It was raining outside. The howling wind brought great sheets of water crashing against the windows and tugged and pulled at the bent and gnarled trees that sheltered the western side of the house. Inside though, it was warm and cosy, especially in the small room where Ereinion was now seated.

Much as Ereinion hated to admit it, he liked Lord Cirdan's sitting room very much indeed. Far more than he liked the shipwright, in fact. It was very warm and had lots of colourful rugs on the floor. There was a wide window seat running around the room, a number of tall bookcases, a few chairs scattered with soft cushions and a large fireplace dominating one wall. He felt safe in here, and it reminded him a little of home.

It had only taken him a few minutes to gather an armful of cushions and create a little nest for himself in one corner of the window seat, and he was sitting there now, staring out into the storm and pretending that he was not interested into whatever Cirdan had gone to fetch.

A thin trail of water was running from a hinge of the paned glass, trickling down to a pool on the window ledge. He had dabbled his fingers in the cold puddle and traced his name on the pale stone of the window ledge before becoming afraid that Cirdan would notice and would mind. He had wiped out his name now, and was racing drops of water as they hurried down the windowpanes. Sometimes a soggy dead leaf would come flying through the storm and stick to the window for a little while before being washed away by the rainstorm, and sometimes he could see the branches of the pine tree catch the light from an upstairs window as they were whipped this way and that in the gale. It was not boring, even if it was lonely, and he was still trying to imagine names for the shadow shapes in the shrubbery when Cirdan strode back into the room.

Frowning slightly, Cirdan paused with his woodwork box in hand and looked hard at Ereinion. In feasts and celebrations those elves with families usually managed to dispose of the smaller and messier guests by this time in the evening. Indeed he had rarely, if ever, seen a child at a formal dinner. Rather cunningly their parents must have developed a method of disposing of them before anyone wished to move onto more serious topics of conversation.

"Ereinion," Cirdan looked sternly at his guest, "Should you not be in bed?"

"No. . ." Ereinion spoke instinctively then paused. He was tired enough for it to be his bedtime, but it was warm and safe down here, and he did not even know where he was to sleep or if there would be anyone nearby. He licked his lips nervously and glanced up at the ornately carved wooden and brass clock that stood on the shelf above the fire. The golden and amber inlays of the sun had curved far below the level, and the tiny silver and mithril stars were visible above the notches that indicated the hours of dawn and dusk. Back at home he had been allowed to stay up for two hours after his supper before having to retire for his bath. Since he had been sent away to a place where he did not know anyone and nobody liked him, perhaps it would be all right to stay up a little longer. Just to make it fair. Maybe his father had meant him to. "Adar said that I was to stay up two hours after dinner."

It was a lie, however much Ereinion tried to reason himself into thinking that his supper and formal meals were very almost the same thing, and he flushed a violent shade of pink. It seemed even worse to lie with his Adar's name, so Ereinion quickly amended himself. "I am to stay up for two hours, Lord Cirdan."

Cirdan grunted and nodded slightly at Ereinion as he set down the box and began unpacking saws, knifes and drills in tiny sizes. Fingon had always been fond of dining and dancing late into the night, and it seemed that his small son had been brought up in a similar manner. While the prospect of having to share his peaceful evenings with the prince did not endear him in Cirdan's mind, it would be hoped that the boy also shared the High King's fondness for slumbering late in the mornings. He did not think that he could endure a guest similar to the running and squealing children that so often disturbed the silence of his early morning swims.

Rather surprised at the shipwright's easy acceptance of this untruth, Ereinion walked quietly and precisely over to the part of the window seat furthest from the fire in the hope that the cooler temperatures would ease his burning cheeks. He turned his back on the shipwright to scramble up onto the seat and when he turned back to the high-backed bench opposite him, Cirdan was frowning down at a small block of wood as he turned it in his hands. He had clearly already forgotten that his young guest even existed.

~*~

Ereinion watched Cirdan from a distance, entranced by the way a small figurehead in the shape of a swan had been formed, but too proud to ask to have a closer look. It was lonely sitting here by himself, watching the shipwright in silence. He felt tired and alone, and although he did not want to admit it even to himself, would much rather have been warm and cosy tucked up under his quilt. Back at home his Adar or grandfather would often take it in turns to come in before going down to dinner, and they would read to him or tell him tales of life in Aman or their childhoods. The formal gowns that they wore for the evenings were made of deeply coloured silk and velvet, and they were gloriously warm and soft to snuggle into. Being cuddled always made him feel safe and sleepy.

