It was not until they were standing damply in the storm-porch outside the backdoor that Ereinion released his hold on the shipwright's finger, and even that offered Cirdan little relief, for now he had a problem of an entirely different magnitude on his hands. Thatharien had greeted them at the door and seemed to have taken exception to methods of ensuring the boy's safety. He had scarcely had time for a greeting before the young prince had been bundled up into his housekeeper's arms and she had launched into a lengthy diatribe on care and kindness to elflings. Thatharien had a surprisingly penetrating and high-pitched voice when annoyed, and she spoke so quickly that the shipwright had little chance to defend himself.

Even Ereinion, despite the time he had devoted to him this afternoon, was rather unkindly not speaking up on his behalf. Perched on the housekeeper's hip and held safely under her arm, his eyes moved from face to face with an expression of sheer terror. Every so often, in a move that Cirdan was sure was designed only to further condemn him, he would quiver violently and cling desperately to Thatharien.

"He is soaked through and bitterly cold!" Thatharien hovered her finger in the air, jolting ever closer to the shipwright's chest with each criticism. "It is not yet springtime and you take him swimming!"

"The child needs. . ." Cirdan began, looking down at the criticising finger with an affronted expression and rather providently took a step backwards.

"The child needs warmth and comfort!" Thatharien's bony arms closed protectively around Ereinion's body. "He is shivering, Cirdan!"

"Perhaps he. . ." Cirdan peered down at the boy who stared back up at him with dark eyes like saucers. The child had been in the water for but a couple of hours, he could not be that cold. He had often spent hours on deck in howling winds and driving rain, and he had never once felt any desire to shiver.

"Perhaps?" Thatharien shifted the child to a more comfortable position and looked at the shipwright, one thin eyebrow raised enquiringly.

"Well. . ." Rather more daunted than he felt he should be at the elf's tone, Cirdan frowned and took another step back. His housekeeper barely reached halfway up his chest in height, and she wielded nothing more fearsome than her acerbic comments, yet at the present time he would much rather face an army of orcs than have to try and explain his actions to her. "He cannot be that cold. He was in the water for but a few hours. . ."

Thatharien's brows shot up angularly, and to prevent any possible misunderstanding, Cirdan added a little reluctantly. "Four hours at most. Perhaps five. . ."

"Five hours!" Thatharien's eyes widened and her face came increasingly grim and the pitch of her voice leapt up several octaves. "Five hours?"

Terrified by the loud voices and the housekeeper's obvious anger, Ereinion clung to the closest thing to him. He did not feel very safe being so close to someone who was so very annoyed, but she had picked him up and he did not feel like moving or wriggling to be put down. It was all his fault that they were being cross with each other, and if they noticed him then he would be shouted at and punished too. Everyone here was so much bigger than he was and all those who loved him were too far away to come and help and protect him it he needed them.

Shuddering violently, Ereinion squirmed to bury his face against Thatharien's body, trying to press his ears against her arm and gown so that he would not be able to hear the angry voices. Even Lord Cirdan's calm voice was becoming tinged with a warning tone. His Adar and Naneth had never shouted and screamed at each other like this, and although Adar had sometimes argued with Fingolfin, they had ended up laughing and hugging each other when they had finished. He did not think that Lord Cirdan was going to hug Thatharien. The housekeeper had been screeching ever since they had come in, and even though she was telling Cirdan off for making him cold and wet it did not make him feel any better. In fact he was beginning to feel as if he might be sick again.

"I. . ." Cirdan frowned deeply and thrust his hands deep in the pockets of his tunic. Despite the fact that he knew it was not anatomically possible to survive without drawing breath, Thatharien did not seem to have halted in her shrill protests in the past few minutes. While she had turned pink in the face, she apparently still had a great store of words still inside her for she had shown no sign of slowing or moderating her tone. Concerning though the gradual deepening of the colour of her face was, he was more worried about the boy. The child was now completely limp except for the frequent tremors that would shake his body, and he had gone rather pale. Grimacing a little he nudged his wrist towards Ereinion's huddled form and added gruffly. "You are frightening the little one."

Thatharien's vocal accusation was cut off abruptly as she looked down at the child, then she gathered him up to her chest with a long-suffering huff that left Cirdan in no doubt that this too was to be considered entirely of his doing. At least the boy had been standing by himself when he had brought him home. Now he was more floppy than anything.

"He needs to get warm and dry." Thatharien told him severely, glaring at him as she stroked and picked stray bits of seaweed from the child's hair with a gentleness that was far from in keeping with her tone and expression. "I shall take him to the kitchens."

