[Saelind]

"Please, Father, please," the younger Elf intoned. "Last night at supper, you said we might stay for a bit. I do like it here. I can go to Miz Bella's class, and the lads about the Inn were kind to me. Everyone's beginning to talk about the Fair: the fine foods and the games and the singing. I should like to see all that. Then, when we are finished, we can go sail to mother."

Thalion regarded his son with a shake of the head, uncertain how to respond to him. His intention had been to continue to the Havens and then set sail for the West. His own wife had already made the journey, and all of his companions from Lorien had also departed across the Sea. Elves were supposed to be above mundane sentiments like loneliness, but sometimes there was an emptiness in Thalion's heart that felt suspiciously like an empty room.

Yet what about his visions from the evening before? His dear Anoriel had urged him to remain in Middle-earth for the sake of their much beloved son. In the second dream his mother had accused him of being obstinate and pig-headed for not acceding to his wife's wishes. Perhaps the two were right. He had not experienced the true Sea-longing that drove so many to the Western shores with no hope or possibility of return. He still had a choice. There would be all the time in the world to reunite with his kin in the Blessed Isle. But for his own son to understand the ways of the other free folk, there would be only this one chance.

Neviel looked up at his father with pleading eyes, towsled black curls falling back onto his shoulders and a look of trust etched on his face. Thalion felt his own resistence waver as he steadily regarded the lad. "Perhaps, you are right," he began, enunciating his words very slowly. "Perhaps it would do no harm to linger at this Inn for a bit. I might be able to do something to help that young hobbit Rory. In Rivendell, I have seen others with a palsy worse than his regain the use of their limbs. The fields about here are green and inviting, just the sort of thing for a short trek. And it is possible that some of these travellers or other hobbits who live in the region might require the services of a healer."

"We stay then?" queried Neviel, a broad smile spreading quickly over his face.

"Yes, for now. You may attend Miz Bella's class, but I will need your help in planting a small herb garden. Perhaps, Cook or the Innkeeper could secure me the use of a small plot. There seems to be plenty of land to spare, and, if I am to be of any help to the local folk, I must replenish my herbs."

Neviel's head bobbed up and down as he promised his father to help work in the garden. The young Elf hurriedly finished his breakfast and then ran off to see if he could find one of the other children whom he had met at the school. His father still sat at the table as he watched Neviel speed off, seemingly so comfortable with the folk and his surroundings .