Still watching Cirdan intently Ereinion slithered along the windowseat, using his hands to propel himself along the polished wood until he was sitting next to the bookcase. There were no interesting books here either, at least as far as he could see - which was not very high. Just volume upon volume of history of the Havens. Not something that anyone would want to read. They did not even have any thicker pages for pictures.

He sat alone on the edge of the bench awhile, watching as the shipwright neatly set out some tools and bits of wood on the bench beside him. Then, when the sea-elf bent his head to seek out a particular tin of tiny nails, Ereinion slipped from the bench and padded silently over to the next bench and scrambled up onto the seat to slither further around the room.

~*~

Cirdan carefully adjusted the fastening of the figurehead, balancing the ship between two fingers to ensure that it would float level. Making model ships had been a hobby of his for many hundreds of years, something that he had begun after despairing of the quality of the toys that the children played with on the shore. At first he had been satisfied with creating small ships in perfect working order, but soon he had begun experimenting with new designs or making decorative ships for special occasions. Nodding in satisfaction, Cirdan set the ship back down in his lap and reached for a knife to carve the final details to the swan's eyes and beak.

"Can I see?" A plaintive voice from his right side caused the shipwright to turn around with an exclamation of surprise. He had completely forgotten the presence of his guest, and to find that the elfling was now perched inches from his elbow was more than a little disconcerting.

"Please, Lord Cirdan." Ereinion added hastily, somewhat taken aback by the shipwright's reaction to his request.

"Cirdan." Cirdan reminded him brusquely.

"Can I see then?" Ereinion squirmed onto his knees and leant closer to the shipwright. "Why were you balancing it? What are you doing now?"

Cirdan shuffled a few inches further down the seat and spoke gruffly. "I am using a sharp knife, Ereinion."

"Oh." Ereinion watched as Cirdan settled the ship into his left hand and made a few strokes with the blade. "What is that bit for?"

Fortunately Cirdan was able to stop the knife just before it took a slice from two small pink fingers. "Do not do that, Ereinion!"

Flinching at the shipwright's bellow, Ereinion scooted back across the seat, his eyes wide in fear.

"You must be careful when I am using knifes," Cirdan explained, feeling a little guilty at how seriously the elfling took his reprimands. "I slice off fingers or toes as easily as I carve wood."

Ereinion's eyes became even wider, but he inched back to his original position where he could see what the shipwright was doing more closely although he did not attempt to touch the ship again.

Grunting a vague expression of satisfaction, Cirdan resumed his craftwork, explaining what he was doing slowly and carefully as he worked. Ereinion watched intently, at first sitting as stiffly as he could in order to avoid an accidental wrongdoing, but then as the evening wore on and the room got warmer and cosier he let his head droop closer and closer to the shipwright's arm.

The moment the boy's cheek touched against his shirt-sleeve, Cirdan started violently, his knife jumping so quickly that he nearly sliced his own fingers off. Glaring down at the small dark head that was leaning against his arm, the shipwright awkwardly shuffled a little further down the seat - just far enough for it no longer to be comfortable for Ereinion to rest his head in such a manner. Displeasing though the thought of a self-important young elven prince had been, it held no comparison to a sleepy child in search of a substitute for its mother. Shuddering at the thought, Cirdan ignored the bewildered look that Ereinion gave him and resumed carving with a vengeance.

A little confused, Ereinion stared at Cirdan for a moment, wondering if the sea-elf was so stupid that he did not know how to cuddle elflings any more than he knew how to hold hands. Certainly the shipwright was not the cuddliest elf that he had ever seen, especially with all his nasty prickly hedgehoggy bits, bit surely everyone knew how to cuddle someone. Perhaps he just wanted to be sure that he could reach his tools. And he was nearly sitting on his thumbtacks by now, so that would not be a problem any more. Satisfied by this explanation, Ereinion wriggled closer to Cirdan's taut body and once again leant his head against the rough fabric of the shipwright's sleeve.

Trapped between a snuggling elfling and a selection of sharp and dangerous implements, Cirdan resigned himself to the inevitable and shifted his elbow to allow Ereinion to squirm into a more comfortable position, all the while speaking smoothly to ensure that any watchers would not mistake this as an admission of defeat.

"Now, here I have to make sure that all the notches are in the right place before I fit the deck."

