It was getting late in the evening by now, and it being a frosty night in late autumn, the High King and his family were gathered around the fire in the sitting room of their palace. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire, and the soft music of happy voices.

Fingolfin glanced up from the thick book that he had open to check on his eldest son. Fingon was married by now, and had recently been blessed with a son of his own. They were all seated together on one long bench, Fingon's arm around his wife, and tiny Ereinion seated on his mother's lap. They were reading a book together, the voices alternating in pitch as mother and father took it in turn to read aloud. He had written and illustrated that book himself - a present for his grandson's second begetting day, and it gratified him to see the tiny elf's enjoyment of the story.

"Eagle." Ereinion's voice rose happily as he prodded a finger at the page. "That says eagle."

"It does, indeed." Fingon smiled down at his son, and ruffled the mop of dark hair. Ereinion was just beginning to pick out common words from the page, and in the tale of the eagle that was afraid of heights, it was easy to associate the word with the fluffy, big-eyed chick. "It says eagle there, as well."

Ereinion frowned slightly as he ran his finger along the page, grey eyes eagerly following the large clear script until he announced triumphantly, "And there!"

"Aye, so it does." Fingon put his large finger alongside Ereinion's smaller one and guided the child's hand under the words. "And the little eagle flew higher and higher. . ."

It made him feel a little lonely, watching his son in times like this. They were so much together, so much a family, their arms wrapped around each other and their little one between them. It still amazed him how much love and happiness one could feel for so small a thing. Ereinion was not yet three years old, but he had already brought so much joy into all their lives.

He had always been fond of small children - his little brother, his nephews and nieces, and those of his own. There had been such a happy family back in those golden days of safety and peace. They had lived close to a small river, and he had spent hot summer afternoons splashing around in the shallow water with a toddling elfling. Later there had been the early morning rides with a lanky half -grown elf, and returning home to have his younger son running out to meet them - almost tripping over the hem of his nightgown in his haste. Even his daughter had been happy then, chasing butterflies and making crowns and necklaces of the flowers that she would pick.

His wife was now far away though, and he had led his people - his family - into a land of death and despair. His younger son was entombed in a hidden city walled by fear and mistrust, and his daughter - she had passed to the Halls of Mandos long ago. He hoped that she would be with her mother now, for she had suffered much already, and had little left to repent.

But he could not dwell in the sorrows of the past, and there was hope in the innocence of the young. He was looking forward to watching his grandson growing up. Sharing the joy of the first archery lesson, boosting him into his first tree, and teaching him the rules of five stones and chess. In time he would see him grow tall and strong, a Prince of the Noldor, fair of face and true of spirit. Ereinion resembled his father closely, even at this young age, and Fingolfin did not doubt that he would see the tiny elfling with the round pink cheeks and the ready smile grow into a lanky young prince in who he would hold trust and pride.

Perhaps the newest addition to the House of Fingolfin had eyes that were a little darker than his father's, but maybe that was to be expected in a land such as this. The thick walls of the settlement kept the horrors of the wastelands and battlefields out, but the water here was stale and grass and trees grew more slowly. The only things that truly thrived in these lands were the slimes and algae that choked the ponds and rivers, no matter how many times they were cut back.

Although there was plenty of food, he had many fond memories of his sons that Fingon would never seen realised. Elflings earnestly gripping green melon rinds, their faces buried in the crisp red flesh. Turgon tracing patterns on his porridge with thin trickles of cream and syrup. Tiny hands and chins dripping with sticky juices of colourful fruit.

Ereinion would never celebrate his eighth begetting day by riding off into the wilds, camping under the stars and catching fish to roast over a campfire. He could remember doing the same with both Fingon and Turgon, a special time full of memories shared by only father and son. He would never know a gate without guards, or a Midwinter without the silence to mourn those who had passed during the year. He built fortresses with his blocks, and had swords as toys.

"Agi!" There was a joyful yelp, and tiny feet pattered across the soft rug that they had placed on the stone floor for the little one to play on. "Agi!"

Fingolfin aroused himself from his thoughts, and closed the book as he looked down at the eager face bobbing about just above his knees.

"Yes, Ereinion?" The High King removed the book from his lap, and replaced it with a wriggling armful of elfling. "Did you enjoy your story?"

