Having watched the shipwright's back disappear as a dark shadow among the scrubby trees that grew alongside the path to the quayside, Ereinion grew bored and after carefully placing the paperweight back in it's proper place he skipped through the narrow halls and steep stairs up to the attics.

He had never before been allowed to know of the existence of the attics, and as he pulled himself through the trapdoor, he could see why. Whatever pretence at tidiness the shipwright might make at tidiness in the rest of the house, it was a thin veil and apparently only achieved by piling the mementos and paraphernalia of a lifetime into the ample space beneath his gables.

Ereinion scrambled to his feet and spun around, his mouth open and eyes wide, as he anticipated the potential of such a play space. It was a large room, running the length of the house and broken only by beams and supports. Coils of ropes and rolls of sailcloth would provide ample sitting space and as Cirdan had suggested, if he could just manage to loop a short length of rope over that thick beam he would have an enviable swing. The corners were stacked with old fishing rods and nets, and knowing that he would not be discovered, Ereinion spent an enjoyable hour amusing himself practising his casting skills along the length of the floor.

When this paled he set to a more close inspection of the piled masses in the rest of the room. Chests of books and papers, woodworking tools, even a frying pan and a cartwheel. And then half-hidden under an old cloak something more tempting to capture his attention.

~*~

Cirdan gladly took refuge from the rising storm, allowing the door of his house to slam shut in the gale behind him. He knew that the noise would draw a certain small somebody down from whatever corner of the house he was playing, and convinced himself that it was accidental. Purely to avoid admitting that he would be pleased to hear eager feet galloping downstairs with dangerous haste and the familiar creak of his study door.

He had done all he could do at the shipyards. They would not be unscathed, but the damage could have been much worse. More worrying were the two ships that had not returned, but - and it frustrated him greatly - there was nothing he could do. Striding through to his study he hung up his dripping cloak and placed his boots and the small sandals he had rescued from a watery grave to dry by the fire. Finally he sat down and ostentatiously began to work, keeping more than one ear open for bare footsteps in the corridor.

Ereinion thundered downstairs, glad of some company after the lonely afternoon, only just remembering to meter his pace to a casual walk as he approached the study. The door had been left slightly open and he poked his head around the gap, somewhat surprised to see Cirdan immediately nod absentmindedly with what could almost be described as a smile.

"You found my sandals!" The gleeful shout caused Cirdan's pen to jump messily across the page as the boy gave his guardian his best smile. "Thank you Cirdan."

"Do not do it again." The shipwright said sternly, trying to blot up some of the ink. "Do sit down child! There's no wonder I cannot get any work done with you skipping around like a demented kitten."

The boy skipped across to the window-seat with a little secret smile. He had long learnt when to take the shipwright seriously, and knowing that in this mood Cirdan had little objection to being talked at, sat down.

"Did you have a pleasant afternoon?" Cirdan's voice was carefully distant.

Ereinion paused in the lowering of his body over the edge of the window- seat to rest upside down on his hand, his knees hooked over the carved back.

"Yes thank you. I made a swing! Its very fast." He smiled at the memory. If a very small elf climbed to the top of a stack of chests before leaping onto the outstretched rope, it was possible to achieve quite terrifying speeds.

"Good. What knot did you use?" Cirdan made a mental note that he would probably later forget, to check the safety and load-bearing capacities of the swing.

"Oh. . ." The child wrinkled up his nose in thought. "The one. . . that one you showed me the day you took me for a picnic."

"Good." Cirdan nodded, pleased that his charge appeared to learn quickly. Although he would have described the activity as a long walk with a meal. Shipwrights did not take small boys on picnics.

"I can swing from the chests to the little window!" A voice said proudly through an upside-down mop of dark hair.

"Oh?" Cirdan looked up slightly alarmed, and made an urgent mental note to check on the scale of this swing. He had so far successfully ignored the whispered comments that he was letting the boy run wild, but he did not fancy having to explain how the child had managed to flatten himself against a wall while in his care.

Ereinion grunted a response that could have meant anything as he unhooked his knees, and began making unsteady progress over the wooden planks of the floor on his hands. He was several years behind the other boys his age at mastering this skill, but was learning fast. And he could shoot a bow and wield a sword, something the others would not learn until later. Eventually a hand caught on a clump of hair, sending him tumbling to the floor.