Cirdan grunted noncommittally and waited for Thatharien to pass through the doorway before heading for his study to finish some documents that yet needed some work. The warmth from the fire would soon dry his damp clothing. He did not need to be mollycoddled in such a manner.

~*~

Ereinion shut his eyes tightly as he was carried through some unfamiliar passageways and through a squeaking door. They were not shouting anymore, but he did not want to look at anyone yet. The room they were in now was warm and smelt of herbs and roasting meat and he had been set down on a hard wooden chair - one too high for him to touch his toes against the bar even when he kicked.

"Ereinion."

Thatharien's voice was calm and soft and understanding again, and he thought that he could smell the soap on her clothes so she must be standing very close to him. She sounded sorry, as if she wanted to talk to him, but he did not want to open his eyes yet.

"Will you not open your eyes for me, little one?"

It was rude not to reply. Adar had always spoken to everyone who spoke to him, even when he was busy. But he did not want to. If he opened his eyes then he would be back in the kitchen in Lord Cirdan's house with someone that he did not know. It was quite nice here in the dark, and the water pooling in the toe of his left boot was not as cold as it had been before.

Eyes still tightly shut, Ereinion shook his head slightly and clenched his hands around the polished wood edges of the seat. It was a nice chair. Someone had shaped it carefully so that there were no corners to bang yourself on, and it dipped a little in the middle so that you did not slide off. There had been one quite like it in one of the rooms close to the kitchens at home. It had been very warm in there, for it was used to dry sheets and blankets during the winter, and when he had been too small to even remember things clearly he and Arassë had liked exploring in the caves and tunnels under the racks.

Sniffling a little, Ereinion lifted an arm to rub his palm against his cheek, only half-noticing that someone was tucking a thick dry towel around him and fashioning a floppy hood from its many folds. He missed Arassë. Arassë would be scared all alone in a strange place without him, and Arassë had never been very good at making new friends without Ereinion there to help him. He hoped that somewhere, someone was looking after Arassë.

Sometimes when he woke in the middle of the night and was scared, his grandfather would take him into the kitchens. He could remember waking up one night in the dark and being scared and alone. Adar and Naneth's door had been shut, and his grandfather's room had been empty, but when he had tiptoed downstairs he had seen a crack of light under the door of the study. It had been his grandfather's study then of course. He had hurried towards it rather too fast, for he had tripped on one of the steps and fallen quite a long way onto the floor of the great hallway.

He had been winded by the fall and had banged his head on one of the banisters, but before he had had time to cry he could remember the study door being flung open letting a great beam of light fall across the stone floor and then his grandfather running to his side. Fingolfin had picked him up and taken him into the study and shut the door so that if he cried he would not wake anyone else, but then he was feeling so much braver because his Agi was with him that he did not need to cry. Although he had sniffled a bit because it had hurt and he had scraped all the skin from one of his knees and another of his elbows.

Then they had gone into the kitchens and he had sat on the tall chair in the corner as he had watched his grandfather get cloths and ointments from the small chest on the high shelf. The ointment had stung a bit, but since he had been sucking on a whole lump of sugar he had not been able to cry about that either. Then when all his grazes had been clean and tidy again, Fingolfin had got two beakers of really cold milk - just the way that they liked it best - and they had gone back to the study and sat on the rug in front of the fire and had a picnic. His grandfather had told him a story about a time when he had once been a child, and how he and his brother had made a tree house high up in a great oak tree.

He felt almost as uncomfortable now as he had done then, and if he kept his eyes tightly shut he could imagine that the noises were not Thatharien moving around after all, but his grandfather fetching the big wooden beakers from the third shelf of the dresser and setting them down on the table. The clatter would be him tripping over one of the cats - his Agi had often forgotten that there were other things smaller than him below what his eyes could see - and Ereinion could almost hear the familiar voice muttering a short exclamation. That creak would be when he opened the door of the pantry and soon he would return with a pitcher of milk for them to share.

"It will be a wild night. There is a storm brewing." An unfamiliar voice with the same strange accent as Lord Cirdan and the soldiers spoke loudly, dragging Ereinion from his daydreams. He opened his eyes rather unwillingly and was disappointed to find that instead of his grandfather, the elf standing in front of him was tall and fair and smelt of horse. The kitchens were not like the ones back home at all. The herbs hanging from the beams were different and smelt strange, the water barrel was in the wrong place, the plates and cups were glazed a deep grey, and even the canisters standing on the shelves were made of glass and metal rather than pottery. The storeroom door was open and through it he could see more barrels, pots and crates than he had yet seen in his life. It seemed quite a long while since his snack now, and he felt as if he could manage to do some exploring and tasting in there if he was given the chance. Although he did not know how he could get down from the chair unnoticed. He was wrapped in an old battered towel, one so big that it was trailing almost to the floor, and it smelt of salt and the little shipbuilding store that they had gone into. The hem had come loose in one corner and he absently began pulling pale strands of cotton from the woven cloth.