~*~

"I think Adar's ship got broken once." Ereinion said knowledgeably, kicking his feet against the wooden panelling of the seat. "He and Agi. . . my grandfather talked about it sometimes."

One of Cirdan's brows twitched slightly but he did not speak, merely frowning as he tested the strength of a piece of wood.

"I think that my grandfather made it for him." Ereinion sucked on the tip of his middle finger as he considered the fragments that he had heard over the years. He did not think that his grandfather would have got angry about a toy being spoilt unless someone had been careless and he had spent a lot of time making it. "He did not like it being broken, I think."

Cirdan's frown deepened and his hand brushed against a round tin of tiny brass tacks sending them tumbling from the bench onto the ground. Before he even had time to react Ereinion had sprung to his feet and was chasing about after the gleaming tacks.

"It was an accident though, I think Adar said." Ereinion carefully knelt down on a clear bit of floor to pick up the tacks and drop them one by one into the tin. He had never been allowed to play with sharp things like this at home, although his Adar had often spun the short nails that fastened the leather folders of parchment skitzing across the tabletop. Surely Cirdan would not mind if he kept one little tack to himself.

"An accident?" The shipwright's voice held a strange tone, but Ereinion paid little attention as he gathered the last few tacks together and dropped all but one of them into the tin.

"Yes," Ereinion straightened up and handed the tin to Cirdan with a wavering smile. The little tack that he had clenched in his fist felt a lot bigger now than it had when he had picked it up from the floor. "It was his friend that broke it."

Cirdan was silent a moment after this matter-of-fact statement, but then nodded slowly and nudged the lid back onto the tin with one hand. "Aye, my thanks."

Ereinion looked at the shut tin and then back at the shipwright. He should say something polite about it being his pleasure to help or just smile helpfully but the words stuck in his throat. Cirdan should not be thanking him when he had taken something without asking. The tack had become warm in his grasp, and its point was digging into his palm a little.

Surprised by the hesitant silence, Cirdan looked up from his carpentry and surveyed the child critically. Ereinion had gone very red and he looked so terribly unhappy and guilty that Cirdan did not feel that it could be ignored.

"Ereinion?" The shipwright's bushy brows lowered slightly as he tried to guess what had caused such a sudden change in the child's demeanour.

Ereinion gulped and patted his clenched fist against his thigh. Cirdan did not seem to have noticed the missing tack and did not sound angry, but he had stolen. His Adar did not allow thieves in his household, and if he told Cirdan what he would done then he might be sent away to someone else. But who would want a thief to stay with them?

"Ereinion," Cirdan's voice became tinged with alarm as he noticed a single unwelcome tear slip down the child's flushed cheek, "What is wrong?"

"I. . ." Ereinion swallowed hard and pressed his lips tightly together to hold back the imminent tears. Moving slowly he held out his hand and unfurled his fist to reveal the stolen tack. It was smaller than it had become in his mind, and he suddenly wanted to throw it away.

"Ah. Thank you." Cirdan held out his cupped hand beneath Ereinion's palm to allow him to tip the tack into his hand, then deposited it into the tin. "Is that all of them?"

Ereinion looked down at the floor, keen eyes scanning the polished planks of wood for any sign of more of the little tacks then nodded. It felt better now that he was not holding the tack, but he did not see how Cirdan could let his stolen tack join the others as if nothing had happened. His eyes were beginning to get hot and itchy and his nose was starting to snuffle.

The comments on the ships had not been tactful to say the least, but that was little cause for tears. Indeed the child seemed to have little idea of what he was speaking.

"Did you. . ." Cirdan took the small hand in his own and examined it carefully. It would take an extraordinarily stupid child to manage to hurt himself on such a blunt object, and he could see no sign of a puncture wound, but something had upset the young prince badly.

"I am sorry." Ereinion whispered unhappily, speaking primarily to the shipwright's feet. There was a hole wearing through at the toe of one of the large socks and the grey wool had worn through to scuffed and linty matted fabric. "I only wanted to keep one to be like Adar."

Cirdan looked at him with an expression of great puzzlement and then turned back to the tin with a thoughtful expression. "Like your Adar. . ."

Ereinion shifted miserably from foot to foot then as a terrible thought occurred to him, burst out, "Adar would never steal, Lord Cirdan! I wanted to spin it like Adar does."