Ereinion nodded vigorously, moving his thumb up towards his mouth, but then deciding against it. His Agi had told him that big brave soldiers never sucked their thumbs. Fingolfin smiled at this, and stroked the child's silky hair and warm cheek gently. He was getting sleepy by now, and the dark lashes were drooping slightly. By the time he was bathed and in bed, he would be more than ready to drift off into the dream world.

"Goodnight, Agi." Ereinion pulled himself into a standing position, and kissed his grandfather goodnight.

"Goodnight, Ereinion." Fingolfin got to his feet and began walking over to the door where the child's parents were waiting. Pausing, he lent down to kiss the child's forehead. "May the stars shine brightly."

Ereinion smiled at his grandfather as he was transferred into his father's arms. "And tucked up?"

"Well, of course." Fingolfin shared silent laughter with his son, as Ereinion snuggled into the soft folds of his father's robes. "And may you be tucked up tightly."

Like all his children, his grandson was exceptionally fond of the silly little bedtime rhyme that he had made up for Fingon years ago, and insisted on hearing it every evening before bed. Apparently it was not the same if his Adar or Naneth said it instead.

"Goodnight." Ereinion half buried his face against his father's shoulder, and reached out an arm towards the far off floor. "Want Arassë."

Once the small soft toy fawn had been retrieved from the cave of cushions where it had decided to live that evening, the little family departed upstairs, Arassë hugged close to the warm little body.

Fingolfin returned to his book, wishing for a few moments that, for this evening at least, he could have the nuisance of putting a tiny elfling to bed before getting ready for dinner. He often took on the task when Fingon and his wife were indisposed, and it was somehow more satisfying than finishing a chapter or pondering a solitary game of chess.

"There we go now." Fingon tested the temperature of the bathwater, and added a splash of creamy liquid before mixing it up with his hand to create bubbles. "Are you ready for your bath."

Ereinion nodded happily, casting a regretful look up at Arassë before gathering the carved wooden animals that he played with in the bath. His Adar and Naneth would always hide Arassë up on the highest shelf at bath time, which was so unfair. He was sure that Arassë would just love bubble baths.

"Good." Fingon took the toys from his son, and dumped them in the tub before helping him wriggle out of a tiny tunic and leggings. Ereinion was now beginning to help with undressing himself, and while he could just about manage leggings and socks, it was not entirely helpful to have him playing cave monsters in the dark of his tunic as it was pulled over his head.

"Boo!" Father and son spoke at once as the child's face emerged from beneath the blue fabric, and Ereinion dissolved into giggles.

Smiling himself, Fingon unbuttoned the last of the garments, rolled up his sleeves, and gently lifted the child into the water. Luckily Ereinion's attention had been distracted from his favourite toy, for the one time that Arassë had managed to sneak into the bath, he had become far too wet for Ereinion to sleep with that night, and the little elfling had been inconsolable.

Keeping one eye on his son, Fingon fetched the glass jar of soft soap from the shelf by the window, and returned to the tub and the warmth of the fireside. The elfling was absorbed in his game, and by the time that he grew tired of making the horses chase through the drifts of bubbles, most of the boring task of washing was done, and Fingon was free to play with him.

"Close your mouth, and shut your eyes." The High Prince waited until Ereinion had screwed his face up before gently wiping it with a flannel. The elfling hated soap in his eyes - a horror that was only superseded by the stinging caused by the lotion used to clean his hair. Hair wash night was dreaded by all the family, for it was not pleasant to watch or listen to a small child sobbing into a damp flannel - even if he did cheer up when he was allowed to create horns and crests for himself out of his soapy hair.

"There, all done." Fingon rubbed his son's back, and wiped a small fluff of bubbles from a pink ear. "Good boy."

Ereinion opened his eyes a fraction, and peeped out dubiously. He had known his father to give him the all clear when there was still stinging, nasty tasting water dripping down his face.

"All done." Ereinion confirmed happily, and opened his eyes properly. His favourite bit of bath times was playing in the warm water, and when his Adar looked after him there was always a fun game to play. "Look, Adar! Clouds."

Fingon dodged the handful of foam that came flying towards him, and used a finger to daub some bubbles on the end of Ereinion's nose. "Aye, and that is the sun and the moon, and there is Beleriand."

The elfling giggled as his father gently touched each eyelid in turn, and ran a finger along the pink lips.

"I wonder what lives in here. . ." Fingon pondered, and raised his eyebrows questioningly at his son, a smile already lifting the corners of his mouth. "Shall we knock?"

