A/N: It's funny but, when Hari's being a jerk, you hate him and yet, when I give him a hard time, you all feel sorry for him.
sweety-pie2712: Ah, good things come to those who wait. There's a bit longer to go until Draco and Hari get together.
TheGodMachine: Well, the wait is over. Hope I don't disappoint.
evildictionaryninja: It sure is. The King and Queen have another part to play in this, mark my words!
EngelCre: Great. That's the sign of a good author, surprising her readers. Hari certainly is not the most sane person you'll meet, I agree.
minoki: Draco certainly does a hard time. Y'know, I always give Draco a hard time in my stories. And I call myself a Draco fan!
emeraud.silver: I wish he didn't too.
Don't forget, after you read this, to vote on my poll. Your votes decide whether I should continue this story or Power of the Moon.
Read on, for a question that I asked before shall, at last, be answered!
Calasier Avamela
Chapter 11: Morendil
Draco's grief stabbed at his heart like a thousand knives. This was worse than being dismissed from His service. He hates me, This fact echoed in his head, spurring the endless tears on, He hates me. I've done nothing for him, nothing. Unless you count all the trouble I caused. I've failed him. I'm an utter failure to him and the rest of the world. How could I have thought I would be any good?
He howled to the floor, weeping to the bones of His ancestors. The sun filtered through the windows and warmed the marble he lay upon. Draco had no power to move. All he could do was cry, "Why?" He wept. This word echoed around the place, "...why...why...why..."
"Why did I have to come here? Why? Why?"
He kept repeated things like this over and over again. It was difficult to tell whether it was an echo or his actual voice. However hard he cried, the anguish never ceased. All the time, his Prince's angry face and his insults burst in front of him, making the tears flow even more. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. It was all darkness despite the lightening sky. There was no one to turn to. No one came to comfort him. Arawen, Leonas, Marilla and all others were many miles below, too far away to hear him.
All energy he had left was used for crying. Draco became weary and, presently, his anguish lessened, Perhaps it's better, he thought, as he lay on the warm floor, if I die here. Then, I cannot make any more trouble for my Prince. Yes, it's the only way. He looked out at the rising sun, Only through my death can I stay here. Will it be quicker if I jump from the window? My only wish will be that my spirit should stay beside my Prince...and I will be with him forever, even if he doesn't know it...
A few more tears seeped through his eyelashes and he fell asleep.
He had been asleep for perhaps a few moments. When he woke up, the sun was still around the same place it was before. He was stiff and hunger began to pain him. Groaning slightly, he rolled over, How did it come to this? How did I get this far? The ceiling's rafters were carved with leaves and little figures which stared down upon him with unblinking eyes. That didn't bother him.
What did was the light. Was it his imagination or was the once golden light now an ethereal blue? I'm hallucinating already. He rubbed his eyes furiously and looked again. The blue light was still there. He looked out of the golden-rimmed windows and saw that the sun had turned bright powder blue. The sky seemed darker than before. Is it night, already? Do they have more blue moons in this place? This strange sight distracted him from his grief and he stared out at the land. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The new leaves rippled in the wind more slowly and those that came loose seemed to take double the time to dance in the air. What's going on? Is it just me? He rubbed his eyes again but nothing changed.
A puzzled silence followed, broken only by approaching footsteps. It took Draco a while to really realise but someone was coming. He looked instinctively towards the door before realising that the footsteps were coming from the stairs leading up to the steps. Leonas, he must be up here. It took him another long while to realise that Leonas was downstairs and couldn't be up there.
As he realised this, the figure came around the corner and Draco gave a cry of amazement. An armoured elf with a spear came towards him and Draco recognised him as the Guard of the Gate. But, he's a statue! Oh, damn, I really am seeing things. Draco turned back to the window, It's not there. After a moment, a voice came from his right,
"Hello, Draco." Confused, he turned again. The Guard of the Gate was still standing there and then, it smiled, "Do you not believe your senses?"
"I-I haven't been sleeping much lately." This was true. He hadn't slept very well before the battle and he had only been asleep a few hours before his capture, "You're just a figment of my imagination. Now, just leave me alone. I'll join you sooner or later."
"What are you talking about?" The Guard frowned, putting his head to the side, "Sorry," He added, a small blush appearing in his face, "I never paid attention at school. Fighting was all I was really good for."
"I mean," Draco sighed, sitting down against the wall, "that I'll die soon."
The Guard made a face, "You look well enough to me. You cannot mean you wish to take your own life?"
