It was proving a bad day for a homecoming. Nothing was quite as Elrond had expected. Glori was off doing something involving full body armour, no one knew where Erestor was, and Ereinion’s assistant told him the King was in discussions with someone important, which rather summed up Elrond’s status in the royal diary, he supposed. Laslech had apparently gone with Glori. He tried to picture her armoured like a war horse, but nothing came; he seemed to have left his imagination along with his sense of humour in the wild with Gildor’s people.

Of course, no one had known he was coming, so what did he expect, he told himself severely. Chance had brought them down to the Emyn Beraid and he had been given the choice between going home now or staying with the company until they had done with the Spring celebrations further south. Elrond knew a test when he saw one; he accepted the challenge of finding his way home alone and was on his way when they moved on from the night’s camping place, his wild hair tightly braided, his possessions in a single bag over his shoulder.

There had been farewells, though none as important as he’d have liked. He had spent some time with Gildor, which had been everything he had hoped for when he found he would be travelling with the Wanderers, but otherwise it had all been about surviving and getting along with people and doing your part, nowhere near the romantic adventure he had looked for. But then, he doubted Ereinion had romantic adventure in mind when he sent him off to tramp the rocks and hills of Eriador. It was all about politics, about making connections that might be of use later to a royal Heir – and probably, he grudgingly acknowledged, a bit about learning to follow instructions.

And now he was home and could see for himself how life pretty much went on its course without him. Finally running out of people to look for, he instinctively avoided the garden with its grey, uninviting sea view and headed instead for the little stretch of water round the side of the Palace. There were ducks to watch and benches under the trees, making it as good a place as any to pause and decide what to do next.

He had always been ambivalent about the lake. On the one hand it was pretty, which was the main purpose of an ornamental lake he supposed. It was central, and there was usually an open bench. On the other hand, Elros had liked to come here and the memory was still too close not to sting. It was only a matter of months since his brother had left forever, and he had been away with the Wanderers for most of them, which made Elros’ permanent absence seem slightly unreal. Still, if he was to spend time at home, he knew there were things he would need to make the best of, things like places they had shared, the instinct to look for his brother across a room, round a corner.

Elrond winced briefly and sat further back against the seat, his arms crossed in an attempt at comfort, though an observer would see nothing more than an effort to keep warm. It was an overcast though windless day and the waters of the little lake lay like a pool of silver, the dark lines of early winter trees reflected as though in a mirror. The shore was bare of flowers, though the manicured grass came down to the water’s edge. Elrond had seen Nen Cenedril while he was away and was less impressed by this little puddle, but it was still home.

He looked up at the sky and a brighter patch of cloud that made his eyes water told him the sun’s position and from that he could estimate the time. It could be hours before anyone he wanted to talk to was free. There would always be people who wanted to spend those hours with him, of course. He was Ereinion’s Heir, they needed no other reason. The corner of his mouth twisted. They, the ubiquitous ‘they’, had no idea how much he despised that. It was why he had been and remained cross when Ereinion, egged on by Glori of all people, had implied – warned – that might be the reason Erestor was in his life.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew how the world worked. It was true that Erestor didn’t lack ambition and liked nice things, but Elrond knew no one better able to live without them should that be necessary. He refused to believe anyone so self-sufficient would stoop to sleep his way into a position of power. Erestor’s pride would never allow it.

He reached down for a handful of pebbles and started skimming them at the water. Maedhros had taught him how to do this during one of their truces. The stones skipped smoothly across the water and made no impact on the silver pool, darkening now to match the clouds above. Elrond glanced up frowning; the lessons of months sleeping under the open sky told him there would be rain soon. He supposed he would have to go indoors when it came. The idea made him feel quiet inside, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the suite of empty rooms. Impatiently he tossed the final pebble and tiny circles spread out, broadened, marking the spot where it struck the water.

“I heard a song about that just last night, about us all being ripples in a stream,” an amused voice said from behind him. “I’m not sure I understand it, even with the illustration you’ve so kindly provided, but perhaps I need to try harder.”

Elrond’s heart leapt and colour seemed to creep back into the day. He turned slowly, a smile lighting his face. “No one knew where you were,” he told the exotically attractive Elf who had come up silently and now stood behind the bench.

“No one ever knows where I am,” Erestor agreed, amber eyes dancing. “I like it that way. Welcome home, Elrond. Let’s find something to eat, we have months of catching up to do.”

And suddenly it was a good day for a homecoming after all.

~*~*~*~*~