[Orofaniel]

Evrathol was by no means surprised over his mother's question. She had tried many times to encourage Evrathol to join her visits in the Temple. Evrathol had however, showed no interest - well, until recent event. He knew his mother would be curious, he had been expecting it. If it was him in Arlomë's position, he would have done the very same thing.

He couldn’t quite find an answer to her question. Then again, it might have not been a real question, merely a statement. It required no answer just yet. What really concerned Evrathol at the moment was how the Emissary had spoken of his kind. The elves - Enemies in his kingdom? He didn't quite understand. Evrathol understood why it troubled his mother so because it troubled him as well. The Emissary had been taken into the warmth of the King Faroz, and what if he had a greater impact on the King than any one would have guessed? What did the relationship between their King and this foreigner mean?

"You should tell father about this," Evrathol then almost whispered, as if in a trance. His eyes were distant and cold. He was weighing his thoughts against each other, but couldn't find anything that equalized it.

"Pardon?" Arlöme asked her son, looking at him straight in the eyes. "What you heard," he muttered, now breaking the trance. "You should tell Môrgos immediately," Evrathol continued, his pulse raising. "Why in such a hurry?" Arlöme then asked, with a slight of suspicion in her voice. "Hurry?" Evrathol repeated.

"Yes, son, you seem...upset?" She inquired. "No, not at all. I'm just...tired," Evrathol replied quickly. "But the sunset is still far away," she augmented. "You're not feeling ill, are you Evrathol?" she then asked quickly.

"No, I'm fine mother." The words crawled slowly out from his mouth. His voice was calm and motionless. He seemed however, hesitant by the weary face expression.

"We'll soon be back at the estate. I'll get some rest when we return," Evrathol then said. His mother eyes met his, and he could tell that she was worried.

They walked in silence for a while feeling the soft wind against their foreheads.

"I wouldn't want to pressure you, son, but my curiosity will not let go of me. Will you not tell me what you were doing in the Temple earlier?"

Evrathol looked away, hesitating again. "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour towards Tarkan at the banquet last night," Evrathol began. He sensed a certain embarrassment for saying it out loud, but would not admit it. "Apologise? To whom?" Arlomë questioned. Her voice seemed a bit disappointed. Evrathol knew she would feel that way because she would have hoped he had other reasons of going to the Temple than to apologise for something he certainly wouldn't have been guilty of doing. "You didn't do anything that required an apology?" Arlome then burst out. "Apparently not," Evrathol then said. "It's nothing to worry about. I just wanted to talk to Tarkan, and apologise to him that I didn't have time to speak with him at the banquet," Evrathol then continued Evrathol forced a smile, which was surprisingly, quite natural. A short sigh was heard from Arlöme. Then she laughed joyously, not knowing how to correspond to the small "trick" Evrathol had just played her.