The Houses of Healing were a number of sturdy buildings set around a courtyard in the middle of the city, not far from the harbour. They were built in the same yellow stone as the rest of the city, but here and there a block of a more pinkish shade was set amongst the stonework. There were many panelled windows with weathered wooden shutters, a number of turrets and a bell tower, and beyond a thick wall promise of a garden with trees and flowers. Círdan led Ereinion to a set of heavy wooden doors and stopped suddenly, shaking his fingers free from the child’s hot little hand.

“I shall return.” Círdan inclined his head towards the doorway and looked meaningfully at Ereinion. “They are expecting you.”

Ereinion grabbed hold of a handful of the Shipwright’s leggings and shot him a meaningful look of his own. The doors looked friendly enough, made of a golden coloured wood with ornate iron supports holding every beam in place, but Círdan could not mean him to go in there alone.

“I must go to the shipyards.” Círdan attempted to prise small fingers from the grey cloth. It reminded him rather uncomfortably of pulling limpets from the rocks. The boy had started to shiver, and telling himself that it was from cold, he gave Ereinion a little shove towards the door. “I shall return.”

“On my own?” Ereinion queried in a hollow voice, dark eyes huge in his pale face. He wanted to grab hold of Círdan’s hand again but something told him that this would only serve to annoy the Shipwright.

“I shall return.” Círdan repeated firmly, pushing open the heavy doors with one arm, allowing the prince to pass through underneath. Anybody would think that the child thought he was being needlessly cruel and heartless.

With a last desperate look backwards, Ereinion shuffled miserably through the doorway, trying not to listen as the door swung to with a heavy thunk. He was trapped here now, the great doors being far too heavy for him to move on his own. With nowhere else to go, he tiptoed through the echoing marble dome of the entrance chamber and pushed feebly at the doors at the far end, wishing that they too would be too heavy for him to manage.

They were not. Someone had oiled them recently and they swung open easily and without a squeak, leading into a wide hallway with spiral stairs at the far end and many rooms leading from it.

Many of the doorways stood open and Ereinion could see soldiers gathering leather packs in one room, and maidens washing sheets and blankets in another. One dark-haired soldier had gone into the laundry room by mistake, but when a pretty maiden came to tell him of his mistake he took hold of her and kissed her as Adar had kissed Naneth. Intrigued, Ereinion stopped in the middle of the hallway and did not take his eyes from them until the soldier looked down and saw him. Flushing deeply, Ereinion hurried onwards, missing the wink that was sent his way. He knew that he should not have stared so - that had been rude. He did not suppose that Círdan would understand about being interested in people kissing. The Shipwright did not seem to be a kissing sort of person. He had even grown that scratchy beard to scare people away.

It was quiet in the hallway, but a busy sort of quiet with clinks and rustles in the background. A tall elf in white healers’ robes came swiftly out of a door on the left and hurried out of sight with a smooth urgency. There was a low moan audible from the inside the room, and stepping to one side, Ereinion had a quick glimpse of a bandaged elf lying on a high table before the crack in the door became too narrow for him to see through. There had been three anxious looking young soldiers standing alongside their comrade, covered in a bright red wetness that he did not want to think about.

“Suiliad,” there was a soft rustle behind him and Ereinion turned around to find a young elf-maiden standing behind him. She was carrying a tray with scissors and knives and other sharp shiny things, and although Ereinion was sure that Círdan had spoken the truth when he had said that he would never let anyone hurt him, he was not quite as sure as he had been just a minute ago. “Are you lost, little one?”

Ereinion stared at her a moment, then shook his head. It felt so funny, but it was almost as if she did not know who he was.

“Have you lost your Naneth?”

Ereinion frowned a little. He did not think he had lost anybody. It was mid-morning now and his Naneth would be taking his Adar a drink and they would sit and talk a little while before both returned to their duties. Sometimes, if he had finished his lessons early, he would join them and Naneth would bring some of the special spicy biscuits that she knew he liked best.

“No,” Ereinion said quietly, shaking his head, “Nana and Adar are at home.”

“Are you here all alone?” the young maiden looked worried now, and was peering around as if hoping that someone more superior would materialise from the woodwork. “Wait here.”

She disappeared for a moment, leaving Ereinion even more alone than before, and returned a moment later without the tray. There was a crease in the white linen of her pinafore and the cuffs of her blouse were embroidered with flowers. Her hair was braided back, but here and there a golden curl had escaped.

“Little one!”

Ereinion looked up sharply and noticed that she was holding out her hand to him. He reached up awkwardly to join hands with her and allowed himself to be led along the corridor. “Círdan said that he would come back for me.”

“Lord Círdan will come for you?” The maiden sounded both surprised and intrigued now. “You are staying with him?”

Ereinion nodded, looking around worriedly as they passed through doors and crossed hallways. He was not sure if he could remember the way back any more. If Círdan could not find him when he returned, Ereinion was not too sure that the Shipwright would bother to search. Just yesterday he had wanted to leave him with a strange family.