Ereinion's eyes widened with excitement. "Yes, yes! Knock. Knock, Adar."

Fingon looked around slyly in each direction, as if to check that no one was watching, then tapped on finger lightly on Ereinion's mouth, whilst rapping sharply on the wood of the bathtub with his free hand.

The child's eyes widened at the noise, and he lifted one foam-covered hand to attempt knocking himself.

There was no noise, even when Ereinion began knocking rather harder than Fingon thought was wise, and eventually the elfling looked at his father, his lower lip starting to wobble. "Adaaar?"

Noticing the drawn out whinge of the final syllable, Fingon smiled reassuringly at his son. "Ah, but it does not work when you knock yourself."

Ereinion looked at him, his eyes wide in confusion and his face puzzled.

"See, for you already know that you are inside. You do not need to knock." Fingon bent his head forwards so that his son could reach him, not noticing the ends of his braids dangling in the water. "But perhaps if you knocked. . ."

The High Prince's sentence was abruptly cut off as a tiny fist, complete with a mouthful of foam, knocked lightly on his mouth.

"Adar?"

"Try again. Maybe you did not knock three times?" Fingon suggested.

This time there were three satisfying bangs as Ereinion knocked, far louder than his father had managed. Beaming, the elfling bounced excitedly in the bathtub, sending a large wave of water sloshing over onto his father's knees.

"Adar! I did. . ." Ereinion cried triumphantly, his cry cut off abruptly as a strange voice spoke quietly. It seemed to come from his father, only his Adar's lips were not moving at all.

"Who knocks on the door of the dark, dark cave? Who has disturbed my sleep?"

Ereinion's eyes grew to saucer shapes. Giving his Adar a doubtful look, Ereinion spoke in a timid little voice.

"Me. Ereinion."

"Is that a little boy I hear?" The voice asked gruffly. "A juicy, juicy little boy, with crunching munching bones?"

Ereinion squeaked, and reached out to take his father's hand. When he spoke, it was in a defiant little whisper.

"I am a big boy."

"Oh," the voice sounded disappointed, "Big boys are tough and chewy. I would not want to eat them."

Ereinion shook his head seriously, "Then you would not want to eat me, not at all."

"Pity," said the voice, "But do come in, my teeth are getting lonely."

Ereinion pressed his lips together, and looked up at his father, who squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Who. . . who is inside?"

"A dark and dangerous cave creature. . ."

Ereinion inhaled sharply, "Do you have big sharp teeth?"

"Oh yes," the voice seemed to shake slightly with amusement, "Big, big teeth. . ."

Ereinion swallowed nervously and clutched his father's hand more tightly. "Maybe, maybe. . . I do not think. . ."

"Raaaarrrghhh!" The cave burst open suddenly, and a giant set of teeth were bared at the elfling.

Ereinion shot backwards, sending another wave of water over his father's tunic, clutching Fingon's hand so tightly, the High Prince was sure that it would leave a mark. "Adar!"

On hearing the alarm in the high-pitched voice, Fingon turned back into Adar, plucked the little boy out of the now lukewarm water, wrapped him in a soft towel, and cuddled him closely.

"Shh. I have you." The High Prince held his son, feeling rather guilty, for the thin arms were shaking nervously. "It was only my tummy monster, it will not hurt you."

Ereinion nuzzled his wet face against his father's cheek. "It was scary. . ."

"There is nothing to be scared of," Fingon said gently, wondering how he would manage to explain to his wife that he was entirely to blame for their son's nightmares, "Everyone has a tummy monster. They are your friends."

"They are?" Feeling much better now that his Adar was back and holding him, Ereinion hooked his arms around his father's neck. His Adar knew everything and was so brave.

"Aye, and when your tummy rumbles, that is when they are speaking to you."

"Oh," Ereinion smiled slightly as his father set him down on the high stool and began drying between his toes, giving each one a slight wiggle. "What are they saying, Adar?"

"They are telling you that they are bored. . ." A soft brush was worked gently through his silky hair, "And that it would be a good idea to go and raid the kitchens, or ask Naneth again and again when dinner is."

"Oh." Ereinion smiled, and patted his stomach happily. "I like my tummy monster, Adar."

Fingon's eyes lit up with amusement. "Aye, they are very sensible. That is why we listen to them."

He pulled a soft sleep tunic made of creamy wool down over the child's head, and retrieved Arassë from his hiding place.