"If it'll make it any quicker then, yes." The tears were beginning to start again. The Guard took a firm hold of his shoulder, shaking Draco's assumption that he was seeing things,
"No, Draco. Do not kill yourself. Don't make the same mistake I did."
"What?" Draco looked around, inquisitiveness taking over,
"I fell on my sword during a battle." He explained, looking out on the land, "When I was alive, I was a guard of the camp and Drows stormed it. I thought the day was lost so I fell on my sword. Turned out that we beat them back so they buried me here so I can make up for my cowardice." He looked as though he thought that he deserved this, "Which goes to show that you can't be too hasty with these things."
"Well, I know that I deserve to die." Draco put his head on his knees to stop the ghost-or-whatever-it-was seeing his tears, "I've caused so much trouble for my Prince. I don't have a reason to live now that I've displeased him."
The Guard seemed unsure of what to do. After a moment, he pulled Draco to his feet, "Come on. The Kings and Queens want to meet you." He guided a bewildered Draco up the steps to the tombs, "Sorry I scared you, by the way." He added, on the way there, "When you first came here. I'm a useless soldier, actually." He added, "I have no idea why they put me, here. I've never made that face in my life."
"Or death?"
"No. Or death."
They came out into the tombs and Draco gave another gasp of shock. The plinths were the statues stood were now empty. All the statues seemed to have come to life and were milling around the place, some in groups and some in pairs. As soon as they saw Draco, they all looked around and a veiled Queen strode to him first, "Hello, Draco." She had a breathy voice which was so quiet that he could barely hear it, "I am Queen Undire, the great-great grandmother of Queen Lindilwen. I am terribly sorry for the behaviour my great-great-great grandson. I saw him as you entered. I cannot tell you how disgusted I am at how he treated you."
"I would have whipped him if he was my son!" Gadweal the Second said from the wall. The Drow head lay discarded on the plinth but there was no mistaking him,
"Terrible, terrible." said another King that Draco did not know but with an extravagant and very heavy-looking circlet on his head, "To do something like that to a good servant."
"I'm not that good." Draco didn't like the way they talked. It sounded like his Prince was in the wrong, "I've caused too much trouble."
"You're a human!" Gadweal the Second stood and actually clapped him on the back, "How can you cause trouble?"
"I think we would all like to know that." A strangely rugged King, smoking a pipe, spoke from the front, "Do tell of your sorrows, Draco."
Thankful for an excuse to put them in the right, Draco sat down on the Guard of the Gate's plinth and told the ghosts-or-whatever-they-were all about the offences he had committed. Strangely, they still seemed to think that he had been wronged. No matter how much he told and retold them, he could not convince him that he was the criminal.
The royal carriage clattered in the courtyard of Ariador. The horses' hooves were loud and sent the grey Helin running back to her stable. Maltandir watched it approach and recognised the Alqualond crest on the door. I thought that Mirima would come. These troubled times give us no mercy. I shall have to give my explanation before I leave.
The door was flung open and, sure enough, Queen Mirima strode out. She looked completely furious and Maltandir could not think why. Has the Prince committed something worse? Celemarin came in after her and caught sight of him first,
"Maltandir! Forgive us for this unannounced visit but Her Majesty was so insistent."
"Where is he?" The Queen growled, "Where is your Prince?"
Before Maltandir could answer, King Jaurion and Queen Lindilwen came into view in the entrance hall. Regardless of their faces, Mirima turned on them and strode towards them, "What is the meaning of this, Jaurion?"
"Why, what is the problem, Mirima?" Jaurion asked, confused,
"Your son! He has slaughtered many of my best soldiers!"
"WHAT?" Jaurion jumped, actually jumped, and Lindilwen clapped her hands to her mouth. Maltandir too stared in shock,
"Yes, he has killed near the field of the orc ambush in the tavern on the river."
"I thought them bandits." Maltandir said, without really meaning to, "They covered their heads with scarves."
"That is the very worst of it." Celemarin said, her face saddening, "They had deceived us. They were the Fanka Gang, a notorious gang of murdering thieves."
"Hari knew this." Maltandir muttered, remembering what the Prince had said at the camp, "He said 'Those rats deserved the death I gave them.'"
"He knew it?" Mirima rounded on him, "Why did neither of you mention it to me? They are my citizans after all and it is my duty to punish them myself according to our laws. Now, where is he?" She almost shouted the last statement. Jaurion and Lindilwen flinched and Lindilwen's face crumpled,
"He is lost!" She wailed, burying her face in her hands, "He is missing!" Her Nienna put an arm around her to comfort her and Celemarin too gave an apologetic bow,
"I do beg your pardon, My Lady. We did not know of this."