“Now, why do you not sit here.” The maiden led him into a small square room with wide wooden benches running around the walls.

There were carvings in the backs of the benches, curls and whorls curving in fine grooves through the wood. His fingers were just small enough to fit in the biggest grooves so he knelt down on the bench and trailed his fingers along them. They spelt out words, some of the curves, but he did not understand them.

Ereinion did not see the other elf until he bumped into him, in the middle of a flowing word of no meaning.

“Be careful, little one.” A warm hand came down onto his shoulder, holding him as securely as his grandfather had once done. “Look first, and you will be wiser.”

The elf’s voice was kind, and Ereinion turned towards him with a smile, but instead of the fair face that he had been expecting this elf’s expression was twisted by a ragged purple scar running from his chin to his hairline.

“I am sorry.” Ereinion gasped, shuffling away from him whilst stealing another horrified glance. “I am sorry.”

They did not speak again.

---

The shipyards were busy and noisy even at this time of the morning. Elves in rough grey tunics passed between piles of uncut wood and the skeletal frames of half-built ships, carrying satchels filled with nails or buckets of paint. Timber was sawn, planed and sanded into shape and yards of pale sailcloth were cut and trimmed. Amidst the knocking of hammers and the rasping of saws there were the sound of hundreds of elven voices talking, laughing or raised in song. Nearly every elf in the Havens was involved with the shipyards in some way or means, and together with the harbour they were the centre of working life in the city.

But Cirdan did not find the hustle and bustle of the scene a distraction – for him the shipyards held a sense of peacefulness brought about by familiarity. The long trestle table at which he worked was the same as it had been the day before, and that too was strangely comforting. The Shipwright took his customary seat at the head of the table, relieved that he could forget about the new weight on his shoulders for the hour.

But the Lord of the Havens could not settle today.

There was a nagging guilt in the back of his mind that would not be quietened. Perhaps he should not have sent the child in alone when there had been such obvious fear in his eyes. It would have taken but a moment to accompany him in. And although it would set a dangerous precedent for future excursions, in retrospect his actions had seemed simply unkind.

Giving into his conscience at long last, Círdan set down his tools without putting them to use and attempted to leave the shipyards as unobtrusively as possible. It was not in his heart to wish his kindness noticed.

---

“Mae Govannen,” a tall, good-looking elf strode into the little room and spoke briefly to the elf with the long scar before crouching down on the floor next to Ereinion, “But I do not think that I know your name, little one.”

Ereinion surveyed him seriously for a moment, pursing his lips together as he thought. The healer looked important, and although he was dressed in a loose pale tunic and leggings, the cuffs of his shirt and the ties in his hair were very finely embroidered.

“I do not know your name either,” Ereinion glanced sideways at the healer and frowned when he smiled.

“My name is Huiluin. I am a healer here.” The elf held out a hand to Ereinion and after a moment’s thought Ereinion took it. It made sense that Círdan’s friend would be an important elf. “Would you like to come with me?”

Ereinion slipped off the seat, holding the strange elf’s hand tightly. If felt warm and soft and safe, so he clutched his other hand around Huiluin’s thumb too.

They walked slowly through a small passageway into a light and airy room with a table and a set of shelves polished a warm honey colour. One of the doors of the cupboards had been left open revealing trays of gleaming needles and knives.

“Ereinion. I am Ereinion.” Ereinion said hurriedly. He did not want any mistakes being made, especially if there were going to be needles involved. “Círdan said that you would see that I was healthy.”

“Oh?” Huiluin’s pale brows rose for a moment, then he smiled again, placidly enough.

“I do not like needles.” Ereinion clarified, clenching his fists a little more tightly around Huiluin’s hand.

Not long after his seventh begetting day, his Adar had left his sword lying in the hallway. He had been so proud at being able to lift it that he had forgotten how very heavy it was, and when it had fallen he had learnt again how very sharp it was.

“Ah,” Huiluin bent down and before Ereinion could step back or squirm, lifted him up onto a high stone table. “I see no reason for you to meet any today.”

But his friendly tone was wasted on Ereinion who had stiffened on touch and was now scowling ferociously. If there was one thing that the young prince disliked more than being a very small person in a very big place, it was being lifted about by people without them even waiting to see if he was going to hold onto them or shrink back. Even Círdan seemed to hesitate on making hold, giving him time to get used to the idea of being picked up by someone who might drop him. Huiluin seemed to think he had no more feeling than the bundle of blankets that he had just moved from a chair.

“This will not take long,” Huiluin said reassuringly, running his fingers through the elfling’s silky hair, noting a few bruises that were not healing as they ought.

“What are you doing?” Ereinion asked crossly, reaching out a hand to push the older elf away.

“I am checking for lice.” Huiluin said succinctly, ignoring the small fingers until such time as he caught the plaintive hand and started examining the child’s fingernails. “I shall cut your fingernails for you.”

It was obvious that nobody had seen to the child’s needs for quite some time, and in any case it seemed a wise precaution given the child’s temperament. He could not imagine the Lord of the Havens sparing a moment to trim a child’s hair or cut small toenails. Someone would have to have a word with Thatharien if the child was to regain his good health.

