Home Is Behind by grey_gazania

"Bedtime, mírë," Fingon said, scooping his daughter up and resting her on his hip. He grinned as the girl giggled and caught her hand in the back of his tunic. "I'll tuck you in," he continued. "You have an early morning, and Nana needs to finish packing."

Ianneth flashed him a quick smile in thanks and embraced them both, kissing Ereiniel on the cheek. "Goodnight," she said.

"'Night, Nana," Ereiniel answered, leaning her head against Fingon's shoulder. Ianneth turned back to the bed as they left the room, where she had been sorting out and folding the clothes she would need to bring to Eglarest. She absently smoothed a wrinkle from her marriage quilt and considered the piles before her. The heaviest clothes, she knew, could be left behind – the Falas had milder winters than Mithrim – but she would need her warm wool cloak for at least part of the journey. That she would wear; the lighter one would need to be packed, but it hadn't been in the chest with her other summer clothes. She frowned and went to the second chest, wondering if it had been mixed in with Fingon's clothing by mistake.

She opened the carved lid and inhaled, savoring the cedar-wood's aroma. It wasn't folded on top with Fingon's cloak, so she lifted the stack of garments out to lay it on the bed. As she set it down, something crinkled under her hand and fell to the floor with a rustle of parchment. She bent, retrieved the small pile of papers, and went to put them back in the chest, but froze, the blood draining from her face.

Three letters, written in a slightly smudged hand that she knew – of course she knew it; Fingon received enough missives from his cousin that she'd have to be a fool not to recognize it. She squinted at the tengwar, but they were incomprehensible, written in the Noldor's mother-tongue. 

The letters would have been innocuous enough if not for the lurid drawings that accompanied them. She gaped for a moment before dropping the letters back into the chest, and crumpled the sketches in her fist, flushing with both embarrassment and anger. It explained everything - the daring rescue, the tension between the cousins at their wedding, Fingon's moodiness surrounding his trips to Himring, and his excessive efforts to make up for his sullenness after each trip home.

When he entered the room she rounded on him, trembling. "You vile, lying weasel!" she hissed, feeling her face heat as she threw the sketches at his feet. "How could you?"

He paled and hurriedly reached behind him to close the door. "Ianneth–"

"I want an answer!" she snapped, digging her nails into her palms and fighting back an anguished cry. "How could you do this to us? To me?"

"Ianneth, please–"

"No!" The tears came then, and she dashed at them angrily. "Are you so unhappy with me that you can't manage what every other wedded man in Arda does?" Fingon reached for her arm and she pulled away, snapping, "Don't touch me!"

He dropped his hand and briefly closed his eyes. "Ianneth, it wasn't about us," he said quietly. "Please believe me. It wasn't anything about you – I love you. It–"

"Why should I believe you now? You've been lying to me for nearly thirteen years." She wiped again at her eyes and pointed to the door. "Out. Get out! You can come back when I've finished packing."

"All right," Fingon said unsteadily, bending to pick up the sketches. "All right. I'll go, and then later we'll talk."

Ianneth kept her eyes on him until the door closed, and then sank down on the floor beside the bed, shaking, and pressed her face against their quilt to muffle her sobs. How could he betray her like this? How could she have misjudged him so badly?

After a time, she wiped her eyes on the quilt's blue edge and stood, taking deep breaths to calm herself enough to pack. She finally found the cloak folded in with Fingon's tunics, and finished sorting the other garments before retreating down the hall to Ereiniel's room. Thankfully, her daughter was asleep, and Ianneth settled carefully on the bed beside her, resolving not to cry again.

***********

To Fingon Fingolfinion, High King of the Noldor, greetings from your ally Círdan, Lord of the Falas.

Please accept my deepest sympathies on the death of your father. He was a brave and honorable man, and his loss is a great blow to the people of Beleriand. I pray that the Belain send you strength and comfort in your time of need.

Regarding your request of me: Lady Ianneth and young Ereiniel are welcome at the Falas, and rest assured that I will see to it that they are kept as safe from Bauglir’s malice as any of us can be. I assume that you wish for them to depart for Eglarest as soon as possible, and I am prepared to greet them whenever they arrive. My messenger can act as a guide for your men.

In the aftermath of Bauglir’s devastating attacks, I am more committed to our alliance than ever. If the people of Beleriand do not stand united against him, I fear we may be destroyed utterly. Know that I will gladly render any aid to you that is within my power to give.

May the Lord of the Breath of Arda bless you and keep you under the One,

Círdan

Fingon clenched the letter tightly in his fist as he paced in his study -- though it wasn’t truly his anymore, not since his father’s doomed, senseless assault on Morgoth. He was High King now, a position he had never wanted, and his place was at Barad Eithel, not his home in Hithlum. Still, he paced across the familiar carpet, feeling a headache building at his temples, and tried desperately to regain some control over his emotions.

Tomorrow morning, Ianneth and Ereiniel would leave Hithlum. They would be escorted to the relative safety of Eglarest by as many soldiers as he could spare, and he knew that his anxiety would not abate until he learned that they had arrived unharmed. It was for the best that they leave; he and Ianneth had agreed on that easily. Barad Eithel was on the front lines of the war against Morgoth, now more than ever, and the security of Hithlum, too, was precarious. More than once, Morgoth’s orcs and balrogs had very nearly breached the Ered Wethrin during the Dagor Bragollach. With the Noldor’s forces as weakened as they were, there was no guarantee that Hithlum would be able to hold out against another assault.

Ianneth and Ereiniel had to leave. But to send away his daughter, whom he treasured more than Arda itself, even if the separation was for her safety…

Fingon thought his heart might truly break.