"Cirdan." Cirdan reminded him shortly then frowned as he pondered what the boy had said. Presumably he had meant to keep one for himself, but he would not have considered that a misdemeanour worthy of tears. They were only small, and he had more than he would need. "Do you want a tack, child?"

Ereinion cast the tin with all the little shiny tacks a last longing glance then shook his head. He would never feel big and grown-up and important now, even if he had a whole tin of tacks. It would just be a reminder of his naughtiness.

"No." Cirdan confirmed, his voice still holding a note of confusion. But a minute ago the boy had wanted one enough to steal, and now he would not taken one even when offered. "No matter. It would not have spun in any case."

"It would not?" Ereinion echoed, tentatively scrambling back onto the bench. He had tried spinning pegs and pins but they had not worked either.

"No." Cirdan shook his head in a preoccupied manner, secretly pleased by the child's interest. Perhaps tomorrow if he had a spare moment he might gather a few screws, nails and bolts in different sizes to demonstrate the lesson. "It is too long, and the head too small."

For the moment though, whether or not the promised two hours had passed, it was high time that tearful, grumpy little elves were sent to their beds. Cirdan set down the little ship, absently extended a hand towards a spot on the bench several feet from the boy and was surprised when he took it without question or fuss.

"I shall show you where you will sleep."

~*~

Ereinion's new bedroom was large, far larger than his bedroom and playroom combined back home. The floor was made of wood and the walls were of pale stone. Large paned windows stared into the darkness outside, and a door led out onto a balcony. Several brass lanterns were hung from hooks about the room, lighting it with a pleasant golden glow.

Somebody had clearly made an effort to make the room welcoming for a child. A striped blanket in shades of blues and sandy yellows was spread over the overlarge bed, and a small vase of colourful sea pinks was arranged on the desk. A model boat had been placed on the shelf above the fireplace, along with a dried starfish and some pretty shells.

"It is a big room." Ereinion said with his eyes on the floor, only stirring to give the huge bed a miserable look.

Cirdan gave him a puzzled look. Surely a child would appreciate extra play space. In any case it was one of his finest guestrooms, and only chosen due to the assertions of his housekeeper that he could not shut a little boy off in some lonely room at the other end of the house.

"I hope that you find it comfortable." Cirdan said absently as he passed through a doorway into the bathroom. "Here Ereinion, this is where you shall wash."

The boy trotted obediently into the room, and looked sadly at the large tub. Seeing the gloomy expression Cirdan drew in his breath in an annoyed hiss.

"What is wrong, Ereinion?"

Ereinion looked up at him doubtfully then concentrated on drilling the toe of his boot into the floorboards.

"I. . . I do not wish to disturb you, Cirdan." He murmured unhappily, his hand moving up towards his mouth, "If I shout loudly in here, will you be disturbed in your room?"

Cirdan looked into the fire for a while then stretched, bringing his shoulders back.

"I think that you might disturb me, Ereinion," Cirdan said thoughtfully. "Then I might have to come and find out what cause you have for making such a noise."

His smile was so sudden and so large that Ereinion had little chance to hide it, and to his surprise Cirdan found himself smiling too.

"Hurry now, get to bed."

Ereinion allowed himself to be shooed towards the bathroom and its large steaming bathtub and started taking off his boots. Satisfied that the prince would be all right, Cirdan turned to leave.

"I cannot undo my buttons." Ereinion looked at him, his eyes half challenging and half ashamed.

"Now. . ." Cirdan turned back to the boy, giving him a searching look. "I am sure that a boy who is ten years old is quite capable of undoing his buttons by himself."

Ereinion's cheeks turned pink and he looked down at the floor. Cirdan was almost sure that he could see the dark eyes brimming with tears.

"Well. . . where are these buttons?" Cirdan asked in a frustrated voice. Ereinion flinched and took a deep breath in.

"My back. I cannot reach them." He was now speaking in such a small and timid voice that Cirdan had difficulty believing that it was the same child that had threatened him with violence a few hours earlier.

Without a word Cirdan knelt down, and brushed the dark hair aside to undo the buttons. The child's small body froze rigid the second that his fingers made contact with the bony shoulders, and he could see from the movement of Ereinion's chest that his breathing rate had increased.

"I will not hurt you, child." Cirdan's voice was tinged with frustration, a fact that Ereinion did not miss. The moment that Cirdan had finished fumbling with the tiny buttons, the boy shot forwards a few feet. Hissing in irritation, Cirdan got to his feet and strode silently from the room, leaving Ereinion to finish undressing and scramble with difficulty into his bath.

