He had heard the metallic rasp of the door handle, but recognising the characteristic creak of the door being hesitantly opened by his least welcome visitor, he bent his head to his papers with renewed intensity. Perhaps the owner of the small hands that had pushed lightly on the panels would decide that he was busy and hurry his equally small feet out of there.

The door creaked again, the noise further disturbing the elf sitting at the desk. Frowning, he bent his head closer to the desk and dipped his quill in the open bottle of ink with excessive force.

The creaking stopped suddenly as someone's hand caught hold of the door, and even from his desk he could almost feel the intensity of the bright eyes burning into him. Still, two could play at that game, and he was as well practised at ignoring the attempts to gain his attention as his opponent was at making them.

Today, however, it appeared that this should be a game that he should lose. The door was bounced gently back and forwards between a cupped hand and lifted foot with a rhythmic squeak-thud. A noise that in time he knew would break him.

"Yes, yes. Come in!" Cirdan called briskly, his manner speaking of a frustration that both knew he did not truly feel.

The door swung fully open, and Ereinion slipped silently into the room, observing his guardian with solemn eyes as he chewed the head off a gingerbread sailor with bloodthirsty relish. The room hung in silence for a few moments while Cirdan finished the sentence and set his quill to rest precisely in its stand, before looking up to where his charge was pacing the room.

Six months had passed now since the boy had first arrived in his care. And despite the protest that he was 'better qualified to father a boat than a boy' they were getting along well enough. At least he thought that they were. He felt that the child was happy, indeed there was nothing to suggest otherwise, but as he had learned several times to his cost there was often more going on beneath the presented exterior than may meet the eye.

At nearly eleven Ereinion was growing fast, and although compared to a mortal child he was pitifully small, for an elfling he was unusually tall and skinny. Not for the first time yesterday Cirdan had heard the boy compared to a beanpole, and while the comment had been a little unfair, even he had to admit there was a striking resemblance. They did feed him of course. While all things domestic were a little beyond the shipwright, the housekeeper delighted in preparing tempting dishes in a futile attempt to fatten up the young prince. It was not even that he did not eat, for anything that found it's way onto the child's plate and indeed most things that did not, were polished off with amazing speed. Cirdan was left to think back to a hazy recollection of his own childhood and decide that the child was not so very much skinnier than he had been, while Ereinion delighted in exploiting the kind heart of the housekeeper for an endless supply of snacks.

"It began to rain." Ereinion pointed through the rain-spattered windowpanes at the grey September sky. Cirdan followed the grubby finger and frowned as he recognised the threatening loom of storm clouds over the choppy sea. "One of my friend's Ada said that we should go inside."

"Yes. There will be a storm tonight." Cirdan levered himself up from his chair and stalked over to the window to stare pensively out into the rising wind and rain. The storms were starting early this year, for it was only late September, and until recently it had been warm enough for Ereinion and the other boys to spend their free hours swimming in the bay. He had enjoyed the summer months, peaceful in his study but able if he looked up, to see a large log floating in the bay surrounded by elflings scrambling on and jumping off, or slipping as they attempted to run it's length. The winter looked set to be more trying. Especially a winter with a child under his feet all day.

"A big storm?" Ereinion asked as he scampered over to Cirdan's side and scrambled up onto the window-seat to kneel on the faded cushions as he too looked out at the approaching storm, his face full of excited anticipation rather than concern. He had not yet experienced one of the storms that battered the coast during the winter months, but he had heard many a tale from his friends about their bravery during the previous winter. If they were to be believed - and a slight edge of doubt existed in his mind - much of their time had been spent being blown through the air, hanging onto the beams with one hand whilst mending thatch with the other. He made a mental note to question his guardian as to the veracity of these tales - but sometime when he looked less fierce. Cirdan's mood usually improved considerably when he hadn't been interrupted, and when mellowed by food and wine in the evenings had even been known to enjoy telling stories of brave seafarers and terrible storms.

"Large enough." Cirdan grimaced, suddenly looking very worried. He had men out on the water today, and the shipyards were nowhere near ready for such a storm so early in the season. Noticing that the young face now tipped up to look at him had become furrowed with concern, he made an attempt to smile. "But you will be perfectly safe here."

The boy looked up at him and smiled slightly before offering him the mauled and slightly crumbled gingerbread.

"Would you like some?"

Cirdan stared distractedly down at the proffered treat and shook his head.

"No. . . No thank you Ereinion. I have much to do." The shipwright turned suddenly and strode back over to his desk, where he sank back into the carved wooden chair with a deep sigh.

"Cirdan?" The boy padded across the room to reach across the desk and pat the larger hand. "You are worried about the boats that went out today are you not? We watched them leave."

The grey-haired elf's frown deepened, frustrated that he could not keep even this worry from the child's slender shoulders.

"Cirdan?" The high-pitched voice rose inquisitively.

"Yes Ereinion, I worry. But you do not need to." Taking up his quill and signifying the end of the conversation Cirdan bent back down to his paperwork, eager to finish quickly. "Run along and play."

