Ereinion hurried along the corridor, eager to find Lord Cirdan and ask his permission to be allowed to ride a pony before he could forget or anyone could change their minds. No pony could ever be nice as Celeb of course, for his grandfather had chosen Celeb specially for him when he had been still a little child, but any horse would be better than none.

The sight of another cloak on the pegs by Cirdan's study door made him halt abruptly. It was not Lord Cirdan's cloak certainly, for it was too short, and had a brightly coloured lining under the thick grey wool. He did not think that Lord Cirdan was the kind of person to wear a cloak with a lining of a different colour.

Moving as silently as he could manage with his boots on, Ereinion crept up to the doorway and pressed his ear against to wooden panelling. It may have just been the cloak of the stable-master, but if Lord Cirdan had a guest then he did not wish to interrupt them. It would be rude to intrude without being invited, and Adar often spoke of things not meant for little ears when alone.

To Ereinion's disappointment, the owner of the cloak did seem to be in Cirdan's company, unless the shipwright was talking to himself in two different voices. They were discussing boring things like storms and storing grain, and Ereinion was just about to scuttle back to the kitchens when he heard his own name mentioned. Curious even though he knew that it was wrong to listen to other people's conversations, he lingered by the doorway, fiddling guiltily with the damp leather ties of his boots. They had been coming loose anyway.

~*~

"If he had been but any other age." Cirdan lamented, leaning back into his chair with a deep sigh. "But instead we have a ten-year-old nuisance, too old to be handed to a wet-nurse but to young to be useful."

"I am told that little elflings can be most endearing." His companion said sceptically. He was unfortunate enough to have to try an maintain an orchard close to a house in which had dwelt five such endearing little souls, and it was possible that this may have tainted his views.

"He is too young to be reasoned with even. But a foolish infant." The shipwright took a long draught from his tankard, before setting it down as he again prepared to speak. Unfortunately he was cut off by a small and very angry whirlwind charging through the door.

"I am not! I can be reasoned with!" A travel-worn boot stamped on the floor with enough force to cause the angry red face to screw up in pain. Taking a deep breath that shuddered with self-righteous rage, Ereinion turned to address the shipwright at the top of his voice. "I do reason with people. You just aren't reasoning right! You have to reason yourself round to my reasoning and you will not do it right!"

Cirdan was not yet familiar enough with children to recognise just how tired and close to tears the little prince was. Unfortunately he chose to catch his companion's eye halfway through the diatribe, and both elves burst into laughter. Ereinion paused, unsure of how to deal with this response, then marched round to halt stiffly before the chuckling shipwright.

"Stop! Stop laughing!" The first angry demands had no effect on the friends' mirth, causing a raise of voice for the further comments. "Stop. Or I shall kick you!"

The shouted threat caused the laughter to stop, and to Ereinion it seemed that for a moment the room was filled with silence. All of a sudden it seemed a terrible thing to say, and as the silence grew in length he couldn't help wondering what he was to do if they were to laugh again. The shipwright suddenly seemed an awful lot bigger, and while this afternoon he had been dismissed as old and weary, Ereinion couldn't help but notice how muscular he was and how large the rough, callused hands were. Swallowing hard at a lump that seemed to be growing in his throat, he suddenly wanted to be home very badly. He was not sure how much longer he could go without blinking to dispel the tears that were pooling in his eyes and he would not let them see him cry. He could not. In any case it would not do for the High Prince of the Noldor to cry.

Luckily this time Cirdan did recognise the brightness of the child's eyes for what it was. Sighing slightly he shifted in his chair to face the child, his mind working furiously to find a way of getting them out of this impossible situation without one or both of them ending up in tears.

"Now you could kick me." Cirdan spoke carefully, trying to avoid mentioning his assailant's diminutive size - something he guessed would offend the child. "But then I may have to punish you. For I do not allow kicking. Nor eavesdropping."

The grey eyes opened wide, and stared up at him silently for a minute. At first Cirdan thought with great satisfaction that he had managed to shame the child by mentioning his deceit, but as the child began to back away never once taking his eyes from his hands, he recognised the emotion in those eyes not as embarrassment but fear.