"Cirdan." The interruption came at length, some while after the child had limped back to curl up on the window-seat. Cirdan had ignored his quivering lip and bruised elbow, knowing that offering any sort of sympathy would likely lead to an angry outburst that he was not hurt and not crying.

The shipwright grunted, then feeling a rare compulsion to set the boy a good example answered in speech. He had noticed the child grunting responses rather a lot recently, and since he had been perfectly mannered and spoken just six short months ago, Cirdan was not sure how this would reflect on his parenting skills.

"Yes Ereinion."

"May I cut my hair off?" White baby teeth flashed in a hopeful smile.

"No."

"Please?" Long dark strands were tugged at viciously. "It tripped me up!"

"No."

"It could break my neck one day." The serious voice was the perfect imitation of the housekeeper who insisted daily that one or other of the two elves in "her" care would end up killing themselves in their chosen activities. Cirdan was unable to prevent himself laughing a little before continuing.

"No. You could however try braiding your hair in the mornings."

He was answered with a scowl as he had known he would be. Braids soon came undone when you spent your mornings charging along the paved streets or rolling down sand dunes, and the child had taken to wearing his hair loose just as soon as he had realised that Cirdan did not appear to notice if he came down to breakfast with his dark mop spread across his shoulders. The attempt a few weeks later at not brushing his hair had been less successful, so he did at least look relatively tidy. Most of the time.

"You cut your beard."

"I trim my beard." Cirdan ran a hand over his rough silver beard, closely trimmed to his face.

"Well. . . can I trim my hair?"

Cirdan's mouth began forming the word "No", but then wishing for peace and guessing that a child would have little knowledge of the use of the various instruments on his dressing table, had a better idea.

"If you use my clippers." Cirdan kept his voice purposely calm, although he had great difficulty avoiding grinning as Ereinion's nose wrinkled as he recalled the tiny size of the clippers. The room fell silent and smirking inwardly Cirdan returned to his work.

"Cirdan. You know in the barn. . ." The boy called triumphantly at last. The silence had clearly been accompanied by no small degree of brain wracking. "They look just like your clippers."

Only they were bigger. And sharper. And rustier.

"No Ereinion." Cirdan's voice warned that as far as he was concerned this conversation was now over, and the pair sat in silence for a while, one writing in his small careful script and the other kicking the cushions in rhythm as he mentally recited a favoured poem for moments like this. Involving a cocky shipwright drowning on his incompetent work.

Being a bright boy Ereinion had even tried to compose a few lines of his own, describing the moment as the body was dashed against the cliff, but since the only word he could find to rhyme with blood was mud this attempt had been doomed to failure.

After five such recitals the boy's mood had improved sufficiently that he even felt sorry for the shipwright who was now pouring over a large book, looking glum.

"I heard a funny joke today!" Ereinion said brightly. "Do you want to hear it?"

"If I must." Cirdan looked up with an exaggerated sigh.

"It is good." Ereinion promised, rocking backwards in the seat and letting his heels fall back against the panelling with a thud. "Alright! What is the difference between a boat and a ship?"

Cirdan sighed and began pointing out that he had already explained the difference between boats and ships at great length several months ago, when he was interrupted.

"No no! This is a joke! What is the difference between a boat and a ship?"

Cirdan rested his chin on one hand as he watched his charge, wondering how anyone could become so excited about so puerile a pastime.

"I do not know Ereinion." The shipwright said tiredly. "Pray, tell me. What is the difference between a boat and a ship?"

"The boat starts closer to the sea!" The child dissolved into giggles, seemingly unmoved by his guardian's outward lack of amusement. "The C see? Because boat starts with B! Do you get it?"

"Yes, yes. Most amusing." Cirdan said dryly, wincing a little as Ereinion's voice grew increasingly high-pitched with the excitement of his explanation.

Ereinion stared intently at the shipwright's lean tanned face.

"You did not find that so very funny did you?"

Cirdan looked up and shook his head.

"Not so very funny."

The boy began sucking his left index finger with a thoughtful expression. He could never find anything that would amuse the shipwright. And he felt that he should at least attempt to entertain him. He was forever hearing careless comments in the street about how kind Cirdan had been to take him, and how much of a bothersome burden he must be. It was not his fault.