"Adar?" Ereinion prodded Arassë's stuffed body with curiosity. "Does Arassë have a tummy monster?"

"Well," Fingon began emptying the bathtub and mopping up the spills, whilst making sure that Ereinion did not manage to wriggle himself from his perch. He had only dropped the child once, and onto a mattress at that, but it had already become a favoured family joke and he had no intention of adding more fuel to the fire. "I am sure that he has a fluffy tummy monster, who is just as quiet as he is."

"Oh." Ereinion considered this, and kicked his legs in the air as he waited for his father to finish. "Arassë's tummy monster likes my tummy monster."

"Really?" Fingon opened the window to allow the steam to leave the room, and walked over to where Ereinion had Arassë pressed against his stomach. "Bed time."

The elfling held his arms out to be picked up, and when his father obliged, slumped against the larger body.

"Adar?" The excitements of a day spent feeding the ducks, helping Naneth match the colours for the quilt that she was making, crunching through the leaves at the side of the path, learning to jump from the wall into Adar's arms, and going with his Agi to visit the horses, had obviously taken its toll on Ereinion, and his voice was now definitely sleepy.

"Yes, Ereinion." Fingon carried the little one through to his bedchamber, reflecting rather ruefully that it would appear as if he had also had a dunking. He would have to change quickly if he was to be ready for dinner.

"You know that funny man in the stables. . ."

Fingon tried to keep his grin under control, "Aye, he had a very noisy tummy monster did he not? It must have been shouting out."

Ereinion nodded in satisfaction, and drooped against his father's shoulder. As they entered the bedroom, his Naneth came in and smiled at his Adar, and then pulled back his sheets and special blanket embroidered with stars.

Fingon gently placed the sleepy little bundle down, and drew the covers up tightly around him. It was a cold night, and he suspected that before long snow would be topping the distant hills. He carefully placed a spare pillow at the side of the bed to cushion the elfling's fall if he should roll out during the night, and bent to give his son a final cuddle.

"Goodnight, Ereinion." He kissed the child's cheek, enjoying the warm clean smell of the soap, and the slightly nutty scent of the bubble lotion.

"Kiss Arassë." Ereinion demanded sleepily, thrusting the toy under his father's nose.

Fingon obliged with an amazingly straight face, then tucked the fawn and Ereinion's arms back under the blankets. The child's lids had already drooped half-shut, and the grey eyes were becoming unfocused.

Bending his cheek to the child's face to allow the small lips to give him a goodnight kiss, Fingon got to his feet and began making for his bedroom. "Sleep well, ion nîn."

After the High Prince had left, his wife wandered over to the bed. Ereinion was valiantly battling sleep, clearly unwilling to pass into dreams until he had been cuddled by his Naneth, for the moment that he had kissed and been kissed, his little body went limp.

Smiling gently at her son, the elf brushed some dark strands of hair from his face and got to her feet, pausing to blow out the candle as she left.

The stars were out and the moon was high in the sky by the time Fingon next peeped into his son's room, checking that he was sleeping soundly before turning to bed himself.

By the dim light of his candle he could see his son sprawled on his back, his arms above his head, and hands curled into loose fists. His blankets had slipped from one leg leaving a bare foot exposed, and Fingon tucked the elfling back in before leaving the room as quietly as he had come.

"He is well?" Fingolfin's eyebrows rose in query as he passed his son in the corridor. He was well, of course, for Fingon was not carrying a sleepy bundle of blankets and elfling, but it was a habit as old and ingrained as his son's checking.

"Sound asleep." Fingon grinned at his father. "You quite tired him out."

Fingolfin smiled in satisfaction. His younger son had always loved horses and ponies, so on a whim he had taken Ereinion to the stables this afternoon to visit Rochallor. The smile on the elfling's face as he had rubbed the great horse between the eyes had put something of a golden sheen on the entire day.

"He enjoyed it."

"Aye, he did." Fingon's face lit up with laughter. "I am sure I shall hear yet more of the tale tomorrow. Thank you."

Once Ereinion had learnt to speak, there had not been much silence in the House of Fingolfin during his waking hours.

"He is welcome." Fingolfin said, and then, on some whim that he did not fully understand, leant forwards to touch his lips against his son's forehead. "Sleep well, ion nîn. May the stars shine brightly."

Fingon wrapped his arms around his father, and gave him a proper hug - one that made the troubles and worries of the day seem to vanish. "Goodnight, Atar, and may you be tucked up tightly."