[Envinyatar]

‘Rusco . . . yes, well . . .’

The heat of her shoulder near his arm was disquieting, in a way. He moved a little apart as if he meant to turn and look at her as he spoke. But he did not turn, his gaze held on the two children who had now taken to turning about like little whirlwinds only to fall down giggling on the grass as they got dizzy. He grinned at their antics, and they taking his smile as approval, got up drunkenly and tried again.

His smile faded to a thoughtful look and unthinking, he rubbed his fingers along his right jawline. ‘I wasn’t always Captain of the Archers,’ he said quietly, a hint of humor in his voice at this beginning. ‘Despite the fact that many think I must have sprung bow in hand and quiver at back from my poor mother. Though I understand why they must think so; I have been at it so very long.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I had . . . have,’ he corrected himself, ‘three sisters – two older, and one younger. And many opportunities from all of them to be an uncle and then uncle, also, to the children of my nieces and nephews.’

He waved to Isilmë as she waved to him. ‘They are forgiving and accepting little creatures, are they not? Nothing need be proved to them, save you remain their playmate. And all the awful things that must be done by you in your life apart from them are of no import. It’s ”Uncle, did you bring me sweets?” and “Will you play a game with me?” and “Please, Uncle ‘Mirë! A story!”. That’s all that they require.’

Ondomirë turned his face toward Losrian, his gaze softly considering her for a moment. ‘My younger sister’s daughter bore a son with red highlights in his hair – from his father’s kin. He was called Rusco, a nickname, really . . . little Fox, he was . . .’ Ondomirë fell silent for a space of time, his grey eyes clouded. ‘But he . . . they are gone now. All gone. And Ondolindë fallen silent. We could not save her . . . save them.’

‘Nor your city, either,’ he said as a quiet afterthought. ‘Sometimes, it seems these many years and their attendant battles have proved nothing more than a long defeat despite what gifts and talents we Eldar might bring to them.’

Gally had wandered up to where the two adults sat. His chubby hand patted Ondomirë’s arm. ‘Eat?’ he said, looking hopefully from Losrian to Ondomirë. ‘Gally hungry!’ Ondomirë’s mouth curved up in a smile. ‘Hungry? Me, too, Gally.’

With an economy of motion, he stood, gathering the boy up in the crook of his left arm. He stooped over a little, offering his right hand to the still seated Losrian. ‘Perhaps a full belly might push these grey thoughts away for a while,’ he said, gripping her hand firmly as she rose. ‘Or at least put them into some sort of shortsighted perspective that might make my presence more bearable during a meal.’ He kept his eyes on her face as she stood. ‘That is, of course, If I’m invited to share it with you . . . you, all.’