“No.” Ereinion said loudly, not daring to jerk his arm away with Huilinn hovering with the scissors so close by. He knew that his fingernails did need a cut, but he did not want this elf to do it – especially if he thought that he might have lice.

“It will not hurt you.” Huiluin sounded very patient and he reached for the child’s other hand with great gentleness considering that he was a very large elf. No elfling found such examinations pleasant and he always did his best to ensure that they proceeded quickly.

“They are mine.” Ereinion said, watching the last pale crescent of fingernail being trimmed from his little finger. “You are spoiling them.”

Huiluin did not reply, merely patting the child’s bony knees and taking advantage of the child’s glare to examine his eyes without the complications of blinking.

“How do you feel, Ereinion?” A large hand turned the child’s head this way and that as the healer observed ears and nose. “Do you have aches? Pains?”

“No.”

Both knew it was a lie, they could tell from each other’s eyes, but the moment passed before Ereinion could amend himself.

“Now, I must check your mouth.” Huiluin tapped one finger lightly on the boy’s chin. “Open wide.”

For a brief moment, Ereinion entertained thoughts of refusing, but imagined the Shipwright’s reaction if he heard of such behaviour and obediently bared his teeth at the healer.

“Good,” Huiluin washed his hands in a bitter tasting soap then carefully bent down to gaze inside the elfling’s mouth. All teeth were sound and present, although all were still the milk teeth of babyhood, and his tongue was pink and healthy. There were several pale ulcers on the inside of his cheeks however, and the child shied away when he touched them. He looked seriously at the elfling, willing him to co-operate. “These must be hurting you.”

Ereinion stared at him, eyes beading with tears and finally said very quietly, “Naneth would have stopped them.”

Huiluin nodded and prodded again, this time a little harder and suddenly Ereinion did not want any strange fingers in his mouth any more. Things like this had never happened when he had gone to the healers with his Naneth. He tried to pull back but Huiluin merely held a hand against the back of his head, trapping him, whilst murmuring soothingly about checking his gums.

“I know little one, I know.” Huiluin squinted into the darkness as he ran his fingers over a bleeding patch. “It will not be long now.”

Doing his best not to whimper, Ereinion squirmed in his place. His leggings had got all bunched up and knotted underneath him and he felt all hot as if he was about to cry and his mouth was dry. All he could see was the smooth golden braids that kept the healer’s hair from his face and the thoughtful furrows in the older elf’s brow. Something might be really wrong with him and he did not want to be ill without having his Naneth or Adar with him.

Even the thought of being sick in a strange house made him feel like curling up somewhere dark, and if he made a mess on the bedcovers then Círdan was sure to be furious.

Slowly becoming aware that he was crying, Ereinion attempted once again to pull free of the healer’s grasp, but finding this impossible settled for the last option available to him and sank his teeth into Huiluin’s finger.

The healer leapt backwards hissing a word that Ereinion providently assumed came from the tongue of the Falathrim. Whilst the child’s teeth had not punctured the skin, the marks they had left were white in the reddening flesh and the pain was quite enough to convince Huiluin that the task should be concluded later – preferably with the child’s guardian present.

Now in very real trouble, Ereinion put his head back and howled, half in real misery and half in the hope that anybody coming into the room would take his side without bothering to find out what had happened. He was considerably louder than Huiluin, and he was crying.

“Do you require assistance?” A knock having gone unheard and unanswered, someone pushed open the door and both elves turned to find a young elf leaning against the doorpost. He was yet young – probably still in his apprenticeship years and yet to come of age – and his wispy hair had a reddish tinge. He was a rather pale and thin elf, and his clothing was far simpler than Huiluin’s. The edge of his grey tunic was fraying and he was fiddling with a loose thread as he watched them.

“Perhaps you could finish the examination.” Huiluin said tersely and added with dark significance, “He is Círdan’s ward.”

“Ah,” unfazed by this information the young elf strolled over to the young prince and looked down upon him with interest. “So you must be Ereinion?”

Disconcerted that this strange elf seemed closer to grinning than being appalled at his distress, Ereinion reduced his bawling to sniffles and nodded.

He watched quietly as Huiluin discussed something with the newcomer – something about his gums – and then as the young elf approached once more held out his arms to be picked up. He did not want to be sent to find anywhere in these strange halls alone.

“Up you get.” This elf did know how to pick someone up, and held him nice and tight when he snuggled closer as they passed Huiluin. It was only as they walked slowly up a flight of stairs that the young healer looked down at him, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. “So, how old are you now, Ereinion?”

“Nearly eleven.” Ereinion said defensively. He knew that he should not have behaved as he had but there was no need for this elf to scold him for it. His Adar called elves like him waifs and refused to allow them to serve under him saying that they were too young to face death.

But to his surprise there was no reprimand coming. The elf’s grey eyes sparkled brightly and he laughed loudly and freely as they hurried along a narrow corridor to one of the turret rooms.

Círdan would not have taken to this turn of events kindly.