Amin

Erestor paced nervously within the confines of his lavish chambers, a caged raven wishing for the exploration of flight. Having been told by Lord Elrond to remain close by, for the kingdom of Lindon was vast and oftentimes confusing to navigate, the advisor had no choice but to linger.

The smell of the salty air was a nuance that intrigued him greatly, the call of the ocean far too alluring to ignore. Lord Elrond would not miss him for a few hours. It was not as if he did not have Ereinion Gil-galad to keep him occupied, the two Elven Lords having been inseparable since their arrival. Secretly, Erestor wondered if they had been sharing more than just each other’s company.

Business of that nature was not concern. He should not think of it. Yet, he did. . .

The whispering breath of the ocean still beckoned to him, relentless in the lure of its call. Perhaps he would just go for a walk along the shoreline. Certainly there was no harm in that. As long as the main tower of the ornate household was still visible, he would have a point of reference.

Rest was not exactly what he craved after all. . .

Despite the ruthless chill of the wind, Erestor found the air to be most refreshing as he took solace in the soothing lull of the water’s hushed voice. The damp, humid air was a refreshing change from the dryness of the Autumn wood.

As he strolled along the shoreline, time seemed to fuse into stillness and he was quite unaware of just how far he had walked until he glanced over his shoulder and noticed that the tower had become little more than a mere speck in the distance. He had traveled much further than he intended. Densely packed trees edged the sandy beaches mixed with a myriad of foliage and thorny vegetation. Erestor quirked a brow. How odd that such plants thrived in soil mixed with sand. So, Lindon had its own forests as well.

Interesting. . .

Craggy rocks formed a natural bridge that lead partway into the water’s lapping embrace, yet it was a good vantage point to view the sheer beauty of the Great Sea of Belegaer. Erestor treaded with caution upon the mass of rocks, for despite the mossy growth that padded their surface, he was certain they could most slippery.

With his back to the woods, he stared out across the peaceful emerald seaway that seemed to never end, stretching further than even the keenest Elven eye could see. Emerald. . .like the gaze of Ereinion Gil-galad. . .

He thought of the kindness those eyes had held. . . mystery. . .the intrigue. . . the defined slope of his aristocratic nose. . . the lovely curve of the High King’s full lips. . .the unrivaled beauty of his visage. . .the. . .

Erestor shook his head in attempts to shake the image from his mind. So engrossed was he in the wanton wiles of his imagination that he failed to notice the flicker of movement within the treetops. . . until. . .

“By the Gods!”

The feathered end of an arrow whizzed past his ear just shy of the back of his head as he twisted agilely to avoid a second that landed just shy of his booted foot, sailing into the depths of the water. His hand flew instinctively to the hilt of the dagger belted at his waist within the confines of his robes, but his balance faltered, the slippery algae covered moss proving to be the worst of all enemies.

With a strangled curse, he tumbled into the briny shallows, his body sinking into the soft sand. The icy water saturated his clothing as he floundered to right himself, managing to stagger to his hands and knees with a spluttering gasp.

Tinkling laughter met his ears as he pushed sand-encrusted strands of his braided hair away from his face.

“He is not so pretty now, is he?”

“Like a drowned sea rat.”

“Yep.”

One toe of a leather boot edged the gently lapping water. Erestor glanced up into the face of a smirking Elfling, the youngster’s lean frame bending over him with intense scrutiny. Clearly, the child had initiated the “attack” on Erestor’s person, for he held his bow proudly aloft in one hand, grinning impishly all the while. Three others close in age crowded closely behind, peering at Erestor as if he were some manner of sea creature that had chosen to beach itself upon the shore.

The youngster crouched near Erestor, a shock of nearly white hair falling across the stark green of his eyes as he stared the advisor down with casual indifference.

“What are you doing on my rock?” the Elfling asked, his tone both surprisingly cool and accusational all at once.

“Your rock!” Erestor sputtered, finding his footing at last. “Your…rock?!”

“Aye. My rock,” the Elfling said, poking Erestor in the chest with the tip of his bow.

The youngling was also quite tall, just shy of reaching adolescence if Erestor had to guess. And very bold. Unnervingly so.

A snarl curled the advisor’s lip as he drew himself up to his full height, which was not as impressive as he had hoped, for the Elfling was nearly eye level with his gaze, verdant eyes glinting like cold chips of jadeite.

“Get out,” the young Elf growled. “And if I catch you here again, the next shower of arrows shall be real!”

“Ryuath. . .” one of the younger Elflings piped up at last, “if Ada catches us here, he shall. . .”

“Be silent, Fiael! He will not find out.” The one called Ryuath grasped the collar of his brother’s tunic with a fierce sneer. “Riiigghht?”

Fiael gulped and backed away, brushing at his clothing as if Ryuath’s touch had tainted him in some manner.

“You, Dark Hair. . .go while you can, lest I change my mind.” Ryuath’s pale haired whipped about in the suddenly brisk wind, framing the articulated frown of his stern mouth wildly.

“You insolent whelp! Do you honestly believe that you can order me about as if I am your subordinate!” Erestor snapped. “You do not wish to have a battle of wills, with me young one, for I assure you that my tongue has a sharpness equal to that of my blade!”

The tip of a mithril blade appeared suddenly within the advisor’s hand, its twin twirling through the fingers of the other, both trained upon Ryuath’s stubborn countenance with deadly accuracy. Before the youth could draw his bow, the sinewy string was severed with a quick slash of silver rendering the weapon useless.

“Come on, Ryuath,” Fiael begged, tugging at his older brother’s hand. “This has gone too far! And it almost time for Ada’s watch. . .he will cats! s! He will. . .”

“Enough!” Ryuath bellowed, shaking his arm from Fiael’s clambering grasp. Narrowing his eyes menacingly, he said, “you shall pay for that, Dark Hair. I would lock my chamber door tonight if I were you.”

With a flip of his frosty locks, the Elfling stormed away, leaving the bristling advisor shouting a curse in the tongue of the Gypsy Elves behind him.

Of all the audacious nerve! Never had he seen an Elfling behave in such a disrespectful manner towards an elder. . .especially a guest within his own kingdom! Squeezing the moisture from his robes, Erestor tossed his matted braid over one shoulder. Night would come soon and he did not wish to be about in a strange land with only the protection of his twin daggers to serve as his defense.

Cold, wet and utterly annoyed, he began the arduous trek back to the kingdom’s spiraling towers, hoping that Ereinion Gil-galad was far from his view, for he did not wish to be seen looking like. . .how had the youngling put it. . .a drowned sea rat?

Indeed. . .!

* * * * * * TO BE CONTINUED......