A/N Third-place winner in "Childhood Fears" Teitho contest. Feedback welcome.

Title is Latin for "do not fear."

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Estel woke up, but didn't move. He lay perfectly still in his bed, barely breathing, eyes tightly shut. A cold sweat was breaking out on his brow, and his hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, they wouldn't get him.

The wind howled outside his window, making the panes ratter slightly. A tree creaked. But his room remained utterly silent – silent and dark. He knew that the instant he moved, they would reveal themselves, and….

His mouth was dry. He so wished for his Ada to come, to open the door and let the warm light spill in and chase the darkness and its servants away. Hadn't he said he would come check on him? Had he already done so?

Oh, please come, Ada, he prayed desperately. Please come.

His Ada did not come, and Estel remained immobile under his covers for an eternity, waiting, praying, trying to convince himself of what his brothers had said….

Monsters are not real, Estel.

Yes, but goblins and Orcs are!

They cannot get you here. We promise.

But he knew they were in his bedroom! He could feel them, see their ugly pig faces and bulbous yellow eyes and slimy fangs through his eyelids!

Tears made his eyes prickle, and he thought of his brothers again. They were very brave. They had seen goblins and Orcs, had actually fought them! And they were not afraid.

He scrunched up his face and opened his eyes, but only a fraction. He was staring at his wall. He could hear no ragged breathing, no dripping of poisonous saliva onto the stone floor, but he knew goblins and Orcs could be very, very quiet.

It took him another eternity to gather the courage to turn over and face his room. He stared, unable to close his eyes for fear, at his desk, his wardrobe, his chest, the dark mass on his floor.

A scream rose in his throat. Surely, a goblin was hunched before his bed, waiting to pounce!

The thing on the floor didn't move, but it was nonetheless morphing before Estel's eyes, growing limbs and horns and claws…. Something had to be done.

Too terrified to stay, and almost too terrified to run, Estel made a snap decision. In one frantic, panicked motion, he threw his blankets off, tumbled over the foot of his bed, and launched himself towards the door. He threw it open and tore down the hallway, terror making his heart pound in his chest and throat and ears. He was cold and hot all at once. Was the goblin chasing him? He didn't stop to look, but ran at full speed all the way to his Ada's rooms.

He slammed into the great door with all his might, forcing it open, and shot into the large, elegant sitting room aglow with the light of a blazing fire. He found his father immediately, sitting in the chair before the hearth, fingers curled gracefully around the stem of a silver goblet, and flung himself into his arms, completely unaware of the other evening visitors. Elrond set the goblet down sharply and pulled his son into his arms, and Estel, knowing he was safe, burst into tears.

"Estel," Elrond murmured concernedly, massaging his son's back. "What has troubled you so, my son? What is amiss? You were asleep when I came to check on you."

"Ada," Estel sobbed, clinging to his father's robes, "Ada, there is a goblin in my room! I saw it! It was by my bed, and… and I was so afraid, and I ran out of the room and ran all the way here, and…" His weeping doubled.

"Ah," Elrond said softly. "I see. A goblin, you say?"

Estel nodded into Elrond's chest.

"That must have been very frightening."

Estel nodded again.

"But look at me, my son." He lifted Estel's tear-streaked face gently, looking warmly but seriously into gray eyes, wiping the tears away. "Do you think I would ever allow a goblin to go into your room?"

"No," Estel said, sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve, "but… he could have sneaked in."

Elrond smiled slightly at the child's declaration. "No, he could not even have sneaked in," he said, "because I know everything that happens in my House, and I would never, ever let a goblin into this Valley, much less my Estel's room."

Another friendly hand reached out to stroke Estel's tangled hair. "And if a goblin ever did get in Estel," Elladan said encouragingly, "Ada would come straight away and get it, and the goblin would run away for fear of his wrath, and would have nightmares about you, and tell all his goblin friends that our House is just too terrifying to attack, and they would all stay away."

Estel sniffed again and nodded weakly. This made sense, he supposed. And then he smiled at the idea of a goblin having nightmares about him, and being afraid of his Ada.

"There," Elrond smiled, shaking Estel's head playfully. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes, very much," the boy said, nestling against his father. "And I do think the goblins would be very afraid of you, Ada."

In the chair beside Elrond, Glorfindel chuckled. "I can vouch for this, Estel," he grinned, leaning in towards the boy with a conspiratorial air. "Sometimes your Ada even scares me."

Elrond rolled his eyes as Estel gaped at the warrior. "Really?"

Glorfindel nodded vigorously. "Sometimes, he tells me I must go to a council, and wear robes. And then I am very afraid."

Estel giggled, and covered his mouth quickly to hide his increased laughter when Erestor leaned around his book to glare at the golden Elf.

"Fetch me that blanket, Elrohir," Elrond said quietly, and, having received it, wrapped the said blanket around Estel, forming a warm, comfortable cocoon. Estel smiled contentedly.

