of Finwe stalk endlessly in circles beneath the branches overhead. He stumbled upon the roots of the trees, cursing his own carelessness in his futile exercise. Deeper, ever deeper into the forest he weaved, and the watcher remained, his silence secreting him, his stillness concealing him.

Feanor stopped abruptly. In his hasty retreat from the echoing voice, his anger had led him far astray. It was only now he sensed the eyes upon him, and yet he wheeled instantly to face their source, though even his perceptive vision could not determine shadow and shadowy form. One word he spat with knowing certainty:

"Melkor."

The darkness chuckled, a low, eerie sound, and a sculpted form, absent of light, detached itself from the blackness cloaking the woods.

"Son of Finwe. Behold the truth of all I have spoken, and how thou art banished unjustly. But if the heart of Feanor is yet free and bold as his words were in Tirion, then I will aid him, and bring him far from this narrow land."**

"'Twas your false speech that drove me here!" Feanor spat, his humiliation all the greater for the confrontation with his betrayer. "What can you offer me?"

"Am I not Vala also? Yea, and more so than those who sit in pride in Valimar; and ever have I been a friend to the Noldor...most skilled *and* valiant of *all* the people in Arda."**

Sweet honey sounded the poison of his words and Feanor debated, knowing not if he should trust this fair formed, fair speaking, yet perhaps false friend. In silence he faced Melkor, and the Vala stepped forward, his countenance earnest and his voice coaxing, soothing.

"Come, will you not trust me? From here we must move hence - or better still, remain you here, and play the games of those who would banish you, so that you may re-earn their trust. That done, you may act more swiftly, and in safety, for they will not anticipate your defection thereafter, and to the lands free from their eyes you may travel, along with all your people."

Feanor eyed him narrowly. "And where, while I linger subtly in banishment, would you travel?"

Melkor smiled.
"If it is not spoken aloud, it cannot be known. And is that not well? Here is a safe place, and well guarded; but think not that the Silmarils will lie safe within any treasury within the realm of the Valar!"**

The glint in his eye was caught even in the little light that Varda's bright stars managed to cast through the knotted canopy overhead and Feanor's gaze glowed as he turned to Melkor in fury.
"Get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of Mandos!"** Feanor snarled, his love of the Silmarils overriding his fear of the serpent-like Vala. He wheeled from Melkor's side and to his home in fury stormed, and, in the face of the jewel-lustful Vala, slammed the doors closed.

It was not until the times of the festivals was Melkor seen again.

* * * *

Here once more Elrond paused, yet this time Ereinion protested not, for he spoke instantly into the silence.

"Much history you tell me, Elrond! Was not the coming of Morgoth to the festivals the time in which the two trees were shattered and the light stolen from the land?"

Elrond nodded.

Ereinion whistled softly. "Aye me, Cirdan missed out much in his renditions of these past days! I knew not of this background at all - and to a child of the years I held then so little was enough, for the idea of the land encased by the black webs of darkness spun by Ugoliant seemed cruel enough that no more information I did ask for! Elrond, swift continue, or mean you to tease me more?"

"I will tease you not," Elrond said quietly. "Though ever darker must my words grow, for in those lightless days, the Valar did beg of Feanor that the Silmarils be to them returned, that Yavanna, even in her distress at the destruction of her creation, might break the stones and release their light, so the trees could blossom anew."

"He refused," Ereinion grimly guessed. He shook his head. "How could he do such a thing? The jewels could not have been created without the work first of Yavanna - their light was not his to keep!"

Elrond tried not to grimace at the unfamiliar words with which Ereinion condemned his own kin.
"As was Yavanna saddened by the ruination of her creation, so Feanor would have been at the shattering of his jewels. They were his work, the like of which could never be reconstructed."

"You condone his actions?" Ereinion was incredulous.

"Nay indeed!" Elrond's words snapped like a whip. He rose sharply and walked to the window, gazing out at the stars, and the pure light of Earendil overhead shone a little brighter, as if in consolation. "Nay," Elrond repeated more quietly.

Ereinion rose and moved to his side, gently touching his shoulder.
"Then why do you seek to make me do so?"

Elrond bit his lip and closed his eyes. Because once, you understood. And you must not see my version of history, but form your own, as you once did. If that means you can see the perspective of Feanor, then so must it be.