"What about Draco?" Mirima asked, suddenly concerned. Maltandir was quite used to this sudden change of emotion from her; this was quite natural,
"What makes you turn your mind to him?" Maltandir asked, not knowing why Mirima was concerned for him,
"He is a very charming boy. I met him at the camp after the orc ambush and he said I looked like his mother." A little blush appeared on her cheeks. Making a mental note to check this, Maltandir took a deep breath and said,
"We know not what happened but, on the day the Prince returned, Arawen found the quarters belonging to Draco torn apart and wrecked. Only this morning, Leonas found Draco locked in Numeranor, the tombs of the Kings and Queens. He was practically starving to death and contemplating suicide." Mirima clapped a hand to her mouth, "He is recovering at my home and we think some time away from Ariador shall do him good."
"He lives, then?"
"Yes. He is recovering but will not yet speak of what happened. You must understand that he was terribly upset when we found him and we cannot press him too much. Arawen and Marilla have been given leave to stay with him."
Mirima gave an audible sigh of relief. Celemarin too looked glad at this news for a moment before asking, "But, what of the Prince? When was he last seen?"
"That would be," Jaurion scratched his chin, thoughtfully, "when he came from the orc ambush. That was when I last saw him but there have been claims that he was seen running from the palace."
"I was just going to search for him now that we have found Draco alive. Hopefully, this good fortune shall extend to his master."
Mirima glanced over her shoulder, as though expecting to see some clue of the Prince's whereabouts, "Why did the Prince kill them, though?" She said, thoughtfully, "They captured Draco, we know that much, but why kill them?"
"We think," Lindilwen recovered from her fit of tears, "that my son had tender feelings for Draco, though the boy knows not of it. And, we think that Draco may also have feelings for my son, though my son knows not of it."
Mirima's eyebrows raised, "Calasier Avamela is in love?"
"It is more complicated than that." Maltandir sighed, "Even we do not know all. However, all will be revealed when I recover the Prince, no doubt. Now, if you will all excuse me, I shall scout the land and search for him."
"May good fortune be with you, Maltandir!" Celemarin waved as he ran toward the castle gates. Maltandir would be going on foot since a horse may trample any tracks or clues. Once in the forest, he lowered himself to the ground, looking for any traces of a footfall from the Prince. Ah, no good. All tracks were recently made. It was a well-used road, after all.
Instead, he looked around the walls. It may have been two days but any tracks would be more prominent in the soft ground. The snow of the past blizzard was now melting away and made it slightly muddy underfoot. Any footfalls would leave significant prints. He was not disappointed; there, about a hundred metres from the main gate was traces of a set of footfalls leading from a small wooden door almost completely concealed by strings of ivy. They were frozen in place by a helpful frost that had replaced the snow.
He was running swiftly. These prints are more shallow. He followed them, keeping low to the ground to detect any change in direction. Some fallen twigs lay beside it, snapped, He was waving his arms. Something glinting in a bush distracted his attention from clues of the Prince's actions. The snow is over. Does some cling still? It was not white, however, but silver, It is too smooth to be frost. He strode over to it, curious. What he saw made his heart stand still.
It was the Prince's circlet, unmistakably. The finely crafted silver thorns and holly-leaves could not be mistaken for anything else, It fell here. Or it was knocked away? There are no other prints so no kidnapper knocked it away. The moonstones within it were glimmering faintly, Does the enchantment of myths hold true? Do the stones aid those that would help it back to its master?
Maltandir put the circlet to his lips, "I wish to find Prince Hari." The moonstones seemed to understand and glowed a little more brightly. Maltandir laid it flat on the ground. Eight stones were set into it, all positioned at regular intervals around it. This was the traditional design of the monarchs' crowns, Like a compass! He realised. Looking more closely, he saw that one was glowing more brightly than the rest. He brought it up to his eye. There was an Elvish rune carved within it. Maltandir's aquamarine eyes picked this out, being so trained to see what others ignored, South.
He looked back to the footprints, They lead south. Inspired anew, he ran further, using the circlet when needed. He slept only a few hours when he was tired, ate only when he was hungry and, all the time, kept himself going by the thought of finding the Prince safe. In two days, he'd passed from Valivial to Alqualond. All the time, the circlet told him that the Prince was south of where he was. The footprints became harder and harder to follow and, once he had passed along the Great River, they had disappeared altogether.