"May I have some of your wine, Ada?" he cajoled, glancing up at his father. Elrond raised an eyebrow, and Estel turned back to watch the fireplace.

"You may taste it from my finger," he compromised, dipping his littlest finger into the deep ruby liquid and letting Estel suck the sweet liquor from it. The boy grinned.

"Ada, you said that you would never let a goblin into our House," he confirmed after a long pause, frowning thoughtfully. "But then what was the dark thing beside my bed that frightened me?"

"That, I believe, was the pile of dirty clothes I nearly fell over when I came to kiss you goodnight," Elrond said, tapping Estel's nose with one finger.

"Oh," the child muttered guiltily. After another, longer pause, he squirmed slightly in his blanket and asked, "Were you ever afraid when you were an elfling, Ada?" He gazed up at his father, fascinated both by the thought of Elrond being afraid and Elrond being an elfling.

The Elf-lord smiled. "When I was very small," he began slowly, "I was afraid of blood."

Estel stared. "You were afraid of blood? But you see my blood all the time! And other people's blood!"

"Indeed, I do," Elrond agreed. "But that was after I conquered my fear."

"How do you… conquer fear?" Estel asked, frowning as he wrapped his tongue around the new word.

"I learned that blood itself is nothing to be afraid of," Elrond said simply, "and that it was other things that were frightening me, not the blood."

"What other things?"

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"Are you alright?"

He watched the blood gushing from his arm and did not look up at his twin. He frowned at the wound. It would not overcome him. He would not let it.

But he could not stop the visions – visions of his father's greatest friend lying prostrate on the sand, staining it red, five arrows protruding from his back, mouth and eyes stretched wide in surprise; visions of a bloody arm being carried away by the surf, its owner shrieking and writhing beneath a sword on the beach; visions of a headless body being trampled by black and silver feet.

"Elrond?"

There was concern bordering on panic in Elros's voice, but he still did not look up. He did not fear blood. He would not let it have this control over him.

"I am fine, Elros," he said finally, standing and holding his arm over his head to stop the flow. "I believe wise Maglor sent bandages in our bags. Would you mind?"

Elros rushed to the bags, retrieved the strips of white linen and a canteen of fresh water, and forced his brother back onto the ground to begin treating him.

"What do you mean, you are fine?" he snapped as he rinsed the wound. "You have never been able to stand the sight of blood, much less your own! What has come over you?"

Elrond smiled wryly. "Would you like me to panic? Would that make you more comfortable?"

Elros glared at him. "No," he said composedly. "I was merely wondering what had brought about this sudden change of attitude."

Elrond continued to smile, but to himself, watching his brother wrap the linen around and around the injury.

"I have decided," he said finally, speaking slowly, "that blood does not frighten me."

Elros looked up sharply. "What?"

"It does not frighten me," Elrond said, shrugging, then wincing.

Elros snorted. "Well, then, I admire your willpower, mysterious one."

"Forgive me," Elrond apologized with a grin. "I have only recently discovered it myself, and so am not accustomed to explaining."

"Then practice, damn you," Elros growled, and Elrond chuckled.

"I have discovered that it is not the blood that frightens me, but the memories it brings with it," he declared bluntly.

"Memories?"

"Sirion."

Elros fell silent, brow furrowing. "I did not know that was what troubled you. You should have told-"

"I did not want you to have to remember, as well," Elrond protested.

"I see." Elros tied off the bandage and sat back on his haunches, eyeing his younger twin. "What are you going to do about the memories, then?"

Elrond gazed unseeingly at Elros's handiwork. "I do not know yet, brother," he said softly. "But I know that if I can conquer my fear of blood, I can conquer my fear of the past."

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"Ada?"

Elrond looked down at his son and smiled. "That is a story for another night," he teased.

Estel wrinkled his nose, but accepted the answer and turned to Glorfindel. "Were you ever afraid when you were an elfling, Glorfindel?"

"I? Never," the warrior said proudly. "Except for… I was afraid of one young elleth whom I attended lessons with. She had an odd and slightly painful habit of pinching me on the-"

Elrond shot him a look and the twins choked on their wine, snorting with laughter.

Estel frowned. He did not know what the joke was, but he knew that his old friend was not being serious. "Tell me truly, Glorfindel!" he pleaded. "You must have been afraid of something!"

"Tell you truly, Estel?"

"Yes, please!"

Glorfindel swirled his wine thoughtfully, gazing into the dark liquid.

"I must admit that, when I was young, I was a very brash little elfling, and did not yet have the wisdom I have so painstakingly acquired over the years," he said delicately. "One afternoon, I was watching my Ammë – my Naneth –" he clarified, "cook our luncheon. I wanted to help, and when her back was turned, I placed my hands over the fire and seized the pot."

Estel gasped, covering his mouth, and Glorfindel grinned.

"Yes, it was quite dramatic," he nodded sagely. "I was badly burned, and my hands were quite useless for some time. And ever afterwards, I was afraid of fire."

