PROMPT NOTES: This is another snippet I'm sad to let go, but - same as in the case of Whatever Happened in the Training Fields -, I feel like it would overshadow later happenings too much if I included it in 'The Seven Gates' If there's one thing I don't like in literature, it's spoonfeeding, so...

Still, I didn't want this small thing to wither away in my drawers, so I finished it for you.:)

POV: Turgon-centric

NO SMALL DEMAND

"For what it is worth, I am proud of you."

The statement was spoken softly, gingerly, yet with utmost seriousness; and Turgon suddenly felt a thousand years younger as he glanced up at his grandfather's former counsellor.

"Still, you wander my halls under obligation rather than eagerness," he said. "Also, what you now see seems shallow to you, and frivolous; and untrue."

Tyelcano tilted his head, taking in the graceful forms of Glingal and Belthil as if he had only glimpsed them a mere moment before.

"Those are your words, not mine."

"I wanted to give my people something to remember," said Turgon softly. "Something to commemorate. And when Anor shines, my Trees are marvellous and brilliant – under Ithil's light, though, they are no more than shadows of themselves. Hardly even that."

"You only speak so because you have seen Telperion and Laurelin in their splendour," said Tyelcano. "For one who has not, your Trees are the only thing in this world that could give them an idea; and so is your City. Do not berate yourself! You have created something that I had thought impossible – and you have grown to be a true leader of your people. Your father would be proud."

Turgon bowed his head. "The Eagles brought him to me, after he – have I ever told you that?"

"You have not," said Tyelcano. "I am truly sorry for your loss."

"…you think he was an idiot."

"Again, Turukáno," said the counsellor patiently. "Your words – not mine."

"I have to speak, for you will tell me naught aside from pleasantries and pointless remarks about the weather, the wine or the state of my gardens."

Tyelcano laughed. "Very well! If the curiosity of the Lord of the City cannot otherwise be sated, I will tell him that I made an enemy today."

"So everyone has heard. Still, it seems that you have also made friends. Did you, or did you not have dinner with Ecthelion today?"

"And Laurefindil," came the admission. "News travel fast."

Turgon's eyes were distant. "I am glad," he said. "They will be good friends to you – and I will try to be a good King."

Tyelcano's eyes were gleaming pools of silver in the moonlight. "What do you mean by that?"

"I know how desperately you want to act," said Turgon. "And I want you to know that whatever appearances may suggest, I am not sitting idly in my chair, either. I still hate Moringotto, and I still want his downfall, his ruin, his utter destruction… but I will not rush my people into battles they cannot win. I want them to live, and prosper, and be safe – and I want you to help me with that. Or would you not wish to be a King's advisor once again?"

"I thought you already had one," said Tyelcano.

"My nephew is so very young. He could learn much from you."

"There is also – well, I cannot say that your people, as a whole, like me very much."

"That is because they know you not." Turgon smiled. "Give them a chance."

Tyelcano closed his eyes. "This is no small demand," he said. "In my heart, I might be tempted to try and turn your Council against you, so I could have my way. Why would you be willing to give me that power?"

Turgon's smile was gentle, yet firm as a rock. "My father always told me to keep my friends close, and my enemies closer," he said, "and I shall hold you as close as you choose."