Chapter Thirteen

There was something wrong. She could feel it. She recognised the situation from home, when Gandir would be told to take her and Alsea into the gardens to play, the three of them being pushed away by their parents as grave faced adults appeared. Gradually they saw less and less of their Adar, sometimes he would be gone for weeks at a time, and their Naneth would shoo them away as she hurried about. This time it was Glorfindel who disappeared, riding out before the dawn and not returning home for days, longer than a patrol. Erestor would call for Lindir before leaving them both to occupy themselves, their lessons all but ceased completely and the high table was rarely occupied at supper. Even Nairn was seen more and more infrequently, always with a frown etched onto her face.

The children gathered together, Lindir and his fellow young minstrels collected the apprentices and trainee guards who were at loose ends as their masters had no time for them anymore, keeping the 'little ones' as Edweniel, Yarna and Valandil had been named, with them at all times. They became a quiet, almost subdued group, for the children of Imladris it was a matter of falling back into the habits they had formed whilst their parents were south. No more did they hide in the foothills, not out of a clearly defined sense of danger but out of fear that they would miss important news. Only Valandil was too young to remember the time before the war, when even if goings on could not be understood they were always anxiously anticipated.

"Is there going to be another war?" Valandil asked as they sat to one side of the Hall of Fire, a few with harps as Lindir and the older ones half paid attention to a Risk board they had in front of them. Yarna watched curiously as four of them fought over Fangorn and ignored the quietly growing forces massing in Arnor.

"Not for us," answered Lindir. "The Enemy is gone. We will not fight another war."

"Arnor might. Men are always fighting," someone added, making Valandil bite his lip nervously.

"What is happening?" None of the elves answered him for a long while. "Edweniel? Yarna? One of you tell me what is happening!"

"I know nothing. They will not answer my questions," murmured Edweniel.

"Uncle never speaks." Yarna sighed, shuffling the cards for the game until they were taken from her hands. It was a rare thing for her uncles to be together for any length of time, Erestor no longer seemed to leave Elrond's side as they stayed closeted in the council chambers and Glorfindel was away more often than not. She has thought they would spend the evenings playing games or with Lindir as they had done when she first arrived. Now it seemed as if no more than two words could pass between them without a silence falling on the room, punctuated only by Glorfindel's minute sighs.

They all looked up as the front doors opened and Elrond appeared, flanked by Erestor and Laiken. The two advisors had stern, almost worried faces but Elrond gave them a warm smile.

"Yarna," he called. "Come here, tithen pen." Obediently she scuttled across the floor to them, staring up at the three lords. Erestor did not smile at her, instead looking almost upset. "There will be a visitor for you in a few days."

"Who?" she asked before biting her tongue. "Who, my lord?"

"Curunír." She felt some small jolt of disappointment that it would not be her Ada. The ride to Imladris made home seem so very far away. Still, she grinned. He had promised he would return after all. Elrond laughed and sent her running back to the other children.

"Curunír is coming back!" she told them excitedly. Only Lindir made a notable reply, smiling for a moment before his face was set in a worried frown.

"Hold the game," he murmured and ran off, catching Erestor's sleeve. Yarna watched for a moment then her attention was captured by Valandil failing to juggle three balls, much to the amusement of the elves.

There was a bag sitting by her bed the next morning, empty but open. Vaguely she recognised it as the one Galdor has placed her belongings in before she left home.

"Uncle? What is the bag for?" Glorfindel was still sitting at the desk as he had been the night before and did not seem to have moved.

"It is a surprise," he told her, not looking up. "Nairn has agreed to give you all an arithmetic lesson today. Go and find Edweniel and Valandil." She paused, looking up at the curtain of golden hair that blocked her uncle's face from view. He had done nothing with it, letting it fall across his face and shoulders like that of an elfling. Even she could plait it back herself, although Mayra, one of Lindir's friends did more complicated braids for her if she asked nicely.

"Uncle?"

"Go on, Nairn will be waiting." There was the tone adults used when they wished for her to leave before they sighed and went quiet. Her Ada had not always succeeded in getting her to go before he let his head fall into his hands and fell silent. She crept out, a tiny frown forming on her face as she went in search of Edweniel and their teacher.

The answer came that evening when they went back to their rooms after supper. Both of her uncles sat down on the hearth so they were at her height, Erestor with a forced smile, Glorfindel with a sad expression as he refused to look her in the eye.

"Curunír sent us a letter," Erestor began. "He wishes to take you south to see Gondor." Yarna tilted her head quizzically. Gondor, Valandil's cousin's kingdom, the realm of Men was almost a fairy-tale, it seemed so far away. A fairy-tale Valandil had never seen.

"I should like that," she answered. "To see the White Tree and the Argonath."

"Then you shall go." Erestor's smile seemed more real and he stood up. "Come and help me pack your things. Curunír is arriving tomorrow and will be gone the same day."

"I am to leave you tomorrow?" Suddenly it was too close and she looked at Glorfindel. "Why? What is happening?" Tears welled up at the fear of being sent away again.

"Nothing, tithen pen. Curunír does not want to linger here, he would rather go south immediately." Erestor had already picked up a tunic that had been left on the back of a chair.

"Uncle?"

"It is nothing for you to worry about," Glorfindel answered, his voice catching as he looked away.

"Is there going to be a war?" They both stared at her. "You are acting as everyone did before they went away to fight."

"No, Yarna. There will not be another war. Not now, not ever." Erestor picked her up, balancing her on his hip. "We shall have no part in the affairs of Men. The tension you sense is the weight of Gil-Galad's responsibilities now forced upon us. There is no enemy now, tithen pen, therefore there will be no war." She hugged his neck as he carried her into her room. "You will have to pack lightly, there is never much room riding pillion." They hear a soft chuckle from Glorfindel in the other room. "Quiet, Fin." She let a smile break across her face as she heard them, quietly almost back to normal.

"Can I take the chest?" she asked, opening the box of stones.

"No. Leave it here and we will keep it safe." Erestor packed her clothes, leaving out her cloak and boots. Yarna picked up the wooden archer, holding it as she hovered near the open bag. Erestor nodded and she slipped it in.

"You will enjoy Gondor," he told her as he tucked her in. "Autumn will be upon Ithilien. It has had time to regrow." The last sentence was added in a quiet tone almost to himself rather than to her.

"Regrow from the war?" she asked quietly.

"When a flower blooms again after a barren year it is even more beautiful." She nodded, even if it sounded unlikely. If war was so terrible it could take her Naneth and make her uncles quarrel then it could not make anything beautiful.

… …

For Grace, the first mention of Risk.