And now Ianneth had discovered the shameful secret that he had long kept from her, and she was furious. He had tried to explain himself, to reassure her, but she had shut herself away in Ereiniel’s room and refused to speak to him. It seemed that his wife, the wise and steadfast woman he loved and relied on, would part from him in anger.

His father was dead, his people were scattered, and his family was crumbling before his eyes. He couldn’t bear it. Sinking into a chair, he tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears stinging beneath his eyelids.

Someone knocked on the door.

Fingon shoved himself to his feet, hoping against hope that Ianneth was the one who waited outside but knowing that it was unlikely to be so. Sure enough, when he opened the door he found Gurvadhor, not Ianneth, standing in the corridor.

“Everything is ready,” Gurvadhor said, as Fingon stepped aside to allow his captain to enter. “We should be able to leave at dawn with no delays.”

“Good.” He shut the door and gestured for Gurvadhor to sit before returning to his own chair, where he closed his eyes once more. “Will you promise me something, Gurvadhor?” he asked.

“Whatever you need, sire.”

“Don’t,” Fingon said, his eyes flying open as he shook his head. “We’ve been friends since we were children. Don’t stand on ceremony now.” High King or not, he didn’t want to be Gurvadhor’s sire, for they had shared skinned knees and mud pies in the bliss of Valinor, and he saw no reason to hold himself above someone who had grown up beside him and remained loyal through all the strife of the past few centuries.

Meeting Gurvadhor’s steady, grey gaze, he said, “I wouldn’t trust anyone but you to lead them to Eglarest. Please, swear you’ll keep them safe. That’s all I ask.”

“I’ll protect them with my life, Fingon,” Gurvadhor said, unhesitating. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Fingon said, his voice hoarse. “We’ve lost so many – my father, my aunt, my cousins. I couldn’t bear it if any harm befell Ereiniel or Ianneth.”

“We’ll take them by the safest route,” Gurvadhor reassured his king, “and I will do all in my power to protect them.” But Fingon could see worry in Gurvadhor’s face, and when the man spoke again, his voice a little more gentle, he said, “Fingon, you need to sleep.”

“Sleep?”

“Yes,” Gurvadhor said. “Sleep. You arrived from Barad Eithel a mere two days ago, and you’ve been running yourself ragged trying to organize everything so quickly. I know for a fact that you only slept for a few hours last night, and not at all the night before. You need rest. You’ll be no good to your family or your people if you run yourself into the ground.”

Fingon had to admit, grudgingly, that Gurvadhor had a point. The question was, though – could he sleep? It was true that he’d slept only three or four hours the night before, but at least that had been with Ianneth beside him, her presence warm and comforting. He had missed her so much, these past seven months that he had spent leading his father’s forces in battle far away from home. Now she wouldn’t even look at him, and the worst part was, he knew she had every right to be angry.

If only she would let him explain.

But Gurvadhor was right. He needed to at least try to get some rest, even if he doubted that sleep would come easily. He stood, crossed the room, and clasped Gurvadhor by the forearms.

“Thank you, my friend,” Fingon said, “for being the voice of reason I needed to hear tonight.”

Gurvadhor gripped Fingon’s arms in return and said, “Someone has to. You’re our king, and you’re trying to do right by your family and by all the Noldor. Someone needs to look after the people who try to look after everyone else, and I’m glad to play that role for you.” Meeting Fingon’s eyes, he continued, “You’re doing the right thing, Fingon. I know sending them away is difficult and painful, but it’s the best way to keep them safe. Don’t second-guess yourself.”

If only that was the only thing I had to second-guess, Fingon thought. But he kept the words to himself.

“I’ll see you off at dawn,” he said instead.

Gurvadhor nodded and departed, and Fingon, with an aching heart, prepared himself to go to his cold and empty bed.

Chapter End Notes

Mírë (Q.) - jewel, treasure

Comments are love, comments are life. ♥

Something was wrong. Ereiniel could read it easily, in the stiffness of her mother's spine as she pulled on her warmest cloak, in the way her father's eyes skittered away when he chanced to catch Ianneth's gaze, and in the taut, awful silence that stretched between them, like a harp string twisted out of tune.

Ianneth bent to help her daughter lace up her shoes, and Ereiniel reached up to touch her mother's hair with curious fingers. Instead of being set in its usual complex braids, Ianneth’s dark hair was pulled into a simple plait wrapped around her head like a crown.

"Careful, Ereiniel," Ianneth said. "Don't pull the pins out."

She complied, wondering how far away Eglarest was. Ianneth almost never wore her hair pinned up, not even when they'd gone on long rides to Barad Eithel before Morgoth had set the land on fire and Haru had gone away to Mandos.

Her father’s captain, Gurvadhor, arrived in the doorway as Ianneth bundled Ereiniel into her cloak. The wool was scratchy against Ereiniel’s skin, and she couldn't help tugging at the collar. Ianneth reached over and gently caught her hand, shaking her head. Ereiniel frowned, but stopped fussing and tried instead to ignore the discomfort.

"The horses are ready," Gurvadhor said. "We should depart."

Fingon nodded and crouched down to hold his daughter close. "I'll miss you, mírë," he murmured. She pressed her face against his chest and inhaled his familiar smell, soap and leather and pine needles. "I'll come visit when I can," he continued, "and we shall write to one another, all right?"

Ereiniel nodded miserably and fisted her hands into his tunic, not wanting to let go. "Why can't you come, Ada?" she mumbled.

"Shh." Fingon kissed her lightly on her forehead and she clung to him a little more tightly. "I need to stay at Barad Eithel to defend the people here," he said. "You'll be safe with your mother and the soldiers. You're my big, strong girl; be brave, mírë."

Gurvadhor cleared his throat tactfully, and Fingon stood. Ereiniel continued to lean against him, holding his hand, but he nudged her toward Ianneth. "You need to hurry along. Listen to your mother and to Lord Círdan, Ereiniel." He hesitated briefly before addressing his wife. "Be safe, Ianneth."

