Title: A Lone Child

Author: Etharei

Rating: G

Summary: Gilraen has gone off to visit her relatives, leaving a young Estel alone in Rivendell. A day of bonding for Elrond and his young charge.

Author's Notes:

After considerable time under author's block, the writing bug bit me again on the plane, and this is the result. I've left it open-ended so I can continue it iv the next few weeks give me the time to do so, but I won't make any promises because I'm extremely unreliable with writing. Anyway, to those I've let down with my lack of updates in my other fics, I'm so incredibly sorry, and a hearty thanks to those who e-mailed (even after all this time) to see what had happened to me. My works and I don't deserve such interest.

I should also add that part of the reason I wrote this was because I wanted to explore the relationship between Elrond and a young Estel in a situation where they weren't particularly close (yet). Should I manage to continue the story, I hope to go into how that relationship evolved to the point where Elrond was more or less Estel's father. I guess we'll have to see. Anyways, enjoy!

Italics denote thought (and sometimes flashbacks).

Naneth- Sindarin word for 'mother'.

To those who are nitty-gritty about such things, as this is Rivendell all interactions would have taken place in Sindarin.

~~Dedicated to Lita of Jupiter and Littlefish~~

~*~

A Lone Child

1 - Estel

"Don't you understand, muindor? I shall be as immortal as you, perhaps even more so. Through me the line of Luthien shall never depart from this world; through my descendants, I shall live forever."

At the tender age of five, Estel was quite an intelligent little boy.

When he woke up that morning, for example, and frowned in dismay at finding himself alone, he didn't cry or cause a fuss, but merely sat and thought until he remembered that his naneth was away on a trip with 'Dan and 'Roh. A sense of loss and disorientation threatened to overwhelm him, but he resolutely pushed it back and tried to pretend that it was any other day, that his naneth was nearby and watching to see if he could take care of himself like he said he could. He was, after all, no longer a baby.

He dutifully got out of bed, changed into his day clothes, and tidied up his chamber the way naneth usually did for him. He determinedly avoided thinking of her being far away, and was perhaps a eager in his task for he nearly pushed over the jug of water on the table by his bed.

A growling in his stomach presented the next course of action. Unfortunately this was a bit more challenging. Usually naneth would carry- though nowadays she tended to take his hand instead, as he was getting too heavy- and together they would go to the big table to have breakfast. Walking alone was daunting enough, but he wasn't entirely sure where the room with the big table was, despite his assurances to naneth of the contrary just before she left.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Estel took a deep breath and exited the familiar comfort of his bedchamber. The hallway outside seemed much larger and more intimidating than usual. He knew that the absence of people was because they were in the private wing of the House, and his own room was only three doors down from the Master's, but his imagination conjured up unnamed beasts hiding in the darker corners, waiting to leap out and gobble him up.

His hand reached back to touch his chamber door, and he wondered if anyone would come to feed him if he didn't show up for breakfast. But he was getting quite hungry, and what if the Elves don't think to come and look for him before he starved to death? Naneth certainly wouldn't be pleased if he missed a meal, especially as he'd been the one constantly assuring her that he was big enough to look after himself. The twins, for sure, would laugh at him if they find out that he was too scared to walk around on his own.

The last thought stiffened his resolve sufficiently. Face scrunched up in dreadful concentration, he tried to remember the route to the eating-room. As he entered a more dim section of the corridor he reached out a hand into the empty air, pretending that he was holding naneth's hand, but once he got to the stairs where the morning sunlight poured in like molten gold he stopped, and felt a bit silly at being so frightened.

A large vase with purple flowers, a wall with aging tapestries... he could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears as he traced the path that he'd walked with his naneth every morning, and marvelled at the fact that it was only today that he'd paid any conscious attention to the route.

He finally gave a big sigh of relief at the familar large wooden doors to the eating-room. Now he could not wait for naneth and the twins to come back so he could tell her how grown-up he was becoming (carefully omitting the bout of silliness in the hallway, of course).

He eagerly opened the doors, but even the growing voice of his hunger was stilled when he saw that only Master Elrond was in the room, seated at his place at the head of the big table, face hidden behind a sheet of parchment. He wasn't afraid, exactly, of the Master of the Last Homely House. Lord Elrond had always spoken kindly to him, and he had a vague memory of receiving a hug, but he'd rarely seen the stern face smile (much less laugh) and he was convinced that the piercing Elven gaze could read every thought in his mind.