Ereinion shook his head again, moving away from Elrond and walking away a few steps until he was almost submerged in the darkness filtering through the shelves of the library.

"Am I supposed to sympathise with him, because he is an ancestor of mine? I cannot do that, Elrond."

"Can you not at least see why it is he might feel so?"

Ereinion paused, gripping the edge of a shelf and leaning his head against the end of the bookcase as he looked back at Elrond. "No."

Elrond was silent, at a loss for words to speak. He could understand Feanor's reasoning himself, for the plaguing words of Morgoth must have echoed true into the heart of the banished elf - that the Valar would take the Silmarils from him, and the dark prophecy that Fingolfin's would usurp him had come true... Ereinion, do you not see? Or do you not wish to? Elrond wondered uneasily.

With a sigh of resignation, he continued: "Whether or not you truly see Feanor's reasoning, 'twas the proverbial pebble that causes the landslide. Believing the Valar false, Feanor vowed to depart from Middle-earth, breaking the ruling of his banishment to return to Tirion. And therein a terrible oath he swore, and his banishment proved futile, for unspeakable words he cried to the skies, naming Elbereth, blessed lady, his witness in the cruellest of curses. In the city of his people, he vowed, as did his sons, to reclaim their stolen jewels, at whatever price."

Ereinion closed his eyes, visibly shuddering. "And my closest kin?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Your grandfather spoke against him."

Ereinion opened his eyes, jaw clenched as he met Elrond's reluctant gaze.
"And my father?"

"He did not speak against his father, for he was close to the sons of Finarfin, Angrod and Aegnor, who held their peace."

"But?"

"But in spirit, he held Feanor's words true."

Ereinion nodded bleakly. "I thought it so."

Elrond watched him, sympathy in his gaze as he witnessed the tremulous control the youngster exacted over his own emotions. Finally Ereinion exhaled slowly. "Go on."

"Feanor marched forth that day, against the counsel of his half-brothers both, and the Valar did naught. We are prisoners not upon these shores, and Manwe believed not that the Noldor could be held by the will of Feanor alone, banished, shamed, solitary defiant. Yet inscrutable is the plan of Illuvatar, for the clever words of Fingon swayed Fingolfin, and he followed his half-brother to spare the Noldor the unwise counsel of Feanor alone. The host of the Noldor trustingly followed in his steps, and Finarfin too."

Ereinion closed his eyes again. He nodded once, indicating Elrond should continue.

"Manwe spoke, counselling the Noldor against their folly. And Feanor laughed at him."

"Go on."

"The kindreds of the Eldar had been friends close, all those of the Eldar, Vanyar, Teleri and Noldor alike, and it was to the Teleri that Feanor turned, for he sought to march unto Middle-earth as Melkor had suggested. But the Teleri would not aid them."

Ereinion's fingers clenched into fists.
"They were slain."

Elrond nodded.
"Yes."

He mentioned not that it had been Feanor's host that first drew arms, and the Teleri might have overthrown this attack - had not Fingon's army stormed into the fray and turned the tide upon them.

"And Manwe had doomed the Valar and Maiar from the course of action that would have prevented it."

Ereinion looked up sharply, his eyes nearly indigo with the reflection of his grim thoughts.
"Explain."

"As before I said, prisoners here we are not, even now. Manwe vowed that the Valar would neither aid not apprehend the passage of the Noldor to whatever destination they chose. Osse watched the destruction of the people he favoured, while Uinen bitterly wept at his side."

"Osse?" Ereinion asked. "That is why then his anger we felt upon the beaches."

Elrond nodded again. "Aye. Manwe's actions came too late, for in equal severity to the oath sworn in Tirion, he condemned the Noldor henceforth never to step upon these shores. The house of Feanor was ever known as that of the Disposessed."

"What of Finarfin then? Galadriel? Even me, Elrond?"

"Finarfin forsook the march in that hour, and returned, pardoned for his crimes by the Valar. No oath had he spoken, nor his daughter Galadriel, though she and his sons did not return at his side to Tirion, but marched onward with Fingolfin."

"Feanor then, and Fingolfin, took the Teleri boats and sailed the seas," Ereinion finished, his tone bitter.

"Not exactly. For some of the boats were wrecked by wise Uinen's tears. Feanor and his sons took the remaining boats, sailed, and burned them upon the furthest shores to taunt his half-brother. Yet it was their light that guided Fingolfin's brave, and reckless march - for he led the Noldor across the Helcaraxe and so into Middle-earth."