For a moment the shipwright was silent, effectively winded by the invisible tree trunk that seemed to have just made rapid and heavy contact with his stomach. The boy thought that he meant to hurt him. He had realised of course that every child in the Havens was more than a little afraid of his brisk attitude and blunt manner of speech, but it had never even crossed his mind that they would think that he would raise his hand to them.

Moving slowly to avoid further frightening the child, Cirdan knelt down beside the boy who was eyeing the door nervously, only later realising that in doing so he had cornered the child against the desk. The small legging- clad knees immediately began knocking together as the child's entire body began to tremble, although to Cirdan's evident relief after an awkward minute the boy took a shuddering breath and managed to pull himself together, bringing his chin up in a gesture that was both arrogant and defiant. For all the world as if he already were a King ready to face death for his people, Cirdan thought wryly.

"In this house, Ereinion, we do not get our apologies through threats or violence." The shipwright said, glad that with Ereinion at his full height and him kneeling, they could see eye to eye. "Do you understand?"

"Why yes, Lord Cirdan." The child's voice sounded unnaturally high and breathless as he rushed through his words. "I am most sorry for eavesdropping and kicking."

Cirdan sat back and rested on his hands, observing his charge with an exasperated half-smile, wondering how one so small could at once look both so terrified and defiant. He almost wanted to embrace the child, except that Cirdan never embraced small children and in any case he did not think the child's nerves would stand to such an attack as yet.

"Cirdan. For I have no desire to call you by your titles and so it would not be fair to lumber you with mine." He thought he detected a hint of a smile at that. Maybe the thought of being treated as an equal appealed to the boy. Warmed at the thought, the shipwright continued. "And I promise that I shall never hurt you."

"On your honour?" Cirdan was relieved that the pitch was now more suitable for a young boy.

"On my honour." Cirdan promised solemnly and watched as the child's entire body relaxed, although the distrustful look remained.

"In that case, I also promise not to hurt you." The child informed him with a trace of his former cockiness.

"I am grateful." Cirdan made a conscious effort to avoid his friend's eye as he returned to his seat. He had managed to make his tone so meek it would be a pity to spoil it now by laughing.

~*~

Much to Cirdan's dismay, before long his visitor left, leaving him along with the awkward task of occupying an upset, over-tired and very annoyed elfling. Not that he blamed his companion, for the young prince had decided to sit on the window seat and glare balefully at the newcomer with an expression of utter hatred. Left alone the pair had sat in unrelenting silence for a while, Ereinion sitting stiffly on the window seat watching the darkening sky, and Cirdan working determinedly on some letters that he had been carefully ignoring for the past few months. Dreary though the task was, if was far easier to find suitable words for even his least welcome correspondents than think of something to speak to the child about.

Eventually Thatharien knocked on the door and with a cheerful smile, and informed the pair that supper was served and ready for them. She had hoped that the prince and the shipwright would appear a little better acquainted after their time together, but unfortunately the atmosphere in the study seemed far from congenial. Indeed it even appeared as if the Lord of the Havens was replying to a note to one of the Sons of Fëanor that she had careful dusted around for the previous five months.

My thanks," Cirdan let out a great sigh of relief and got to his feet, glad of an excuse - any excuse - to avoid having to spend any moment longer in the strained silence. Smiling quickly at his housekeeper, he then turned to Ereinion and waved him towards the door with a quick flick of his hand, adding briskly, "Come along."

Biting his lip slightly and his eyes wide with anxiety, Ereinion scampered along behind the shipwright, trying to keep up with his long strides. He thought that he had been this way before, but he was not quite sure, and the things that caught his attention were still so new and interesting. There were pictures of sand dunes and some pretty shells arranged on a desk. The rugs were woven with wavy lines, just like the shape of the sea as it brushed against the sand. Through an open doorway he could see a big room with a huge round table and padded chairs.

"In here, Ereinion." Cirdan stopped at the doorway and turned sharply round to watch the elfling gazing dreamily round at his surroundings. The council hall seemed to have grasped his attention at the present time, and with a thought to preventing future misunderstanding, Cirdan added, "That is my council hall. You may not go in there."

Ereinion looked at him for a moment with wide eyes, then nodded quickly and hurried to stand at his host's heels.

