"I need a favor."
She cornered him as he was crossing the Spire of Meeting, and he slowed his hasted pace to a slow stroll as she fell into step. He said nothing, simply nodding for her to continue, fairly certain of the topic.
"I need your help in convincing the rune-keepers to allow Bainith to continue his training. The appeal is tonight, and I am representing his interests. Because he is not a scholar, he is not even allowed to be at his own appeal. How ridiculous is that?!"
The pace slowed to a standstill, and Erestor scanned the horizon for wanderers. It was time for lunch, and most were in the Great Hall or dining at their desks or under a birch tree or oak, but there were always messengers, pages, and minstrels who threatened to listen to whatever noonday gossip they could find for the Hall of Fire in the evening. When he decided their path was clear, they began walking again. "I have not seen you so upset about something since Gondolin fell."
"Usually, I deal with reasonable people, not mindless fools."
"He is very young--"
"Not you, too!"
"--for one so talented." Erestor dropped his voice lower and said, "He reminds me of a mutual friend of ours."
"I know."
"I always wondered what might have happened and how different things would have been, had someone thought to give Feanor a little more nurturing." Erestor scratched the side of his cheek; their slow pace was attracting mosquitoes -- something Vilya never seemed to vanquish. They turned a corner and he stopped again. "How far along is he in his training?"
"Further than you would think. He can fight and heal."
"Really?" Erestor considered this a moment. "Fighting can be done by anyone, in the most dire of circumstances, but healing is a special art. What time is the appeal?"
"After supper."
"You know where to find me," said Erestor. "Meet me there for dinner. I think I know how we can solve this riddle."