"The Helcaraxe?" Ereinion gasped aloud. "'Tis a sheet of purest ice! Ai! What a journey! For what pursuit? Flight of the wrath of Manwe, or bleaker yet and revenge sought?" He spoke in seeming rhetoric and shook his head.

"That was the first of the kin-slayings," Elrond said quietly.

Ereinion cast him a shocked look. "There were more?"

"Three in total."

Ereinion hissed through his teeth, and fell into stunned silence.

* * * *

Yet Elrond had been careful in the telling of his tale. When speaking of Ereinion's family, Elrond had used only the personal names of each elf in question, which meant, of course, that they could not be equated with the same elves of whom he spoke of by title alone. He had yet concealed the line of Kingship in relation to Ereinion's family, biding his time and allowing Ereinion to come to his own remembrance of that state.

Ereinion was silent. Then, finally, he nodded. "Thank you for telling me," he said quietly.

Elrond watched him, concerned and awaiting a reaction. Yet none seemed forthcoming for the youngster remained pensively mute. "Ereinion...?" Elrond began cautiously.

Ereinion looked at him and sighed. "Elrond, what do you want me to say? Would it simplify your understanding of me if I cursed this tale, even you as the teller, for something that cannot be changed?"

Elrond shook his head slowly. "No, not exactly..."

"I am angry, Elrond, think it not wrong." The telltale warmth of anger touched Ereinion's tone, but he kept his voice level. "Sadly it solves no purpose for me to rant and storm. This was done a long time ago and nothing I can do here and now will change anything." There was a certain bitterness that accompanied the words and Elrond relaxed a little to hear it. "Tell me though, did I live through the last of the kin-slayings? And what did I do?"

But Elrond reluctantly shook his head. "I cannot. I think for that you must rely upon your own recollections."

Ereinion opened his mouth to protest and then growled softly. He nodded. "Tell me one thing though," he said, rising to leave and Elrond made no move to stop him, sensing the youngster needed a chance to be alone. "Tell me that, if I did live, I did something."

Elrond watched him steadily for a few moments, considering what answer he could give.
"Do you really believe you could have stood by and done nothing?" he said at last.

Ereinion eyed him in return and then nodded, not in answer to the question, but because he understood what Elrond had tried to convey. "I cannot stand now to hear of it and think that I would have done naught: I doubt indeed that I could have then done nothing."

Elrond smiled, for Ereinion had realised that he was still the same person as he had been all those years before, changed in many ways - for who could not be in surviving such experiences, but still in spirit the same. He could no more have stood by then, when he had been in a position to take action than he could bear to think now that he might have done.

Storyteller

It was in fact some years before Ereinion came to learn of his own actions, and it was in no manner that Elrond had anticipated. Some six years had passed away and Ereinion was approaching his thirtieth year. Indeed Elrond had quite forgotten about the matter, as the topic had not since been raised, as was often Ereinion's way when he could not complete a memory for a time.

It was late when the soft tap came upon his door. Elrond, as had been his habit for the many lonely nights he had spent during the Third Age, was sat reading. The thick parchment was stained copper by the soft glow of a candle. Puzzled, Elrond laid aside his script and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, making to rise. A faint creak stilled his motion and slowly the chamber door opened inward. Framed in the doorway, only the dim glow from the passageway torches illuminating his form, stood Ereinion.

Elrond rose swiftly, tightening the belt of his robe. Protective concern swelled within him as he caught sight of the younger elf's expression. Ereinion hesitated in the doorway. His vivid blue eyes were ringed in shadow, his features drawn pale and taut.

"Ereinion?" Elrond crossed quickly to the door. "Whatever is the matter?"

He guided the youngster inside, pushing the door closed with his toe. As the latch clicked shut Ereinion stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Elrond and buried his face in the soft satin of the peredhel's robes. Silently Elrond cradled him, marvelling at the strength with which he was held as Ereinion's fingers knotted tightly into the russet fabric of the dressing robe. Elrond smoothed the snarls of sleep-tousled hair. Claws of concern raked at his insides. The youngster was so still, so silent...

"Ereinion?" he said gently, trying to comb the ebony strands back from the edges of the averted face. "What is wrong?"

A mute shake of the head and a press of the nose deeper into his robes served as Elrond's answer.