He now had only the circlet to rely on but that never failed him. It took him a few hours after crossing the river to realise that he was following the trail of a horse and caravan. A new fear came into him, Was he kidnapped along the way? As though in response to his thoughts, another stone glowed. Putting his eye to it, Maltandir saw the rune for 'North-East'. This confused him for a moment but then, he realised that this rune also meant 'no', Does it answer questions too?
"Is he alive?" He asked tentatively. The 'no' stone stopped glowing and the rune for 'South-West' started glowing. That rune also meant 'yes'. Judging by the intensity of the glow, it was a very definite 'yes', too,
"Is he being looked after by someone?" 'Yes' kept glowing, "Does someone I know take care of him?" 'Yes' glowing but it was fainter, It is someone I know but only vaguely, "Is he Alqualond?" Maybe it is the Princess of Alqualond. She was courted by him for a while, 'No' glowed brightly, "Is he on one of the islands?" 'Yes' glowed, "The Tume Isles?" 'No' glowed, "Lindaria?" 'Yes' glowed, very brightly,
He has been taken to Lindaria. Slight misgivings emerged in his mind, That is not a place Valivial is on best terms with. I do hope he is taken good care of. He ran through the valleys of Alqualond until he reached the famous and largest port. Here, passenger and cargo boats departed and arrived on a daily basis. Here would be the best place to catch a boat to Lindaria. Others had boats that only operated on certain days and, here, boats to Lindaria could be rented. The journey would take a day but, if the Prince was in good hands, a day would not matter as much.
A likely looking boat lay tied in the harbour. He descended the steps to the jetty and examined it. It was painted bright green and had the Lindarian horned fish flag on its stern. It was a small wooden boat with the name Vermont painted in human letters on the bow. A wooden figurehead was roughly carved into it, depicting a winged snake with bared fangs, facing the sea.
Presently, a small Water elf with an sack-cloth apron and an armful of supplies came and boarded the vassal. Her hair was covered by a white cloth bonnet and her face was weather-beaten, with rosy cheeks and wide-open eyes, "Excuse me, miss." Maltandir stepped forward to get her attention, "Does this boat take passengers to Lindaria?"
She looked at him, confused, for a while, before speaking in French, "'I'm sorry?'"
"'Oh, forgive me.'" Having been to many parts of the human world, he was fluent in many languages. Lindaria was a many varied place and many languages were spoken there, "'I said, does this boat take passengers to Lindaria?'"
"'For a fee, I do.'" At the sound of her tongue, she relaxed,
"'You manage this boat yourself?'"
"'Yes. I make a living on trading and taking passengers. Now, do you want a lift there?'"
"'Yes. I am searching for a friend there."'
"'Well, that's good. I have two spare bunks below. I can wait for you at Lindaria while I sell my goods and we can take you and your friend back. How does that sound?'"
"'Wonderful.'" Maltandir felt it safer to not tell her the Prince's name or his unless asked. He took the invitation to climb aboard and paid the required fee. It was less than he thought it would be and felt that, at least, it was a good start. He learned that the girl was Sylvie Vermont, hence the name of the boat, and she lived on her own in a tenement building near the heart of Lindaria when she wasn't working, which was very rare,
"'Are you a Nimohtar?'" She asked, after the port was a good distance away and the afternoon was beginning to wear on, "'Because I saw one of the Lindaria ones took one of those large passenger boats with his caravan a few days ago.'"
"'A Lindarian Nimohtar?'" Maltandir frowned, '"Did he take anyone with him?'"
"'Not as far as I could see. I only had a glimpse. Now, sir, tell me who you are. It's about time you did.'"
"'Me? I am Maltandir, the Head of the Valivial Nimohtar.'" He felt it pointless to lie to Sylvie. She looked honest enough,
"'Maltandir!'" She nearly dropped the Featherpeach she was eating, "'Why did you not tell me?'"
"'Well, I'm traveling on a private mission and an important one.'" Maltandir shrugged, hoping that she'd leave it at that,
"'Searching for this friend?'" She asked, raising an eyebrow,
"'Yes.'" She seemed not to be too curious so Maltandir did not pursue the subject. It wasn't that he did not trust her but the Prince was in enough trouble already and he did not want more attention drawn to him.