"We will," she said, gripping Ereiniel's hand. "You do the same." She and Ereiniel followed Gurvadhor out of the keep and into the chilly mist of the early morning. Ereiniel was suddenly glad for the cloak, even if it was itchy. She held her mother's hand and walked quickly, trying to keep up with Gurvadhor and Ianneth's bigger steps.

"Everything will be fine," Ianneth told her. "We'll cross the mountains and travel along the river, and when we reach Eglarest you'll see the ocean - won't that be exciting?"

"Maybe. But I wish Ada could come, too."

Ianneth stiffened again, and Ereiniel frowned, chewing on her thumbnail and wondering why her mother was upset. "He has other responsibilities, to his kingdom and his allies," she said tonelessly. "It's best that Lord Círdan foster you."

Ereiniel didn't argue, but she did glance back at the keep, wishing it could stay her home and that Haru had not been taken away from them, forcing Ada to become the King.

"Don't drag your feet," Ianneth interrupted. "We need to leave quickly." When they reached the horses she let go of Ereiniel's hand and mounted her palfrey.

Once Ianneth was seated in the saddle, Gurvadhor placed his hands on Ereiniel's waist. "Up you go, princess," he said, lifting her into the air and helping settle her in front of her mother. Ianneth wrapped a warm arm around her torso, and Ereinel leaned back and nestled against her, tucking herself under her mother's cloak.

"You'll be all right, my lady?" Gurvadhor asked.

"Yes," said Ianneth. "She's ridden with us before."

Gurvadhor nodded, mounted up, and signaled to the detachment to depart.

**********

"Is it very much further?" Ereiniel asked quietly, fidgeting and peering through the trees to catch glimpses of the river. The long days confined to her mother's saddle had left the girl restless and antsy, her mother seemed perpetually on edge, and the quiet, watchful guards were a sharp change from her father's relaxed good humor.

"Several more days," Ianneth answered. "We need to follow the river all the way to the coast. And don't squirm, Ereiniel; I don't want you to fall."

"But there's a bird, Nana, look!" she said, pointing through a gap in the underbrush. "Wow, it's tall!"

"It's a heron. Now sit still." Ianneth caught her daughter by the waist and tugged her back down onto the saddle.

"But Nana, why–"

"Hush!" Ianneth snapped. "The guards need to be alert, and your distractions won't help them. Stop fidgeting and be quiet."

Stunned, Ereiniel shrank down in her seat and bit her lip to keep it from trembling; her mother usually answered questions, and she never, ever yelled. She ran her thumb over a bit of saddle in front of her and stayed silent, hoping that wouldn't vex Ianneth further.

She was glad for the opportunity to move when they finally halted to set up camp. While her mother went to fetch water she slipped away, trying her best to stretch without getting underfoot, but after a few near-collisions, Lassir, Círdan’s messenger and guide, pulled her aside.

"Come watch how a campfire is started," he said, drawing her over. He erected a cone of firewood and placed some bark shavings in the center. "What do you think those are for?"

"Ada and Nana showed me how they start campfires; that's kindling," Ereiniel answered. "I used to gather it for Ada."

"Did you?" Lassir looked surprised.

She nodded. "When we went to see Haru. That's Ada's Ada. This trip is longer, though." She chewed her thumb and tilted her head to look up at him. "You talk funny."

Lassir laughed, and she smiled tentatively. "That's because I'm from the Falas, while you and your mother are from Hithlum," he said. "You'll find that the people in Eglarest mostly sound like me - but if you were to meet any of the Iathrim or the Laegrim, they would speak differently from both of us." He struck his flint to set light to the tinder and smiled at her. "To my ears even your name sounds odd - we would say Erainiel."

Ereiniel pondered this, frowning thoughtfully as she watched the flames creep up the firewood proper. "Does that mean I'll have to change it?" she asked after a few moments. "Because Ada gave it to me and I like it better than Gilwen, so I don't want to."

He laughed again. "Not if you don't want to, no. It's your name to keep or change as you see fit."

"Do you like your name?"

"I do," he said. "My father named me; I was born right along this river."

"Really?" Ereiniel's eyes widened and she looked around curiously. "So is this your home? Do your parents live here?"

Lassir shook his head. "No, they live in Eglarest like me. We traveled there when I was a young; it was safer. That's the same reason you and your mother are headed there."

Ereiniel pondered this, but before she could ask another question Ianneth returned and set down her pail of water beside the fire pit. "Come, Ereiniel," she said, gently taking her daughter's hand and giving Lassir a brief smile. "Leave Master Lassir to his work. I found some wild carrots; let's go help prepare dinner."

***********

"I hope she wasn't troubling you earlier," Ianneth said, cradling her sleeping daughter in her lap as she sat near the fire, grateful for its warmth. Gurvadhor and some of his men were standing guard, but Lassir had remained near the fire.

Lassir shook his head. "She was no bother. Inquisitive, certainly, and energetic, but those are not necessarily bad traits."

"Just inconvenient ones during long trips." Ianneth brushed some stray down from Ereiniel's forehead and drew her cloak closer around them with a pang of guilt. "She'll be better once we reach Eglarest and she's free to run about."

"How old is she?" Lassir asked, prodding aside a piece of the log that threatened to smother the flames

"Eleven."

"That's very young to leave home," he said quietly.

"It couldn't be helped. Fingon is right – Hithlum is no longer a place for a family." Ianneth frowned slightly, eyes on the fire, until Ereiniel stirred in her sleep. "I should take her to bed," Ianneth said. "I’ll see you in the morning."

"And you. Sleep well, my lady."