Thus Estel silently padded into the room and took his customary place at the table, two chairs from the Elf-lord. Normally he'd be sandwiched between his naneth and one of the twins, and their attentions would distract him from the solemn presence at the head of the table. But today it was only the two of them, and the silence had an uncomfortable weight to the child.

Once again his stomach growled, and the sound seemed too loud in the hush that permeated the room. Estel cringed. The scroll was lowered to reveal the ageless visage of the Elf-lord, and Estel instinctively made a half-duck as those storm-grey eyes landed on him.

"Good morning, child," the Master greeted him, that deep voice resonating in the enclosed space of the eating-room. Estel felt himself relax at the familiar sound of it; the gaze and the stern expression intimidated him, but that deep voice had been with him for as long as he could remember. He couldn't recall a visual memory of the occasion, but something deep down told him that that voice had kept him safe, once, and always would.

"Good morning, Master Elrond," he replied shyly. The act of speaking lessened his nervousness, and he sat up straigher.

"Well done for waking in time for the morning meal," the Elf-lord continued, treating him with a small smile. "Elladan and Elrohir always woke too late or too early when they were at your stage in life."

Estel wasn't sure how to reply to that, but he acknowledged the compliment with a nod and a smile of his own. A servant came then and placed his food in front of him, as well as placing two soft cushions underneath him to raise him up to the proper height for the table, and he was forthwith distracted by his favourite food (hot porridge, lightly spiced and sweetened with clover honey).

When he was half-way down the bowl, Elrond rose and said, "I must take my leave now. With your naneth absent you may do whatever you wish, so long as you stay within the grounds of the House and do not trouble anyone." At Estel's nod, the Master left.

Once he'd finished his porridge, Estel pondered his options. He was usually happy to do whatever his naneth wanted to do- except anything involving a needle and thread- and this was the first time that he had complete freedom. Naturally, he couldn't think of what to do with it.

first he went to the Master's private garden, where his naneth had been given a little plot of earth, and they'd spent a beautiful spring week planting it together. He dutifully watered the young plants, pleased that they seemed to have grown almost the length of his young hand since the previous week (Elrohir had put a wooden post at the edge of the plot so Estel could monitor their growth). Then he looked at Elrond's flowers and herb garden and decided to water them too.

He noticed that the twins' joint plots were smaller than his naneth's, with most of it covered by thick rose bushes. Between that and Elrond's was a goodly-sized plot of rose bushes, but these were white, whereas the twins' were red. Estel felt that the roses had been planted thus for a reason, though he couldn't fathom what that reason could be. But as he had nothing else to do he took up the watering can once again and watered the roses and the large pine tree at the centre of the garden.

Getting tired of being under the increasingly hot sun, the little boy finally returned indoors. He visited the library and was chased out by a number of harried Elves; he took an apple from the fruit bowl in the Master's private living room to the stables and fed the yet unnamed and unbroken colt of Elrohir's mare; he skipped up and down the empty Hall of Feasts, making his steps echo and pretending he was a grand Elf at a feast.

Come noon, frustration and sheer boredom compelled him to make those reluctant steps to the north wing of the House. For several minutes, he simply stared at the door of carven wood, with the curious sea shell the size of Estel's hand mounted at its centre, wondering if the door had grown bigger and darker since he last walked past. Footsteps from the other side of the door confirmed that the room's usual occupant was inside. Estel felt the urge to just run away, but he was convinced that the only options before him were either death by Elven-glare or death by sheer boredom, and he wanted to do the twins proud by choosing what he thought of as the more dignified exit.

Hand trembling, he opened the door and slipped inside, making as little noise as possible. The Elf-lord, barely visible to Estel behind his magnificent polished writing desk, did not even glance up. Estel silently approached the desk, and found that he needed to be on the tips of his toes to even be able to see over the desk.

Lord Elrond still hadn't noticed him, and Estel didn't know how to alert the Master to his presence without risking the Elf-lord's anger. For a long time he simply stood there, toes aching, watching the feathered quill dance across the parchment. So entranced was he by the movements of the tip of the quill, and the patterns of ink it made on the sheet below it (which still held no meaning for the young boy) that he didn't notice when the Master finally became aware of him.