Elrond's fingers picked at a tangle in the dark mane, teasing at the knot until the strands fell free. Slowly he began to disentangle himself from the vice-like embrace, dropping to one knee to meet the down-turned gaze. Glancing up into the youngster's face, for Ereinion was nearly as tall as he when upright, revealed a mouth pinched closed, but mercifully dry eyes.

"So," Elrond pressed, his fingers lightly brushing along the edge of the youngster's jaw. "Are you going to tell me what the matter is?"

Ereinion jerked away from him. "Get up," he said sharply, moving abruptly past Elrond into the room.

"Yes, master!" Elrond said, raising an eyebrow for he was a little taken aback by the younger elf's tone.

"No!" Ereinion stopped suddenly, raising a hand. Trembling fingers curled into a fist and he cast Elrond an almost fearful glance over his shoulder. "Do not...please do not..."

Confounded, Elrond took a cautious step toward him. "What?" he began.

"Elrond... I...I do not want to talk about it. Please?" Ereinion's eyes were pleading. He moved restively away and gripped the back of one of the chairs aligned by the fire-grate. "Please," he repeated softly. "Just...distract me or something - tell me a story."

"A story?" Surprised by the request, Elrond moved to the fireside. He knelt beside the grate, plucking up a firestone and arranging a handful of small twigs around it. He blew gently on the stone, rewarded instantly by a flicker of sparks and the low hiss of wood catching alight. "Very well." He sat back on his heels, glancing at the younger elf again. "What do you want to hear about?"

Ereinion shrugged, moving to the side of his chair and climbing into the seat, drawing his knees up to his chin. He leaned his back against the wing and twisted a lock of hair around his fingers, staring into the fire with blank eyes.
"Anything," he muttered. "I do not care. Just talk to me."

Trying to make little of his growing concern at the boy's distress, Elrond nodded. He settled a large log onto the pile of slim sticks, now cheerfully burning, the firestone a brighter point amidst the flames, and moved to the opposite chair. A swift glance at the fear-glaze darkening Ereinion's eyes suddenly brought Glorfindel to mind. The elder elf had worn a similar expression from time to time, as long as Elrond had known him. Half-memories. The state of elvin dream was reputedly perilous to the returned soul, for within it snatches of times past could often be recounted. When the dreamer awoke the mental link into their subconscious could neither be withdrawn, nor wholly sustained. One who bore but a single lifetime could usually completely recall whatever they had touched upon in dream-state, but one whose memories had been separated from them could be driven into madness by it.

Elrond began to speak, aware that the actual words did not matter. It was the sound of his voice that was necessary, to attempt to ground the afflicted youngster in reality and so vanquish the haunting glimpses.

"Once upon a time there were two cities, one that was called Andakuilë and one that was called Sintakuilë. Andakuilë was the city of those who lived long lives, existences that could amass to thousands of years. Sintakuilë, however, was a city wherein short-lived people stayed, people whose lives could be at most only a hundred years. Now these two cities were divided, not for any political reasons, but simply because it was very hard for any lasting alliances to be maintained, given the short life spans of those from Sintakuilë. Into the city of Sintakuilë a child was born, and he was christened Lightbringer.

"Now, around this time, into the other city, a young woman was born, whose name was Flight. Flight loved the ocean, which was but a little distance from her city and, as soon as she was old enough to travel alone, she used to walk the long paths to the cliffs and stand upon the edge, gazing down at the sea. She would go there each day without fail and look out over the ocean, wishing that she could truly fly so that she might glide over the sea and swoop through the skies.

"One day while she was watching the white-maned horses ride the blue backs of the waves, Flight saw a boat. It was a small dinghy - rather like that wretched thing that you decided to take me out in," Elrond broke off briefly to smile at Ereinion. The child had turned his gaze from the fire and was beginning to watch Elrond, though his eyes were still filled with shadow.

"Anyway, Flight came to realise that she had seen this boat before. It was a fairly non-descript little boat, apart from one thing - it bore a ramming prow upon its front, which considering that it was quite clearly a pleasure boat, was unusual. It also had a little white flag with a seagull spread-winged upon it. It was the flag that struck Flight, for she envied the seagulls above all other birds. They hung all day above the waters and nested on the cliffs at night. And so Flight made up her mind to find the owner of this boat. For a period of nearly a month she would follow the boat on part of its journey, for she realised that it came every day to the edge of the cliff and then turned away again to go back the way it had come. Every day she would run along the cliff edge until she could no longer keep up with the boat and then she would mark the spot, return to it the next day and go a little further.