There was a pause in which Cirdan worked with grim determination and Ereinion bobbed up and down on his toes, his face thoughtful. Eventually the child recognised that this time he would not succeed in disturbing the shipwright further. But he didn't want to go alone into the cold dark rooms and think about his friends' fathers somewhere on that grey sea, but he equally did not anyone to think that he was upset or even scared. It would not do at all for the High Prince of the Noldor to be scared. Biting his lip slightly and casting a nervous glance at Cirdan to see if he objected, the child reached over the desk to carefully lift a large paperweight. Cradling it to his chest as he carried it across the room to set it down on the rug before the desk.

It was usually an evening treat to be allowed to play with the elaborate paperweight, but the ten-year-old had been at a loss to think of any other activity that would not create sufficient noise to cause him to be booted out of the study and up to his room in short order. Happy that Cirdan's frown had not deepened, Ereinion lay down on his stomach on the colourful rag-rug and peered through the tinted glass of the bottle at the magnificent vessel inside, complete in every detail from delicate rigging to a minuscule crew.

Eventually, remembering a message that he had forgotten to pass on, Cirdan glanced up from his work. As he expected Ereinion was sprawled on the rug, his chin resting on his elbow and his feet waving idly in the air. It may have been that he was tired out after a morning spent running over the beaches and poking in rock-pools, or just the quiet of the study but the dark lashes seemed to be drooping slightly.

"Ereinion," Cirdan paused mid-sentence as he stared again at the bare feet, still encrusted with sand from the beach in some parts, "Where are your shoes?"

This time the child's entire body drooped, until he was no longer required to make eye contact with his guardian. When he at last spoke it was with an unusual hint of uncertainty.

"Well. . . I think I might have left them on the quayside when we went crabbing." Grey eyes peeped up to see how the older elf was taking the news. "I would have returned to search for them only. . ."

Cirdan sighed as he finished the sentence.

"Only you forgot."

He was well used to Ereinion's manner of speech and however much the child may emphasise 'think' and 'might' he knew full well that a small pair of sandals were sitting somewhere among the coiled ropes, seaweed and lobster pots.

"I can run and get them." The boy sprung to his feet with the rapidity of a highly-coiled spring that had finally been released. Catching Cirdan's look he turned again to the window where the wind was lashing the rain against the glass. "I will wear my cloak."

Cirdan almost smiled at that. He must be finding it hard indeed coping with a morning of captivity after a summer spent running wild if he would offer to wear the hated garment just to get a breath of fresh air.

"No Ereinion, you must not go outside until the storm is over." Cirdan frowned as the child's expression suddenly became sulky and angry and bare toes pressed hard down into the fuzz of the rug. Sighing, he bent down until his face was level with the child's, "Do you promise me?"

Ereinion pulled a horrible face at the floor, for he knew that once he made the promise he would be bound by his own honour as well as Cirdan's trust to keep it.

"I promise." The grey eyes lifted hopefully again. "Only Cirdan, if I must not go outside may I please walk on my hands in the dining room?"

"Excellent." Cirdan patted a small shoulder. "It is not safe outside. Sometimes the wind can blow people off the quayside, or the waves can come over the wall and wash people into the sea."

Ereinion's eyes had become wide and round at this, so Cirdan decided not to go into the more gory details of rope burns and instead turned to the other topic in hand.

"And of course, if you cannot play outside, we must find lots of things for you to do inside."

"So can I walk on my hands. . ."

"Yes." Ereinion beamed broadly, diminishing Cirdan's guilt at tainting his upbringing by allowing such behaviour. "Providing that it is not dinner time. And that we have no visitors. You can also play in the attics, I think you could make a swing."

"Thank you!" The prince danced excitedly around the older elf as he switched his shoes for boots and pulled a thick, all-enveloping cloak from a hook on the wall. Eventually he came to a halt squarely between Cirdan and the door. "Are you going out?"

Cirdan side-stepped around the child only to find his path neatly blocked by a sudden skip, necessitating a sudden halt to avoid crushing small pink toes under the heavy tread of his sea-boots. Scowling the shipwright paused, guiltily wishing the child was already upside down in the dining room or hanging from a rope in the attic, before making a second attempt that mirrored the first. This movement was repeated several times before in exasperation, Cirdan lifted the boy from his feet.

"Yes, I am going out. Yes, I will be back for supper, as will some friends of mine. I think that will require one of us to have a bath before this evening?" Cirdan set the child down and turned back to the door, his path finally clear, ignoring the look he was being given at the thought of having to dress up for dinner. Maybe that was one aspect in which he had spoiled the child, for he had been most abiding on his arrival. But after a summer of being allowed to dine in his play clothes for there was only Cirdan to see and Cirdan's mind was more often on paint and varnish than tunics and shirts, he strongly objected to returning to the former regime.

"I think that my clothing is perfectly fitting for a prince." Ereinion said loudly and with dignity, moving his hand over the blackberry stains on the skirt of his tunic. Unfortunately this exposed the green streaks of algae from the morning's game of hide-and-seek in the cave. Cirdan raised his eyebrows slightly and neither felt the need to make further comment as the shipwright ruffled the boy's hair with one work-hardened hand before hurrying out. His long stride was characteristic even in the fading light as Ereinion watched his progress over the dunes and towards the harbour from his perch on the window-seat.