The rest of the journey passed without much event. Sylvie, a little more shy after discovering his identity, proved to be a very competent seafarer and this made him wonder how long she had been doing her trade back and forth. He kept the Prince's circlet concealed in his bag and only took it out to ask whether they were going the right way. The circlet verified that the Prince was indeed close.
They reached Lindaria and landed at a harbour which had no jetties for Sylvie to moor. She had to make do with bollards on a five-foot high quay with a ladder close to it. Again, she showed great experience with this when she skillfully lassoed the bollard and swung herself up the ladder. Before embarking, Maltandir helped her unload her cargo: crates full of items Maltandir did not know. When the work was done, he set off to look for the Prince,
"'Good luck finding your friend! Meet me at my boat when you have.'" She gave him a small curtsey before hurrying off along the seafront. Maltandir had pulled up his hood before coming out since he didn't want anybody recognising him and was careful to tuck his telltale beard into his clothes before setting off. Using his hood made him blend in more than expected since most of the passers-by had cloaks that concealed them. Still, he didn't take out the circlet again until he was in a nearly deserted street. Only a few Fire elves hung around shops, examining the items in the windows.
The moonstone pointing East glowed this time and, upon its guidance, he slipped through a side street and out onto the start of a steep slope. Maltandir had to bite back a gasp. The buildings were white and glistened in the midday sun. Looking round, he saw a wonderful view of the sea laid out before it. But he didn't have time to enjoy the view. Turning back to the task in hand, he turned back to the circlet. The moonstones were glowing more brightly now, The Prince must be somewhere here.
This time, the circlet's moonstones began to point him in specific directions. He strode up the hill, using the circlet to guide him. All the while, it was glowing more and more brightly. Bridges were erected between buildings and the street was lined with all sorts of shops, mostly apothecaries. He was nearly at the top of the hill and approaching a tavern when the moonstones suddenly began to dim. He stopped and backtracked a few steps. The moonstone glow intensified again and the brightest one was pointing to an apothecary on his left.
Looking around, he saw the windows were blacked out and it was half concealed under a bridge. In front of the building was a horse and a black canvas caravan, not unlike his own. The horse snorted as he approached, in a way that suggested that it was trained to warn its owner of an intruder. The wheels are the same as the tracks I saw. Carefully, he patted the horse and whispered a few calming words before crouching down and pulling up its hoof, The hoof marks are the same as the prints I saw,
"Does my horse interest you, Maltandir?"
His head jerked up to the sound of the drawling voice. A pair of pale eyes glared at him from the open shop door, focused hard upon him. Maltandir stood cautiously, "Do you know me?"
"We have met but once." The merchant stepped out into the sun. He was a half-Drow dressed in the moderately-rich cloth of a successful merchant but his high black ponytail, thin sneering lips, curved eyebrows and pale eyes struck a chord of memory,
"Morendil!"
"Hush!" Morendil's eyes darted around to the near deserted road and he kept his voice low, "None know I am a Nimohtar. That is our nature in Lindaria, unlike in Valivial where you wear your titles like crowns. Here, I am Noalith, the apothecary owner."
"Very well, Noalith." Maltandir said, curtly, "May I move inside to talk to you?"
"But, of course." Holding the door open, he let the other enter. After closing the door behind him and putting the 'closed' sign up on the door, Noalith turned to him, "So, how may I be of assistance to the Head of the Valivial Nimohtar?"
"Perhaps," His distrust of Noalith was rising again but he took out the Prince's circlet, "you can tell me where I can find the Prince of Valivial?"
Noalith's pale eyes lighted on the circlet with obvious interest. He was not looking at it with greed but with an evaluating eye, as though he was considering how much it was worth. Then, he strode around the counter and opened a back door, "You have come to the right place, Maltandir. I have him in my attic." Maltandir strode through the door first, pushing back his hood. Noalith followed him, "I was simply visiting Alqualond to find out whether the rumours about him were true and, as fate would have it, I find him in the woods. I simply decided to smuggle him back to Lindaria."
"Why did you not return him to Ariador?" Maltandir asked,
"Because I knew you would search for him and he did not seem in any fit state to return anyway." Noalith answered, still using that same drawl and not sounding in the least bit sorry for his actions,
"Why?" They were ascending a spiraling staircase and Maltandir's ears picked out the faint sound of sobbing from above,
"He was maddened." Maltandir stopped dead and stared at Noalith, now listening raptly, "He kept speaking to all sorts of people, holding his ears and talking about Draco most of all."
"You know of Draco here?"