Ianneth stood and carried Ereiniel to their tent, where she settled her daughter into the bedroll before taking off her own cloak and lying down beside her. Ereiniel’s breath tickled Ianneth's cheek, and the girl wriggled closer, seeking her mother's warmth. Ianneth wrapped one arm around her and wiped at her eyes, resolving that she would not snap at her daughter again.

***********

They rode for four more days, the Nenning gradually widening as it approached the sea. On the morning of the fifth day Lassir reined in his horse and pointed towards the horizon. “Those are Eglarest’s walls,” he said. “We should be there before dusk.”

Ereiniel perked up in Ianneth’s saddle, peering into the distance. "It’s big, Nana,“ she said. "Are there lots of people?”

“Lots and lots of people,” Ianneth confirmed. “And other children for you to play with.”

But no Ada, Ereiniel thought, settling back against her mother with a slight frown. She wrapped one hand around Ianneth’s arm and tilted her head to look up at her face. "And you’ll be there. That’s good. I love you, Nana.“

“I love you, too,” Ianneth said, dropping her head to kiss the top of Ereiniel’s head as the group continued moving.

Ereiniel couldn’t help staring as they rode into the city. The massive walls were built of thick chunks of hewn stone, many of them longer than she was tall, and the gate was guarded by armed soldiers, their grey tunics displaying a white ship. The streets teemed with horses, wagons, and chattering people, and she wrinkled her nose at the brackish smell that hung in the air, so different from that of Lake Mithrim. The sheer bustle, too, was overwhelming - not even her grandfather’s fortress at Barad Eithel had been so busy, and she found herself trying to look everywhere at once.

A man in livery cut his way through the throng and spoke to Lassir, who nodded and turned to Gurvadhor. “Braglanen will see that you and your men are given food and accommodations. I must escort Lady Ianneth to Lord Círdan.”

Braglanen directed a second man to take charge of the wagons of iron ore – Fingon’s gift – and led the soldiers down a cross-street. Lassir, though. beckoned to Ianneth and they continued down the main road before turning onto a smaller side street. Ereiniel continued to peer around, taking in the brightly-painted shutters on the wooden houses, so different from the familiar, subdued colors of Mithrim’s architecture.

“The stables are ahead, my lady,” Lassir said, “and my lord’s home is only a short walk from here.”

When they reached the stables, Lassir dismounted and turned his horse over to a stable-hand before reaching up to help Ereiniel to the ground. She did her best not to wriggle and stood chewing her thumbnail as she waited for her mother. Ianneth, too, passed Cordof’s reins to one of the stable’s elves before taking Ereiniel by the hand. "Remember your manners,“ she murmured.

Ereiniel nodded and leaned against Ianneth, her legs stiff. "Thank you, Master Lassir,” she said.

He led them down another street, broad and obviously well-traveled, and stopped before a cluster of long, low buildings set in a square and fronted by a verdant vegetable garden. "This is my lord’s home,“ he told them as they walked up the path to the door. Ereiniel watched her mother, who was studying the garden with an expression of pleasant surprise and surreptitiously sniffing the air.

"These are very fine plants,” she said. "I assume they’re fertilized with fish?“

He nodded. "It’s the most efficient thing to use here, even if it does get rather pungent in the summer.”

“Fruitful plants are worth foul smells,” Ianneth agreed.

Ereiniel gripped her hand more tightly as Lassir opened the door and escorted them inside. The entryway was airy, with walls fashioned from warm-toned wood and windows in the ceiling to let in the sunlight. A carved settle rested against one wall, and Lassir gestured to it.

“If you would sit, my lady, I will inform Lord Círdan that you are here,” he said.

“Thank you, Lassir, but there is no need.” A sinewy man with silver hair and bright eyes strode down the hall, smiling in welcome. “I hope your journey was uneventful?”

Clearly this was Lord Círdan, whom Fingon had told her she was to mind. Growing up between her father’s court in Hithlum and the High King’s court at Barad Eithel, she had observed many Men and many Elves, but the person standing before her was unlike anyone she’d ever seen. As Lassir answered, Ereiniel tugged insistently on her mother’s hand. "He has hair on his face like a Man,“ she whispered, staring with wide eyes. "But he’s an Elf.”

“Hush!” Ianneth scolded, but Círdan merely laughed and knelt down to be at eye-level with the girl.

“Are you certain it’s hair and not seaweed, little Ereiniel? I’ve lived by the sea for a long time,” he said, his eyes twinkling. "If you stay here long enough you may grow some yourself.“

She giggled and felt her mother’s tension ebb. Círdan smiled. "Now, if you and your lady mother will come with me, I will show you where you are to live, and Master Lassir can return to his family.”

They were taken to their rooms and then given a brief tour of the house. It was actually a group of houses, connected by outdoor passages covered by intricately-carved awnings, and arranged in a square around a small paved courtyard. Camas and sea lavender lined the walls, and a few pale stone benches were artfully placed.

Nearly everything else was made of wood, ranging from pale cypress to rich gum, smooth and without splinters. The smells were strange, unlike the pine that Ereiniel was used to, but not unpleasant, and the knots in the walls were like little eyes peeking back at her.

"Where are the Houses of Healing?” Ianneth asked. “I have some skill at healing, if you could use another set of hands.”

“They’re on the other side of the market,” Círdan said. “I’ve arranged for someone to guide you around the city for the next few days. There’s also an area near the market where many of the children play.” He flashed a smile at Ereiniel and then, to Ianneth, said, “There’s always a mother or two keeping an eye on them.”

They had circled back to their new rooms, and Círdan stopped, easing the door open. “Would you like to refresh yourselves before joining me for dinner? I can have water brought up for a bath.”

“That would be wonderful,” Ianneth said gratefully.

