Ereinion peeked around the corner and grinned. “Uncle Maedhros?”

Maedhros briefly glanced up from his breakfast – a simple cup of tea with honey and dry, toasted bread. The flit of his eyes toward the youth was invitation enough, even though Maedhros knew that the Elfling had been instructed by his father never to bother him before noon.

The young prince bounded over and climbed up onto the bench beside the older Elf. “Good morning!”

Maedhros made a noise that sounded like ‘mrrhhph’. He was not predispositioned to enjoy mornings.

“Ada said you were going to arrive later this week. You must have rode here really fast.”

There was a nod as Maedhros sipped his tea, set it down, and picked up a slice of bread with the same hand. His right arm remained hidden, his wrist tucked away in the long sleeve of his shirt.

“Why do most people call you Maedhros, while Ada calls you Maitimo sometimes?” queried Ereinion when no further verbal answer to his previous question was given.

“They mean the same thing,” mumbled Maedhros. “Maitimo is Quenya.”

“Oh, well, I have not learned a lot of Quenya yet. Who named you Maedhros?” asked Ereinion as his small hands picked up the end of Maedhros’s sash and traced along the intricate embroidered pattern of stars.

For a minute, Maedhros watched Ereinion, as intrigued at the child’s fascination as Ereinion was with everything. “My Nana did. She thought I was a beautiful baby, and for the most part I did not disappoint when I grew up.”

“What do you mean, for the most part?” Ereinion asked.

Maedhros shook his head and drew his right arm further back. The movement was not unnoticed by Ereinion, who said, “You seem like a pretty nice looking Elf to me.”

“Sure,” replied Maedhros. He focused on his breakfast again. As he switched from the toast back to the tea, he felt something brush his right arm. He glanced down and saw Ereinion carefully folding back the cuff of his sleeve. Maedhros nearly yanked his arm away, but something made him keep still as his wound was revealed.

There were children who had run away or hidden upon seeing his marred arm – in fact, some adults had turned away in disgust. Ereinion stared with his mouth half open for a bit. Just as Maedhros was about to reach down and cover his arm up again, Ereinion leaned over and touched the healed scar that had formed over the stump of Maedhros’s wrist. “Does it hurt?” he asked a stunned Maedhros.

“Not at the moment. Sometimes it does,” Maedhros admitted.

“It feels really smooth,” remarked Ereinion as he rubbed his fingers against it.

Fingon entered the room, and stopped midstride when he saw what was going on. “Ereinion,” he hissed, and the boy looked up. “What did I tell you about bothering your uncle this early? Go back to the nursery; your mother is looking for you.”

“Yes, Ada,” answered Ereinion as he hopped off of the bench and scampered back through the doorway.

Once Ereinion was gone, Fingon sat down in the spot his son had vacated. “I apologize. He should know better,” whispered Fingon. For emphasis of his point, he folded the cloth back down to cover Maedhros’s right arm and sighed.

“He was not harming anything.”

“Well, I know how much it bothers you,” said Fingon quietly.

Maedhros stopped eating. “What bothers me?”

Fingon shifted slightly. “You know...” He glanced down at Maedhros’s covered limb. “I will discuss it with him later so that it does not happen again.”

There was silence, and then Maedhros lifted up his right arm so that the sleeve cascaded down, revealing his missing hand. Fingon gulped but did not turn away. “This,” said Maedhros with emphasis, “does not bother me. It bothers you and everyone else, except, it would seem, Ereinion. I do not keep it covered for my own need; I keep it hidden for your benefit, and the benefit of everyone else.”

Fingon squirmed, and finally, looked away. “It is not quite so... simple as that. I am not so disgusted by it as what it represents – my failure to return you whole.”

“It is done,” Maedhros reminded him. “You did more than anyone else, and as much as could be done.” The silence became uncomfortable, and Maedhros stood up. “Do you mind if I speak with your son?”

“Of course not,” answered Fingon immediately. He stood as well, and followed Maedhros out of the sunroom and back through the hall to the nursery.

Ereinion was sitting on the floor, amid wooden panels with words written on them that were spread about in all directions. He was busy making sentences with the words as the pair entered, but abandoned his task upon seeing them. “Good morning, Ada! Good morning again, Uncle Maedhros!”

“Your uncle wishes to speak to you,” explained Fingon.

Ereinion nodded and looked far up, for Maedhros was the tallest Elf the boy knew, and he had been taught to always look at the person speaking to him.

“I think you have some questions for me that have been left unanswered,” said Maedhros. “I thought you and I could take a walk to the stables and discuss them. You have not seen my new horse yet, and I want to make sure he is well after the long ride here.”

The grin on Ereinion’s face was answer enough. Maedhros held out his hand – and blinked in surprise when Ereinion took hold of his right wrist instead. “What time do we need to be back, Ada?”

Fingon was momentarily as stunned as Maedhros, but eventually said, “Be back in time for lunch.”

“We will!” promised Ereinion as he led a now bemused Maedhros outside.