"And one day she found herself upon the edges of the shores to the city of Sintakuilë. She arrived just as the little boat was being drawn up the beaches and she watched the little seagull flag being taken down and stored away. Suddenly she turned away, because she was afraid. She did not know to whom this boat belonged and her journey seemed silly. She was also aware that she was a stranger in a city that their own traded with, but had little contact with other than the exchange of goods each season. But as she made to run, the Lady Elbereth caused the captain of the ship to look up. And the captain was Lightbringer. His father was a shipbuilder in the city of Sintakuilë and Lightbringer loved the sea as much as Flight did. He had noticed her, standing atop her cliff and that was why he had sailed out there every day, hoping to see her again.

"So it came that Flight spoke with Lightbringer and they began to visit one another until the day came when they were married. And they had twin sons, identical twins, one born exactly seven minutes before the other, but apart from that, virtually indistinguishable in their features. However, in character they were quite different. One was a bold creature, who lived each moment as though it were his last. His brother was quite different, so the story goes. He was the younger of the twins and far quieter than his elder. A reflective creature, who thought long and looked far beyond the limit of a mere day, or even year. And such were their natures, drawn from mother and father alike, though with no clear division. Yet the twins held one thing aside from their features in common and that was their sense of humour. It bound them together throughout their lifetimes, though there were many things that sought to divide them - for the Lady Elbereth had a purpose in bringing the lovers together.

"In Flight's city, long ago some jewel-workers had captured the queen of the salamanders - which are the elementals of fire. But one day the gods asked for her release and it was not granted, for the jewel-workers found her beautiful and wanted to keep her forever.

"It was not to be, for the fire-queen was stolen. And she passed into the keeping of Lightbringer, through the work of the gods who desired her release, and he and Flight were to protect her...with their lives.

"But the jewel-smiths did not accept that this should be, for the fire-queen had only been taken from them by the murder of the eldest of their people, who had held her in his keeping. And they sought now to reclaim their treasure and avenge the death of their father.

"They found the house of Lightbringer and Flight, and Flight was alone within. Lightbringer had sailed to the sea, from which he could never prevent himself doing, while she stayed at home, looking after their twins. But the jewel-smiths did not care, for they entered the house in search of their fire-queen, whom Flight was secreting away, and Flight was forced to flee. She took the fire-queen with her, for the gods had warned her that the jewel-smiths must never recapture the salamander, but she was forced to leave her children behind."

Elrond was quiet for a moment, gazing into the fire himself. When the tale had begun he had thought that he had known where it was going, yet the characters had come alive and now they drew him along, leaving him powerless to prevent them. He wrapped his robe a little tighter around himself, feeling cold despite the warmth of the fire as he imagined the lonely twins, surrounded by a house filled with vengeance-lustful jewel-smiths, whose crimson hair eerily matched their scarlet stained hands.
"The twins were captured by the jewel-smiths, for it was hoped that this would bring Flight and Lightbringer to the smiths, to rescue their children. But it was not to be. Flight had been granted the one thing that she wished for as a child. She leapt from the cliff side, for within the depth of the ocean a salamander could hide forever more. But the gods spared her life, for the service she had done them, and she turned into a seagull, who flew to Lightbringer 's ship. And he took from her the fire-queen and freed her. But he was changed by the release and became a white-horse to ride the waves forever more."

Elrond broke off at that point for he realised that Ereinion was watching him now, his eyes intense and curious.

"What happened to the twins?"

"The twins?" Elrond paused for a moment. "Well, they were raised by the jewel-smiths, for one among their number was not so cruel as the rest. But their story does not end there, for when they reached their year of majority, they were given a choice. For they had blood of each city in their veins, blood that could limit their lives to but a hundred years, or grant them many thousands..."

Suddenly Ereinion chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, extending his long legs over the arm of the chair, tilting his head back to regard Elrond from amused eyes. His long hair spilled down over his shoulders.

"This is not fair," he objected, an impish grin crossing his face. "You tell me a tale the end to which I already know!"

"Oh?" Elrond frowned. The tale with which he had begun he had simply created, yet its ending was perilously close to a true story, which he knew he had not spoken of before. "Have I told you this before? I cannot think when."