They bathed, washing away the grime of the long journey, and ate with Lord Círdan, who spoke mostly to Ianneth. The conversation was dull, all adult-talk, and Ereiniel was soon bored. But she resisted the urge to build a castle out of her mashed potatoes, remembering her mother's frequent admonitions not to play with her food. Still, she grew fidgety, and Ianneth soon excused the two of them for the evening, tucking Ereiniel in and then unpacking some of their things.

Chapter End Notes

Comments are love, comments are life. ♥

Ereiniel woke the next morning snuggled up against her mother, warm and comfortable now that she was back in a real bed. But the sun was peeking over the horizon and she could hear the seabirds calling to each other, their voices loud and rough. “Nana,” she whispered, nudging Ianneth’s shoulder. “Nana.”

“Mmm,” Ianneth mumbled, resting an arm over her eyes.

“Nana.”

Ianneth blinked blearily at her daughter. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“Nana, it’s morning.” Ereiniel sat up and gave a little bounce. “We’re supposed to look around the city!”

“It’s barely dawn,” Ianneth groaned.

“But Nana.”

“Ergh…” Ianneth sat up, rubbing her eyes with her palms and sighing heavily. “Breakfast first," she said, giving in. "And we need to wait for Lord Círdan’s guide. We don’t want to get lost. This is a big city, Ereiniel, almost as big as Barad Eithel.”

They dressed in lighter clothes, for it was warmer in Eglarest, especially when the sun was out. It had been a long time since Ereiniel had worn short sleeves, and the freckles on her arms were barely visible. She frowned a little. Like her blue eyes, her freckles were a trait she shared with her father. I hope he writes soon, she thought.

"Hey," Ianneth said, noticing her frown. "Chin up, love. You'll make new friends today."

Ereiniel nodded and took her mother's hand, and they went to meet Lord Círdan's guide.

***********

After a brief tour of the nearby parts of the city — the market, the harbor, and the craftsmen's quarter — Ianneth dropped Ereiniel off at the play area near the edge of the market. "Don't leave the square," she instructed. "I'm going to visit the Houses of Healing. You behave until I get back, okay?"

"I will." Ereiniel watched her mother go and then stood on the edge of the square, watching a group of children as they skipped rope. She was about to ask to join their game when she heard a commotion behind her. A gaggle of boys was darting through the crowd, a ragdoll clutched in one's hands.

"Crybaby!" the boy yelled, lifting it high in the air. "Maewen is a crybaby!"

A smaller girl was running after him, breathing heavily and hiccuping with tears. "Give her back! Erestor!"

You are from a line of kings, and kings must take care of their people, Ereiniel heard her father say as she observed the scene before her. We have a duty to help those who need it. So, as the boy ran past, she jumped up and snatched the doll from his hands. He skidded to a halt with a cry of, "Hey!" but by then Ereiniel had the doll clamped firmly against her chest, out of his grasp.

The girl called Maewen soon caught up with them, breathless, with tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. "Give her back," she sobbed, and Ereiniel handed the doll over, positioning herself between Maewen and the boys.

"You're being mean," she announced, glaring up at Erestor.

For a moment he seemed entirely wrong-footed, but then he rallied. "You're protecting a baby," he sneered. "A crybaby."

"And you're being a bully,” she sniffed. “Better a baby than a bully. You stop picking on her or else!" She turned on her heel, wrapped an arm around Maewen's shoulders, and began to steer the girl away, ignoring the jeers coming from Erestor's group.

Maewen had her face pressed into her doll's hair, muffling her tears, so Ereiniel found herself looking around for a place for them to sit. She spotted a place by the market wall, half-hidden by a stack of barrels, and tugged Maewen over. "It's okay," she said, rubbing Maewen's back the way her mother rubbed hers when she cried. "He's just a big ol' meanie."

Maewen sniffled and nodded. "Thank you," she mumbled. "For getting Dandelion back."

"That's a good name," Ereiniel said, looking at the doll's wooly, white hair and bright yellow dress. "Mine's called Bean. But she's still packed away."

"How come?"

"We just moved here yesterday. Me and Nana," Ereiniel explained. "My name’s Ereiniel."

"I'm Maewen. And the meanie is Erestor. He's my cousin." She tugged at one of her curls, shiny chestnut in color, and frowned. "He's always picking on me."

"Well, he won't anymore," Ereiniel said, lifting her chin. "I won’t let him. My father taught me to always stand up to bullies."

Maewen smiled shyly. “Do you want to play hopscotch with me?” she asked.

“What’s hopscotch?”

“Come on,” Maewen said, her smile widening as she stood. “I’ll show you.”  She led Ereiniel to a corner of the square, where a numbered grid was chalked on the stones. Ereiniel could see where it had been traced over again as the older chalk lines had faded.

“Oh, I know how to play this,” she said, as Maewen picked up a smooth rock from the small pile that sat beside the grid. “We call it peevers back home. You have to hop and knock the rock into the next box without touching the lines, right?”

“That’s right,” Maewen said. “I’ve never heard anybody call in peevers before. Where are you from? It must be far away.”

Ereiniel nodded. “I’m from Hithlum,” she said. “It is far away. It took us more than a week to get here, Nana and me. That’s even longer than when we used to ride to visit my grandfather at Barad Eithel.”

“Isn’t that a Golodhrim city?” Maewen said. “Are you a Golodh?”

Ereiniel shrugged. “My father is. But my mother is from Lake Mithrim. I’m sort of both, I suppose.” She chose a stone and booted it into the grid, but paused briefly before hopping to ask, “What about you? Does your whole family live here?”

“Oh, yes,” Maewen said, watching as her new friend hopped and spun. “My parents have lived in Eglarest all their lives, and my grandparents, and my great-grandparents, too. My father and his father and his father are all clammers. I’m going to be a weaver, though, like my mother. Nana’s already teaching me. I’m good at it, too,” she added, a touch of pride in her voice. “I can already make cheesecloth that’s good enough to use.”

