Erestor sighed and placed the steaming mug of spiced cider before his cloaked guest. “You are going to be caught eventually.”

The cloak grumbled.

A loaf of crusty bread appeared on the table. “Come now, remove your cloak. You are dripping onto my rugs.”

A soft sigh, and then the cloak was being stripped off, revealing the stately, royal form of Ereinion Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor.

Erestor rubbed Gil-Galad’s shoulders. “You will have to tell them, cousin.”

He got a sour look for his efforts. “Why?”

“Because they will find out eventually.”

Gil-Galad sighed. “Aye, but by that time, perhaps I can fix the problem.”

Erestor’s brow arched. “Oh? And when do you plan on fixing this problem? It has persisted for 200 years.”

“When I am ready,” the King insisted.

Erestor sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am certain there are a hundred elves willing and capable of assisting you.”

“With what?” Elrond asked, peeking in the window he’d been spying through.

Erestor smiled. “Actually, Elrond, our King has a bit of a problem.”

Gil-Galad gave his cousin a look of ‘tell him and die’.

Elrond frowned in concern. “Goodness, is this something I can help with?”

Erestor’s smile turned evil. “That all depends.”

Elrond blinked. “On?”

The High King sighed. “Elrond…do you ice skate?”