Title: Concerning Tales

Author: Eärillë

Rating: G

Warning: First Draft

Summary:
Valandil wanted to know, and Erestor wanted to forget. Could they reach a good bargain for the two of them?

Genres: Childhood, Ficlet, General, Vignette

Place and Timeline: Rivendell, SA 3430

Characters: Erestor, Valandil

Words (in MS Word): 300

Point of View: Third Person Limited, Past Tense

Challenge: Day 10: Gondolin:
Start a story or poem with Charles Dickens' famous opening line from A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." (If you're creating a piece of artwork for this challenge, use this line as your theme or title.)

Reference:
SA 3430: The Last Alliance is formed. (J. R. R. Tolkien., The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King; the Appendices: Tales of Years.)

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“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times…”

“And you are both the best and the worst story-teller I know.”

Valandil pouted. Erestor lifted his eyebrows, amused by the vexation of the Secondborn youth, who was now bouncing impatiently on the garden bench beside him. The two of them were enjoying a morning free of duties in one of Imladris’ numerous gardens, and Erestor had been roped into story-telling for Isildur’s young son.

“Where should I begin, then?” he teased. – The longer the boy was distracted, the lighter his mood, it seemed. If it was what needed to be done in order to distract him from his father’s grave councils with Ereinion and Elrond, Erestor would willingly do it.

“From the beginning, of course!” Valandil exclaimed exasperatedly, as expected.

Erestor let a small smile dance briefly on his lips. “You were demanding more than three hundred years worth of story, child. Are you sure you would like to spend all your life listening to my prattle?”

Valandil directed a glare worthy of a proud Númenorian king at him. This time, Erestor made sure that the youth plainly caught his teasing smirk, before he rose from his seat and ambled towards the way out of the garden.

Valandil chased him, crying out indignantly. And Erestor’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin, as he increased his speed and purposefully led the bundle of energy away from the Last Homely House. The day was too warm and bright for a solemn retelling of the foolishness of Elven-kings and the ruin of the First Age of the Sun. It could wait for another time, when he might finally lose his last excuse to avoid from telling it to the boy. (Then again, Ereinion could always tell it in his place…)