"Now you tell me one!"

Cirdan jerked suddenly into the present to find his charge sitting back expectantly, smiling hopefully. Immediately all puns and limericks seemed to fly from his mind. Leaving him only with the memory of the jokes that were passed around the shipyards. Which, considering they all contained scantily clad female elves, gruesome injuries or truly foul language, he had no intention of repeating. Especially since he did not know where they would be again repeated.

"Can you not think of one?" There was a hint of glee at having out-smarted one so much older than himself.

"No, indeed I cannot." Cirdan admitted and was rewarded by a gleaming smile.

"You must be sad without any funny jokes." The child leaned forwards excitedly. "Do you want to hear another one of mine?"

Cirdan admirably suppressed his inner groan.

"Maybe later child."

It seemed that the boy recognised from his tone that he was busy and not inclined to foolish pastimes, for he did not hear another sound out of him during the time it took him to finish his reading or write the urgent letter. It was not until he had begun work on a document that had previously been lounging untouched for several weeks on a far-flung and easily ignored corner of his desk, that a slight premonition made him cast his eyes downwards.

"Ereinion!" The voice was unnecessarily loud, but it always did surprise him when the child moved silently like that. As usual the child had come to watch in silent vigil, his face inches from Cirdan's left elbow. Something that especially vexed the shipwright as there had been a few occasions when a sudden movement had resulted in him clipping the child by mistake, leaving him to deal with stubborn tears and the consequent guilt.

"Cirdan?"

The shipwright would never know how the boy managed to turn those two syllables into such a plaintive plea for attention.

"Yes." Cirdan was sounding decidedly long-suffering by this time.

"In the attic, by the old chest I found a rack. . ."

Cirdan suddenly remembered what he had left in the rack and interrupted hastily.

"You may not play with the spears Ereinion."

The child looked affronted.

"But I did not wish to play." Ereinion explained carefully to avoid further increasing Cirdan's blood pressure. "I wished you to teach me."

Cirdan sighed extremely loudly.

"There are big ones and small ones. I think - although of course I did not touch it - that the smallest one would be just right for someone about as tall as me." Ereinion quickly added his assertions of innocence as he caught sight of a familiar and dangerous glint in Cirdan's eye.

"I recall that there is also a fine helmet in there." Cirdan ran a hand over his damp hair. "Perhaps you would like to play with that instead?"

Ereinion gave him a pitying look and shook his head.

"Cirdan I played with helmets when I was four! Will you not teach me? Please?"

"Well. . . would you not like to play with them again?" Cirdan played for time.

Ereinion shook his head vigorously. Even the few short years of toddlerhood had left enough tales of his running around the palace dressed in naught but a guard's helm. Tales which his family insisted on repeating over the dinner table whenever the number of guests exceeded a certain critical number. Although he had tried on the helmet, very quickly, when nobody was looking. For it was indeed an enticing toy.

Cirdan sat back and watched his charge hopping to and fro in excitement as he awaited the answer. Of course Ereinion was too young to understand. It was not that he had any real objection to spending a little time with him that wasn't in the guise of disturbed work, but it was just the shipwright did not feel it was his place to do so.

He did not even know if the child was intended to learn spear skills, or even if his parents would agree to such a thing. More importantly it was a father's task. There was bound to be endless father-son bonding over such things and the mere thought of such a thing made the shipwright want to run and hide. But the boy's father was not here. And this was incredibly important to a ten-year-old now, not in the countless years it might take for peace to return to his home.

"Very well Ereinion. I will teach you to use the spear." Cirdan agreed with large doses of reservations.

"Oooooh!" Grey eyes lit up at the unexpected kindness. "Thank you! Thank you!"

In a move that Cirdan later attributed to excitement rather than any real fondness, Ereinion suddenly flung his arms around the shipwright before hastily breaking away. He suspected that the shipwright did not enjoy being hugged as he always became awkward when required to do so, and rarely initiated such a move.

"You must be very careful Ereinion." Cirdan said swiftly in a stern voice, lest the child should hug him again. "For I do not intend sending your misfortunate little fingers back to your father without you."

Typically the child giggled. Still maybe his unusual sense of humour was a good thing. Cirdan had an unenviable record of accidentally reducing children to tears with badly taken comments.