Cirdan grunted in satisfaction and led the way into the dining room. It was a large room - it could easily have seated six or seven in addition to the shipwright - and was dominated by a polished table made from dark wood and several cupboards filled with silver and glassware. There was no tablecloth, but two plates and a number of dishes were arranged at one end of the table. Cirdan strode to the big chair with arms at the head of the table, and gave the chair to his left side a little nudge. Smiling a little, Ereinion hurried over. He always sat on his Adar's left side at home.

"Lord Cirdan?" Ereinion ventured, hovering close to his chair, unsure about how to proceed.

"Cirdan." Cirdan said firmly.

"Should I not wash my hands, Cirdan?" Ereinion looked at him in puzzlement. His nanny had always made him wash his hands before meals, and usually his face too. She had always said that dirty elflings that did not wash their hands before eating would get ill and be sick.

Cirdan paused and looked at him with an expression that seemed more suitable for a query as to whether he should eat from a trough than a simple manner of cleanliness. Finally Cirdan looked Ereinion up and down and spoke with elaborate patience. "Are your hands dirty, child?"

Ereinion glared at him and then turned to carefully examine his hands. Cirdan had spoken to him as if he was a small and stupid baby rather than a High Prince of very nearly eleven. "They are not dirty, Cirdan, but. . ."

"Then you need not wash them, Ereinion." Cirdan said sharply, taking his seat and serving himself a large portion of vegetable soup. "And do sit down, child! The food is growing cold."

Stung at this undeserved reprimand, Ereinion clambered onto his chair, glad that at least Thatharien had remembered that elflings needed cushions if they were to see over the tabletop. He would not wash his hands in future. Or his face. Especially not on cold mornings. And if anyone minded he would blame Cirdan. It would serve the grumpy old shipwright right if someone scolded him.

~*~

The meal proceeded in silence save for the chink of metal on china and the occasional irritated request to pass the pepper. The shipwright was evidently not used to having to wait or reach for anything, especially not anything removed by a sulky elfling for the sole purpose of disguising a spoonful of turnip too large to fit under even the most artfully arranged knife. Ignored and unwanted, Ereinion picked at his fish, trying to get some tasty morsels out without getting a mouthful of bones - something he seemed much less good at than the shipwright, tried to disguise his turnip and poked suspiciously at something pale and soft that smelt a little of cheese. He did not usually mind trying new things at home, especially if his Naneth and Adar seemed to be enjoying them, but Cirdan seemed to be enjoying this, and Cirdan was the kind of elf that liked turnip. Ereinion was not sure that he entirely trusted anyone who liked turnip.

"More. . ." Cirdan spoke with his mouth full, glanced briefly at Ereinion's plate and on seeing it full served himself the last fried fish.

Bitterly disappointed, Ereinion scowled as he watched the shipwright slit open the fish and somehow managed to get all the bones out in one go. It was not fair! He was hungry because the fish was the only thing that he liked, but he could not eat fast enough to finish in time to get seconds. He had only managed to get a few fragments to eat from his own fish - the difficult task made near impossible by the heavy and unwieldy cutlery.

"I do not like you!" The child spoke at last with surprising vehemence, digging his fork viciously into his untouched mound of potato while he watched Cirdan. Grey eyes bright with defiance, pride and a hint of apprehension, he waited to see what the shipwright would do next.

Cirdan looked up looking, to Ereinion's disappointment, not particularly interested and finished his forkful of fish without haste.

"And nor I you." The shipwright spoke calmly, meeting the challenging eyes briefly before returning his attentions to his plate where he was sculpting a carrot into a possible new design for a load-bearing beam. If he could only move the notch a little to the left. . .

A very small and unwilling sniff disturbed him, and it was with some annoyance that he tore his mind away from his vegetables to turn once again to the newcomer. The young prince was now sitting perfectly upright, his chin stuck out at a ferocious angle, and his cheeks flushed angrily. Flickering light from the hanging lantern highlighted tears at the edges of dark and troubled eyes. Tears that he could not or would not shed.

"Of course," Cirdan added hesitantly, "I do not yet know you. When we have got to know each other, I am sure that I will like you very much."

The rigid and rather bony shoulders relaxed slightly and the boy peeped out of the corner of his eyes for a few seconds before allowing Cirdan an incredibly tiny smile.

"Yes. I think that I might like you very much too."