Ereinion's expression softened. "Not in this lifetime," he said quietly. "Your tale is reminiscent of your own life, is it not? The salamander queen is one of the Silmarils. Flight is Elwing, and Earendil is Lightbringer - who became a star, not a seahorse. Are you not one of the twins? The choice was not between Andakuilë and Sintakuilë, but the humans and the elves. "

Elrond nodded, a little surprised, and still distracted by the life that had come into the tale without his intention. Ereinion smiled, looking considerably more relaxed. Elrond wondered then of what the youngster had dreamed, not knowing that it was the empty house of "Flight" and "Lightbringer," strewn with bloodied bodies and devoid of the children that should have been within that had haunted Ereinion's sleep. Elrond's tale had woven together the pieces, stirring the whole memory from the depths and calming the child. Ereinion's expression grew notably smug. He fingered a strand of his trailing hair, his expression turning pensive.

"It must have been hard," he said. "To part from your twin in that way. Why did you do it? Can you remember?"

Elrond swallowed down a sigh, uncertain as to whether he had hoped Ereinion to remember, or relieved that he had not.

"There were a number of reasons," he replied evasively. "All of which seemed very good at the time."

Ereinion chuckled. "Do you regret it, then?" he said curiously.

Elrond shook his head. "No. I suppose I have wondered, from time to time, if I made the wrong choice, but only as the musing of one who is safe in the knowledge that their choice cannot be undone."

Again this stirred a soft chuckle from the youngster. He drew one knee up to his chin, bracing his foot against the high corner of the chair back. A long expanse of taut thigh was unashamedly exposed as Ereinion clasped his hands around his knee and rested his chin atop them.

"Tell me another story," he demanded, settling comfortably back.

"Another one?" Elrond feigned alarm.

Ereinion nodded, smirking. "That one was cheating," he informed Elrond. "I knew that one already."

With a sigh of mock dismay, Elrond began to speak again and soon had his young charge laughing aloud over the antics of another pair of twins. These two had engaged in an identity swap while directing a stranger paying visit to their lands. They had taken it in turns to emerge at different points along the route, each time solemnly informing the hapless traveller that he rode the wrong way, despite having seemed to previously have directed him that way. It had been inconceivable to the poor man that the same elf could have reached each point so rapidly, yet the identity of the informer never seemed to change.

When the tale was finished, Ereinion, still laughing, glanced at Elrond with intrigued eyes.
"Are those of whom you speak your sons?"

Surprised once again, Elrond nodded. "Yes, Elros and I were never so imaginative! How did you know?"

"Because you and Elros were never so imaginative!" Ereinion teased. "Nay, I do but jest. Cirdan has mentioned them a few times and the parallel was easily drawn."

Elrond raised an eyebrow, wondering what had prompted Cirdan to mention his children to Ereinion.

"Yes," he repeated with a twinge of sadness, as he thought of his sons, alone now in Middle-earth - if they yet lived. "Elladan and Elrohir, the lords of Rivendell."

Ereinion nodded, his eyes filled with sympathy. "You must miss them."

It was not a question, but Elrond answered automatically. "I do, very much."

A moment of respectful silence passed before Ereinion spoke again. "Who was their mother?" he said suddenly. "I know by the ring that you wear that you are wedded, and there have been mentions of your protégée. You have two sons and a daughter, Arwen. But I have never heard anyone speak of your wife. Who was she?"

Elrond felt the familiar noose of guilt jerk tight around this throat. Never, in all his wildest imaginings had he ever envisaged the day when he should have to find an answer to that question, asked by Gil-galad. He glanced at the ring on his forefinger, twisting it with his thumb, though it was not only its golden presence that had betrayed him. Among their people child-bearing and raising did not come without matrimony. He glanced warily up at Ereinion, but the younger elf's expression showed only innocent curiosity. Strangely that was almost more painful than the accusation that should surely have come had Ereinion remembered their shared past.

"Celebrian," he said finally.

"Celebrian?" It was Ereinion's turn to look startled. "But you... I did not realise..." He trailed off, frowning in obvious confusion.

"Few would who did not already know," Elrond said gently.

"You do not act as though you are married," Ereinion said and then grimaced at how rude the words sounded. He shook his head, his expression troubled. A forced smile strained across his lips. "How strange. Celebrian is my guardian. Would that make me to you a foster son?"