~*~

With the High Prince dismissed until the morning, Cirdan hurried downstairs to his council room where Thatharien had left the remainder of the letters and packages that had been sent from Hithlum. He was eager to finish such business tonight, since the arrival of an infant prince seemed set to leave him with little time to call his own for tomorrow at least.

He would have to see Andir, the keeper of his library, about finding some suitable books for the child. It was sure to be a difficult task, for Fingon had requested that the child was to continue his study of Quenya and there were few who would be prepared to teach him. In addition he would not be quite at peace until he had had the boy seen by the healers. Ereinion was thin enough to cause anyone alarm, but there was something in the child's eyes that worried Cirdan yet more. Those of his soldiers with elflings as small as this were assigned carefully, and he could remember being told of children that had escaped from attack only to have their spirits fade. It had been many weeks since he had seen Ranlhach in any case, for the healers had been busy of late, and knowing that the child was well would put his mind at rest.

Putting the child from his mind, Cirdan stirred the fire back into life and sat down on the rug amidst the piles of papers and packages that Thatharien had arranged for him. The letters were for the most part rather boring, and did not merit an uncharacteristically prompt response. Others, especially those sent by the High King himself, were rather more thought-provoking, and a good few hours had passed before he moved on to investigate the parcels.

As usual there were a number of bundles of the brightly coloured fabrics favoured by the Noldor, copies of maps and important documents, an unwanted gift of an intricate wire brooch, and rather more interesting a further package containing a number of additional items for his guest. It did not take long for Cirdan to deduce why these belongings had not been grouped with the others - many of these were breathtakingly beautiful and with a value greater than large sections of his city.

There were tiny brooches shaped as leaves or stars, jewelled pendants, and ridiculously small circlets. A thin leather pouch held a flute of silver and mithril, and a half-sized sword lay bundled with a wooden bow adorned with inlays of gold and emerald. A small bundle wrapped in layer upon layer of grey silk revealed a flat wooden box, the gold script that had once decorated the polished surface having been rubbed off many hundreds of years earlier. Resting the box in the palms of both hands, Cirdan closed his eyes for a moment before slowly opening the lid and confirming what he had feared. Nestled in soft velvet was a mithril circlet, adorned with jewels and adorned with Quenya script.

Fingon did not expect Ereinion to return then.

Shutting the box with a snap, Cirdan hurriedly re-wrapped the box in tight folds of silk. For a brief moment he thought of the little elf upstairs, a strange feeling growing inside his chest. Ereinion did not know that this had been sent with him, and Cirdan found himself making a silent pledge that he would never find out. The child may be small, but he was not stupid, and the significance of such a finding would not pass him by.

Finally, with the package hidden deep in a locked drawer in his desk, Cirdan returned to his council room, hastily unpacking the final items and stowing them away in cupboards or on shelves. He no longer had any wish to read or reply to his letters. The storm had grown steadily worse throughout the evening, but he did not think that it was yet bad enough that it would be dangerous to walk on the shore. He needed the cold loneliness of the beach to allow his thoughts to form. Only a few hours ago he had been expecting to host a young elf for a number of years; now he faced bringing up a child alone - a child who, if Fingon's fears were founded, would before long inherit the High Kingship of the Noldor.

It was not a responsibility that he would have ever accepted.

Sighing, Cirdan shook out and folded the leather packs, and stacked them neatly on a chair. As he picked up the last empty pack something small and floppy fell from a pocket and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Puzzled, Cirdan shifted it to-and-fro with a toe. It was undoubtedly meant to be an approximation at some sort of animal, for it had two bead eyes and a patch of black leather for a nose, but the shapeless body was made from well worn patches of a soft fluffy material in shades of brown and cream. One of the pink ears was especially threadbare, and the tail had recently been sewn back on with thread of a different colour.

Presumably it was one of the child's toys, but Cirdan was sure that he had already seen a small pile of playthings in Ereinion's room. Although he did not know a great deal about toys, an infant's stuffed animal did not seem to fit with the painted wooden soldiers, carved horses and pouch of marbles that he had seen. Wondering why Fingon had packed such an unappealing and worthless object along with the most precious of Ereinion's possessions, Cirdan placed the last pack on the chair, grabbed the creature from the floor and headed upstairs to deposit it with its rightful owner. There would never be a place for such an item in his council chamber.