Ereiniel was impressed, and said so. “You must have good hands. I can spin, but I can’t weave,” she told Maewen as Maewen tossed her own stone onto the peever grid. “I don’t know what I want to do when I get older, though. Maybe be a healer like my mother.”

“What does your father do?” Maewen asked. “Is he a smith? Erestor says all the Golodhrim are smiths.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Ereiniel said. “Ada’s a–” She paused for the briefest of moments and then finished, “–soldier. He protects Hithlum from orcs and other foul things.”

She felt a little uneasy about lying to someone she had befriended, someone she had already decided that she liked, but on the whole she thought that in this case it was better not to tell the full truth. Some of the children at Barad Eithel had always treated her differently because her father was the crown prince, and she could only imagine that that would happen again here, but even worse, if she told people that her father was High King of the Noldor – assuming they even believed her.

At least it didn’t seem to have occurred to Maewen to ask about Ereiniel’s name – daughter of kings. But someone probably would. Maybe, Ereiniel thought, she ought to start using her mother-name, Gilwen, instead. She’d have to talk it over with Nana later.

Leaving those thoughts unvoiced, she continued playing with Maewen until her mother returned and told her it was time for lunch. “See you tomorrow?” Ereiniel asked as she said goodbye to Maewen.

Maewen nodded enthusiastically, and said, “I’ll be here! And you should bring your doll, that way Dandelion can play with Bean.”

“I will,” Ereiniel promised.

*************

“See, you’ve made a friend already,” Ianneth said to her daughter as they returned to Lord Círdan’s house for lunch. “And this afternoon we’ll unpack and write letters to your father for Gurvadhor to carry back with him, and tomorrow you can see your new friend again. Won’t that be nice?”

She knew that she was trying a little too hard to be cheerful, but she hoped that Ereiniel would be too happy at having made a new friend to notice. For her part, Ianneth was far from at ease here. Just as Ereiniel had never been so far from home before, neither had Ianneth ever been so thoroughly separated from her own parents and sister. She wished Tinneth were here with her now. They had always been close, and Ianneth would have liked someone to confide in regarding the sudden fracture of her marriage. She had thought Fingon was content in their relationship, but apparently she’d been wrong.

At least she would still be able to be of use in Eglarest. Halwen, the woman who ran the Houses of Healing, had been impressed by Ianneth’s knowledge of herb lore and had offered her a place straight away, saying that she would always welcome a skilled set of hands. Ianneth was glad of that; it would give her something to do to take her mind off her current troubles.

“Hey, Nana?” Ereiniel asked, once they’d returned to their rooms after lunch. “I was wondering… Do you think I should start using Gilwen instead of Ereiniel?”

Caught off-guard by the question, Ianneth blinked in surprise. “Why should you do that, love?” she said.

Ereiniel chewed on her lower lip for a moment before answering. “I was just thinking,” she said. “You remember how some of the children at Barad Eithel didn’t ever really play with me because of Ada, because they thought they would get in trouble if we argued? What if it’s like that here, too? What if the other children don’t want to play with me because Ada is king now? I mean, my name makes it kind of obvious to anyone who thinks about it.”

Oh, to have the small worries of a small girl, Ianneth thought wistfully. Aloud, she said, “I don’t think you should hide who you are, Ereiniel. We’re not here incognito. The other children will find out, even if you don’t tell them yourself. And if they don’t want to play with you, that just shows they weren’t worth being friends with in the first place. Real friends will judge you on your own merits. Think about that, all right?”

“Yes, Nana,” she said. “I will.”

“Now,” Ianneth said, “it’s time for you to take a nap.”

Once she’d tucked her daughter into bed, she sat down at the table by the window to begin writing to Fingon. But after staring at the blank parchment for a good twenty minutes, she had to admit to herself that she didn’t know what to say. All the things she wanted to say – how could you do this, why did you do it, am I not enough for you, how long have you been lying to me, do you realize how much you’ve hurt me? – were too sensitive to put on paper where they might be read by prying eyes.

Perhaps she should have let him explain, rather than locking herself in Ereiniel’s room, if only so she could have had more information. But she couldn’t even conceive of any explanation that wouldn’t have made her feel even worse. Seeing those drawings, she’d felt like someone had struck her hard in the chest, and Fingon’s reaction to her discovery had cracked her heart in two.

But she would have to be strong for her daughter. One thing was certain: Ereiniel must never know about this.

After another fifteen minutes’ thought and some surreptitious tears, Ianneth finally put pen to paper.

Dear Fingon,

I hope you will be glad to hear that our  journey was uneventful. We have arrived safely in Eglarest and are beginning to settle in. Ereiniel has already made a friend here, which should come as no surprise. Our daughter has always been an outgoing little girl.

I’ve made arrangements to spend the mornings assisting in the Houses of Healing here; it will be good to have some work to take my mind off things. Afternoons will be spent seeing to Ereiniel’s education, as I did in Hithlum. I think it will be another year or two before we need a dedicated tutor, but I will keep you apprised of her progress.

Lord Círdan has been very kind, and I believe we will be as safe here as you hoped.

Your faithful wife,

Ianneth

True, it was a short message, she thought as she looked the letter over, but then, what else was there to say? So she folded the parchment, poured a blob of warm wax, and stamped it with her seal. She would give it to Gurvadhor in the morning, along with the letter that she would help Ereiniel write once she woke from her nap.

Chapter End Notes

Comments are love, comments are life. ♥

My dearest Ianneth,

We’ve suffered three different attacks these past two weeks, so I am greatly relieved that you and Ereiniel are safe in Eglarest. As much as I miss you both, it’s a tremendous comfort to me to know that you are beyond Morgoth’s reach. If any harm were to befall either of you, I would be devastated. I love you both dearly. Please don’t ever doubt that.