"Only I know of him." Noalith leaned lazily against the wall, "Hari came here before his employment and told me all about him. Well, I saw him in his mind and I managed to get most of the important details out of him after that. Ah, and I see that he is on your mind, also."
"What of the Prince?" Maltandir sighed, becoming exasperated by Noalith's relaxed approach to this,
"Oh, I would not attempt to get any sense out of him. He is completely addled. He has even Regressed."
Maltandir became more worried. What Noalith meant was when one became so traumatized that their bodies subconsciously turned into their human selves. Since they often looked younger as humans, this was known as Regression. Maltandir strode up the stairs a little faster than normal and he could definitely hear crying and whimpering from behind a door on the landing they reached. As he approached, there was even a scream which made Noalith roll his eyes,
"Go and talk to him if you want." He gestured to the door and leaned against the opposite wall, "If you are so worried about him, that is."
After a small scowl at the half-Drow, Maltandir put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door opened on a small wooden room that was in complete darkness, "He prefers the dark." Noalith answered his unasked question. Maltandir produced a ball of light in his hand and its light immediately fell on an unused bed and something moving in the shadows. Moving closer, he managed to corner it. A cowering teenage human boy with dark hair and wearing an over-long nightshirt,
"Hari." Maltandir whispered. The boy paid no attention. His hands was clasped to his ears and he was repeating the same sort whimper in an anguished voice, "...no, Draco...my Draco, do not weep...do not weep so...Arawen, please...Maltandir..." He stiffened at the mention of his name, "...Maltandir, do not scream so...I repent my beating you..."
The Madness, Maltandir lowered himself and gave the boy a little shake, "Hari, do you hear me?"
Hari glanced up at the touch and his wide eyes fixed themselves on Maltandir, "...Maltandir..."
"Yes, it is I." Maltandir lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. The boy shook and retreated out his grasp as though burned,
"I did not mean to beat you..."
"I know." Maltandir pursued him into the corner and took hold of him again, "There are worse things I have endured than your fists, Hari."
The boy seemed to forget he was there again and began muttering, "...Draco, do not weep..." All of a sudden, he threw back his head and gave a loud and long scream. He vaguely heard the door being closed behind him but he didn't care. Hari was rolling about on the floor, eyes glazed, obviously seeing something above to make him scream in terror. Maltandir hastily took hold of him, If he were to harm himself,
"Draco is fine." He pulled Hari into an embrace, "He is at my home and is recovering well." He gently rubbed Hari's back and this seemed to do the trick. The boy had stopped screaming, "You're safe and that's all that matters. You had us worried. I expect Draco will be worried too." On a sudden inspiration, he added, "You can come back to Valivial with me and make amends as soon as your well enough."
At the mention of this opportunity, Hari seemed to relax a little. He fell silent. That was a good sign. After a while of silence, Hari looked up, "Maltandir?" He whimpered. His eyes, though tear-filled, were completely lucid. Yet again, exactly like he had done at the campsite, Hari looked at him with a pleading look which made Maltandir's heart melt. His child-like human form added to this image of helplessness.
Stricken, Hari buried his face in Maltandir's chest, making his father's instinct twinge again. He held the boy as he felt the small body regrow into that of a High Elf. Noalith could be heard striding into the room, "Well, Hari, glad to have you back." Maltandir turned, about to chastise him for such an overly familiar form of address when Hari looked up,
"Noalith?"
"You know him?" Maltandir looked from one to the other, confused. This made Noalith chuckle,
"You obviously have not told Maltandir here about our friendship."
"Noalith, I would like to speak to you in private." Maltandir said, wanting to avoid Hari exhausting himself, "Come, Hari." He slipped his arms under Hari's knees and lifted him off the floor. He was lighter than Maltandir had expected. Noalith, inevitably, picked up on this,
"I know. You should eat more, Hari. You are lighter than you ought to be."
Maltandir let out an annoyed breath. This Noalith was far too honest for his liking. He laid Hari on the unused bed and pulled the sheets over him, "How long has it been?" Hari asked, wearily, "Since I left Ariador."
"About five days." Maltandir informed him, "Get some sleep. I will call you when I am ready."
Hari closed his eyes obediently and rolled over onto his side. Noalith rolled his eyes and Maltandir shot him a scowl. As they were descending the steps back to the shop, Noalith sighed, "He is just like a child, you know. I blame this going to Hogwarts tradition in his family; it makes one regress to be around young humans and having to pretend to be one on top of that."
A/N: Well, how about that? Noalith was Morendil. Don't know why some people thought it was Snape though.