Elrond's laugh was as tension-riddled as the smile that would not stay on Ereinion's lips.
"Well, yes, I suppose it would, in a manner of speaking," Elrond replied uneasily. He hoped that such a topic would not be raised again, for no father should ever feel toward his child the way Elrond still did for Ereinion Gil-galad.

The younger elf glanced up at him and then down at his hands. "I do not think I like that manner of speaking," he said quietly, as though he were afraid to injure Elrond's feelings.

"No?" Elrond swallowed hard.

Ereinion shook his head. "I think perhaps I have been fostered once too often already. I know Cirdan and Celebrian as my guardians, though they are not the parents I was born to. I think..." He lifted his eyes again apprehensively. "I think I prefer you as my friend."

Elrond smiled, relief pooling warmly in his gut. "And I think that sounds just fine to me."

Ereinion's smile was quick and grateful.

Glancing over his shoulder at the sky beyond the window, Ereinion made a low moue of displeasure.
"I suppose I should go back to bed," he said reluctantly. "Dawn cannot be more than a few hours away."

"Are you tired?" Elrond asked. The fire was making him drowsy, but the youngster's regret was apparent.

Ereinion nodded. "A little, but..." He hesitated, his features colouring slightly as he said: "I am not very inclined to sleep though."

"Well," Elrond rose, the youngster following suit. "Why do you not stay here tonight?"

"You would have me come to bed with you?" Ereinion asked and then, as if realising how that had sounded, closed his eyes, his cheeks turning crimson. "I mean...what about Celebrian? Ah...I mean... If you really do not mind?"

"Celebrian, I believe, is spending time with Cirdan upon the beach this night," Elrond invented. "As well you know we need not retire to full slumber in order to rest."

He purposely did not reveal the nature of his relationship with Celebrian to Ereinion. The matter was too complex to explain, and neither Celebrian nor Cirdan had yet given him leave to publicly reveal their unity. It was for this reason that he continued to bear his marriage ring upon his finger, this, and the fact that neither he nor Celebrian could truly break their bond of matrimony. Before the Valar they had sworn their unity, spoken promises that could not be retracted save by the eternal commitment of one or other to the Halls of Mandos. A fate to which neither wished to be condemned. The divorce of their emotions could not be publicly acknowledged, for such a ritual did not exist.

The private words they had spoken between them had freed each from the other's displeasure should love be sought elsewhere, the sacred bond of marriage twisted, but not broken, to accommodate the strange fate the workings of the Third Age had forced upon them. Though those close enough to them to be granted the knowledge were aware of the essential separation between the former lord and lady of Imladris, none yet knew of the intention for each to seek another's soul in love. Reflecting briefly upon it, Elrond decided it was wise that they were quiet upon that topic. It would not necessarily be understood. He did not like to lie to Ereinion, but he allowed himself a slight distortion of the truth - he was only unsure of Celebrian and Cirdan's location, wherever they were he was certain that they would be together.

Elrond held out his hand, feeling the child's long fingers clasp around his own. He guided Ereinion to the bed, drawing back the covers and watching as the youngster crawled beneath the sheets and drew them around him. Elrond secured his dressing robe more tightly about himself and then lay down too, spreading the covers neatly atop them both. Ereinion rested upon his side, one palm beneath his cheek. Elrond, propped on one elbow, smoothed the youngster's dark hair without thinking and was surprised when Ereinion did not pull away. The familiar texture of the ebony mane, silken beneath his fingers, was soothing. Ereinion's eyes slowly glazed, taking on the tentative rest of half-waking sleep. He shifted into Elrond's gentle caress, his eyes darkening into unseeing immersion until his eyelids fluttered closed.

And still Elrond stroked his hair, revelling in the almost liquid sensation of the raven-hued mane pouring through his fingers. His traitorous hand slipped down the length of Ereinion's jaw as he slowly withdrew. For a long time Elrond lay on his back in silence, his hands tightly woven together, trying to steady his breathing. The first stars were beginning to fade from the sky before Elrond closed his eyes in deep slumber.

As Elrond finally settled into sleep, Ereinion's eyes re-opened. In the semi-darkness he sat up, gazing at Elrond with a slight frown knitting creases on his brow. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and pressed a light kiss upon Elrond's lips.

He drew back, touching his fingertips to his lips, his frown still in place. Then he lay back once more, staring up at the overhead canopy until morning came.

TBC...