On that note, when next I come to visit, I would like us to talk – privately, out of our daughter’s earshot. I realize I owe you an apology and an explanation, and I hope you will at the very least hear me out before drawing any conclusions. I will say it again: I love you, Ianneth. You are my daughter’s mother, and you have been a true helpmeet and friend to me these past thirteen years. I am bereft without you by my side. We must speak honestly when next I see you.

On to more mundane subjects: I am greatly pleased to see that Ereiniel’s penmanship and spelling are continuing to improve. How is she faring with mathematics? Do you judge that she’s ready to begin learning multiplication, or is she still struggling with subtraction?

Our government continues to tick along as best as I can make it in the absence of my father. Henthael still glowers at me every time he lays eyes on me, but he does his job well and he had my father’s deepest trust, so I have decided that I will keep him in his position of chief scribe. Gurvadhor has taken over the defense of Hithlum in my stead, now that I must take up a permanent place here at Barad Eithel.

I miss you, my love. I will come to see you and Ereiniel once things have settled down here. In the meantime, please keep writing. Your letters bring me comfort.

Your loving husband,

Fingon

Ereiniel, mírë, my treasure, my jewel,

I hope you are making friends, paying heed to your mother, and working hard in your lessons. I miss you every day, but it brings me great comfort to know that you and Nana are somewhere safe, where no harm can befall you. Still, I miss your hugs and your laughter and your smiles, and I think of you every night.

I know you miss me, too, but it’s important that you be as far from the front lines of this war as you can be. Whenever you’re feeling lonely or missing me too much, I want you to go outside and look at the stars, and to remember that the same stars that look down on you are looking down on me. We may even be staring up at the stars at the same time! I think of you every time I see the night sky, Ereiniel Gilwen, my shining star.

I’m sending along some new books for you to read; I know you have yet to finish all of the books your mother brought with you, but it’s important that you read widely and learn all that you can. I’m glad to hear, too, that you’ve been practicing your archery. It’s equally important that you be able to defend yourself, and archery is good practice for life. Steady hands and a steady heart will get you far in many things.

I will visit as soon as I can, but for now there is much that I must do at Barad Eithel. It is one of the unfortunate things about being High King; I belong to all the Noldor now, not only to you and Nana.

Work hard, mírë, and continue to write to me. Your letters bring me such joy in these grey times.

All my love,

Ada

Fingon sealed both letters and set them aside to be given to the messenger that he would be sending to the Falas the following week.

“You have official missives as well, your highness,” Henthael said from where he was sitting at his desk in the corner. “One from Círdan of the Falas, one from your cousin in Nargothrond, one from your father-in-law in Mithrim, and one from your cousin in Himring. The messages from Nargothrond and Himring are both marked urgent.”

With a sigh, Fingon rubbed a hand over his eyes. It seemed that, when one was king, there was no end to urgent matters. Turning his mind from his family to his duties, he said, “The one from Finrod first, please.”

*************

Ereiniel and Maewen soon became fast friends, spending their days playing near the market or, if the weather was poor, at Maewen’s house while her mother worked at her loom. True to her word, Ereiniel made herself into a wall between Maewen and those who sought to bully her. For her part, Maewen showed Ereiniel more of Eglarest than any of Lord Círdan’s guides ever managed.

“I like it here,” Ereiniel said one day as they dried off after a swimming lesson. It was a commonly held opinion among the residents of Eglarest that, since they lived on the water, all children should be taught to swim, and Lord Círdan had obliged by arranging for groups of volunteers to teach in various parts of the city. While Ereiniel already knew how to swim, having been taught by her mother and father in the waters of Lake Mithrim, she was new to salt water and the tides of the ocean. She was learning new skills now – how to stay afloat in the waves, how to spot a rip current, how to avoid being swept out to sea.

Maewen smiled at her. “I’m glad,” she said, flicking a bit of water at her friend. “I like that you like it here.”

Ereiniel returned the gesture, landing a drop of water on Maewen’s nose. “Well, I like that you like that I like it here,” she said with a grin.

This quickly devolved into an exchange of flying water droplets and giggling, until Maewen said, “Let’s go home. It’s lunchtime anyway.”

Ereiniel took her friend’s hand and followed her down the street, skipping over a cracked cobblestone. “I hope my father comes to visit soon,” she said. “He said in his last letter that things are still too busy in Hithlum. But I miss him a lot.”

“He’s a soldier for the Golodhrim king, right?” Maewen said. “That’s what you told me.”

A tendril of guilt knotted itself in Ereiniel’s stomach, and she felt her face heat. “I…kind of lied,” she confessed in a small voice. “Not to be mean! Just because…well, I was worried you wouldn’t want to be my friend if you knew.” She took a deep breath, braced herself, and said, “He is the Golodhrim king.”

Maewen stared at her for a moment, then grinned and, quite cheerfully, said, “You’re a liar.”

“I am not!” Ereiniel protested.

“She’s not, actually,” said a lofty voice behind them. Turning, the girls saw that Erestor had been tailing them as they walked, so quietly that neither of them had noticed he was there.

“It’s her name,” Erestor said, smirking at Maewen’s look of puzzlement. “Ereiniel. That’s how they say ‘kings’ up north – instead of say erain properly, they say erein.” He rolled the R in erein for an extra long time, exaggerating the way Ereiniel and her mother spoke, and Ereiniel bristled at the mockery.

“Fancy you not figuring that out,” he continued, assuming a sneering, better-than-thou expression that Ereiniel longed to wipe off his face.

Maewen was blushing in a way that indicated that she was deeply embarrassed, but she managed to gather herself up enough to say, “Oh, go away. Nobody wants you here.”