"There." Thatharien bustled over, beaming at him, obviously delighted that he had decided to open his eyes. "Eithelin, have you met our guest? This is Ereinion, son of Fingon."

Ereinion briefly considered shutting his eyes again to avoid having to meet someone else new, then decided against it. He liked horses, and all the elves that worked in the stables at home had always been kind to him. In any case, Eithelin was looking at him now and was smiling.

"Well met." Ereinion quickly flashed his teeth at the strange elf then added with more interest. "Does Lord Cirdan have a lot of horses?"

Eithelin and Thatharien exchanged a quick look, and the stable-master chuckled a little and leant back against the table with a grin.

"Well met indeed, Prince Ereinion." The elf inclined his head in a gesture that made Ereinion feel a little embarrassed. It seemed silly for anybody to greet him as if he was important when he was so small. He had not minded being greeted so when his Adar and Naneth were holding his hands and his grandfather was leading the proceedings, but now when he was just Ereinion it sounded meaningless. "And aye, Lord Cirdan has many horses. Have you yet seen them?"

"No." Ereinion spoke quietly and shook his head to emphasize the fact. He wanted to see the horses, but he did not want to ask in case they said no and then he would know that he was not wanted.

"They are fine beasts." Eithelin said cheerfully, wondering at the child's sudden apparent disinterest. But a minute ago he had been sure that he would be forcefully propositioned with an offer of company on a trip to the stables, but now the boy seemed to be doing his best to avoid eye contact. "Do you ride?"

"Yes." Ereinion nodded and looked up at the elf with a hint of hopefulness. Perhaps he would be allowed to visit the horses sometimes. He missed his pony, Celeb, and he had always enjoyed balancing on the wooden bars of the gates of the stalls to greet his father and grandfather's horses. "But I left my pony at home."

"Ah." The strange elf nodded sagely and smiled reassuringly at the little boy. He had seen many of the horses that had arrived from Hithlum, and however fine a mount could be found for the son of the High King, he doubted that any pony would keep up with such beasts. "It will be missing you, I should not wonder."

Ereinion's face shadowed over and he nodded sadly. He missed Celeb too and the little pony would probably not understand why he had had to go away.

"And you miss him too." Eithelin added understandingly, regretting mentioning the pony so sad the expression on the child's face had become. "Maybe there will be a pony here that you may ride."

Ereinion looked up questioningly at him, dark eyes wide in curiosity. He had not thought that Lord Cirdan would have a pony that he could borrow, for neither his Adar nor grandfather had ever wished to ride Celeb, but then Ainon had said that the sea-elves had strange customs. Lord Cirdan would look silly on a little pony though, but he should not laugh.

"Tomorrow we shall go down into the stables so that all the horses may meet you, and then we shall find a pony for you to ride. There are some nice tracks along the cliffs where we could go. . ."

"If Lord Cirdan agrees." Thatharien broke in firmly, giving Eithelin a warning look. Ereinion had perked up at the mention of ponies, that was true, but she had no idea of whether he would be allowed to keep one for himself. The stable-master had taken to the idea with all his enthusiasm and Ereinion was now smiling and bobbing up and down on his chair with excitement. She did not wish to be the one to break the news that the plan had been forbidden, or that Cirdan considered that he could not spare even one pony from those that worked on the land.

"Aye. . ." The elf wrinkled his nose as he broke off his cheerful promises. Although he considered that one pony would not be missed, his lord seemed intent on stockpiling grain and seeds and sending them down the coast, and this occupied many hands. In any case he did not know whether any would be able to find some free hours to accompany the child on his explorations. It was unwise to ramble along the cliffs unless one knew of the dangerous overhangs and windy clefts. "But I am sure that before long, we shall find a pony for you."

Ereinion beamed at Eithelin even when, at Thatharien's look he added, "Even if only for a little while."

If he had a pony if he was very unhappy and he needed his Naneth and Adar very badly he could always ride back home. Lord Cirdan would be angry if he stole a horse, he was sure, but if he was back at home then nothing bad could happen to him. Adar had always been good at sorting things out when things happened that were too big for an elfling to solve.

"I shall ask Lord Cirdan."

Bolstered by the thought of a chance of escape and returning home, Ereinion leapt down from the chair. The shipwright would not say no, surely - not if Thatharien had no objection to the plan. He did not even have to ride away. Just the thought that he could go if he really needed to was more than enough.