“I just thought you should know,” Erestor sniffed, before stalking off with his nose in the air.

It was a relief to see him go, and Ereiniel took Maewen’s hand in hers once more. They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then, her voice very small, Maewen said, “Well, now I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” Ereiniel said immediately. “Most people don’t think that hard about other people’s names. I mean, I don’t even know what Erestor’s name means.”

Maewen snickered and said, “I don’t either. I’m not sure my aunt knows what it means. I think she just liked the sound of it.” Her eyes remained crinkled with mirth while the two of them giggled together, but then her expression sobered. “Look,” she said. “If your father is the king, that makes you a princess. So why aren’t you doing princess things?”

Ereiniel pondered this for a moment, and then, puzzled, asked, “What kind of things are princess things?”

“I don’t know,” Maewen said. “Don’t you?”

Shaking her head, Ereiniel said, “I’m doing the same things here that I did in Hithlum – playing with my friends and practicing archery and doing lessons with my mother. I suppose I’ll have more responsibilities when I get older. What my father really needs is for me to have a brother, so he can have an heir, but he and Nana want to wait until I’ve grown a bit before they have another baby.”

“I’d like a brother,” Maewen said. “Instead all I have is a big meanie of a cousin.”

Ereiniel leaned over and kissed Maewen on the cheek. “You don’t need a brother,” she said. “You have me to watch out for you.”

“I do, don’t I? You’re better than a brother, anyway, I’ll bet. Glaureth has a brother and she says all he does is poke her and pull her hair. Boys,” Maewen added in a long-suffering sort of voice.

“Not all boys,” Ereiniel said, trying to be fair. “I have a second cousin on Nana’s side, Thelion, and he’s always been nice to me. He used to go swimming with me in the lake.” She frowned at the memory, remembering the separation that lay between her and nearly all her family now. “I miss him,” she admitted. “I don’t know when I’ll see him again. We can’t go home yet, Nana says. It’s too dangerous. Morgoth keeps trying to break through the mountains and attack.”

“My great-grandmother said Morgoth attacked us here, a long time ago, but the Golodhrim drove the orcs off,” Maewen said. “Back before we had the sun, she told me.”

Ereiniel nodded. “That was one of Ada’s cousins, I think. They don’t live in Hithlum anymore. They’re all off in the east. But Cousin Maedhros used to come west to visit sometimes. He’s Ada’s best friend. He’s really tall,” she added. “Really tall.”

She’d always enjoyed Cousin Maedhros’ visits, rare though they’d been. He made her father laugh, and talked about plants with her mother, and was generally willing to play with her, picking her up and letting her ride on his shoulders so that she was taller than everyone – at least until he put her down. Hopefully he would still be able to see her father despite Morgoth’s attacks; Fingon deserved to have visits from someone who made him happy, even if those visits couldn’t come from his daughter and wife. And Maedhros could defend himself from orcs, unlike Ereiniel and her mother. Her father had told her that the orcs were frightened of Maedhros, and that they would flee rather than face him in battle.

If Ereiniel had been an orc, she would have been scared of her father, too, not just of Maedhros. Everyone said that he was a brave and ferocious warrior – Fingon the Valiant! – and she had watched him training with his soldiers. He moved like a blur, striking fast and fiercely, and he nearly always won his matches. Hopefully her father would be able to defeat Morgoth’s orcs and make Hithlum safe again, and then Ereiniel would be able to go home.

She liked Eglarest, and she especially liked Maewen, but Eglarest wasn’t home.

The girls reached Maewen’s house, where Maewen’s mother, Aearwaloth, was waiting for them outside with a pair of combs for them to use to work the salt and sand out of their scalps, so that they wouldn’t mess up her clean floors when they came inside. They obeyed, Ereiniel unbraiding her plait and Maewen taking down her ponytail. Ereiniel thought Maewen had the most beautiful hair she’d ever seen, glossy chestnut curls that bounced around her face as they played. Her own hair was black and straight and boring, like most elves, nothing special at all.

Once they’d combed their hair out, they came inside, changed into the fresh clothes that had been left there this morning before they went to swim class, and then settled down at the table for lunch. People in Eglarest ate a lot of fish; that was one difference from Hithlum, where venison and mutton had been more common and fish, like boar, had been an occasional meal rather than a staple food. But Ereiniel didn’t mind. Salted herring, it turned out, was just as good as salted pork, and smelts were smelts, whether they came from the lakes of Hithlum or from the estuary at the mouth of the River Nenning.

Maewen had promised, too, that she would show Ereiniel how to dig for soup clams once the weather got a little warmer, and that her mother would make them into a kind of soup Maewen called chowder. Clams were new to Ereiniel, but she had found already that she liked them, and she was looking forward to trying chowder. And while Maewen had been shocked that Ereiniel had never eaten clams or scallops or oysters, Ereiniel had been equally shocked that Maewen had never eaten venison or squirrel or boar.

But perhaps that was understandable; the land around Eglarest was devoted to farming, raising wheat, barley, flax, and sheep, with the closest forest some fifty miles to the east. Fishing made more sense than hunting. Still, Ereiniel felt a little out of place surrounded by people who couldn’t skin a squirrel. And she missed going hunting with her father, staying out in the woods of Hithlum for several days and helping Fingon prepare the squirrels he’d shot to make squirrel and butter bean stew.

She missed her father, period, missed his warmth and strength and brightness. Ereiniel thought her mother must miss him, too; young as she was, she’d still noticed that Ianneth had been different since they’d left home – a little quiet, a little unhappy, a little brittle, almost.

It was hard, leaving home. At least Ereiniel had made a friend to help her adjust to life in this foreign city. She could only hope her mother, too, would make some friends at the Houses of Healing who could help ease her current troubles.

Chapter End Notes

Comments are love, comments are life. ♥