"Ah, the irony," Erestor whispered quietly, too quietly for Estel to hear, and Glorfindel made a noise of agreement in his throat.

"But you do not fear fire anymore!" Estel proclaimed, scrambling up to kneel on his father's lap and lean towards the Elf.

"No, not anymore, little one."

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Gondolin burned.

A twisted and slightly hysterical smile curled his lips as he crouched before the great fire-demon. Though his white city was shrouded in smog, smoke, and flame, he knew it lay, even now, many leagues below. The others ran on behind him, up the pass, and his heart beat its last beats firmly and steadily, sustaining him to the last. He would fight, fight and die, for his fallen comrades, for his lord, for his home.

The Valarauko snarled and cracked its mighty whip. He laughed.

"You did not expect resistance?" he bellowed. "You underestimate the might of Gondolin, and its Houses!"

The demon grinned, and such a leer would have made a lesser Elda shrivel and cower.

Glorfindel shifted his weight, anticipating the charge. When it came, he was prepared, prepared for the burning agony that seared his skin away, and prepared for the surge of raw power and light that burst from him. His roars mingled with the demon's as they battled on, blow after blow, a tremendous and terrible sight to behold.

It was strange. Though he was utterly focused on his battle, his mind wandered to lesser things, as though knowing he would be otherwise comfortless in his last moments.

His mother was holding him and soothing him, kissing his bandaged hands and murmuring soft words to him.

"How they burn, Ammë!" he wailed.

"My son, my son, I am sorry," she whispered in his ear. "It will pass, my little love."

"Nay! It will never pass!" he hissed, bitter conviction in his voice. "The fire will return for me, and burn me up, and consume me! And I will be all ash! I see it, Ammë! I see it in my dreams!"

She had hushed him then and told him not to be afraid, that she would protect him, and there would be no fires to consume him.

She had been wrong all along.

"Ah, the irony," his memory whispered as the final stroke was dealt and they fell, fell, fell into shadow and flame….

"It will pass, my little love, it will pass…"

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Estel was excited now. If his greatest heroes and defenders had once been afraid, then surely he, too, could overcome his fear.

"What about you, Elrohir?" he asked, bright eyes sparkling as he turned on his brother.

Elrohir grinned and stood. "I," he began in a darkly ominous voice, "was afraid of hags."

"Hags?" Estel repeated confusedly. "What are hags?"

"They are witches," Elrohir explained, whispering sinisterly. "Evil, ugly old ladies who eat children!"

Wide-eyed, Estel fell back against his father, now slightly afraid himself.

"Eat… children?"

"That is what the travelers said, yes," Elrohir nodded. "I was about your age-"

"Only older, because you are an Elf," Estel corrected sternly.

"Excuse me, yes. I was the equivalent of your age when a band of travelers passed through our fair Valley. I escaped in secret from my room one night to creep down to their campfire and listen to their stories – unseen by them, of course – and they told a horrible tale of a hag who lived in the woods beside their village. They said she would shriek and scream and throw terrible fits in the night and steal away the naughty children to eat. I had such a terrible time returning to my room," he reminisced. "I was so afraid, and was quaking so hard my leggings nearly fell down."

The look of apprehension on Estel's face vanished, and he giggled.

Elrohir grinned. "For quite a while after, I was quite terrified of elderly human women. I had never seen one myself, of course, and my imagination came up with the most horrible things!"

"Like what?" Estel breathed in enthrallment.

"Like… like this!" Elrohir hunched himself over suddenly. "I heard hags were twisted, and had hands like this," he curled his fingers into claws, "and had faces like this," he bared his teeth and screwed up his expression grotesquely, sticking out his tongue, "and walked like this," he shuffled towards Estel, dragging one leg behind him, claws crushed against his chest.

Estel made a face. "They must have been very ugly, then."

All five Elves burst into raucous laughter as Elrohir looked offended.

"Oh, no, Elrohir, I did not mean you are ugly," Estel said quickly, patting his brother's head. "I just meant that if someone as beautiful as you can make yourself look so ugly that they must have been truly horribly ugly."

"Fair enough," Elrohir said, and sat cross-legged at his father's feet. "In the end, however, a second group of travelers passed through, and this time, they had a real elderly grandmother with them…"

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Elrohir stared up at the old woman, positively struck dumb with fear. She was slightly bent, and had many wrinkles creasing her face. A gnarled and age-spotted hand stretched towards him, and he fell over backwards.

She clucked her tongue. "Now now, my chick, you needn't be afraid! I shall not tell your parents you are wandering alone so late if you shall come to the fire and warm your little self."

Elrohir's tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Her accent was strange to him, and it took him several moments to translate what she had said, and several more minutes to form a response in the same language. Perhaps this was what Erestor had meant when he had spoken of practical applications. "B-but," he stammered. "Th-then you will e-eat me!"

"Eat you?" she laughed. "No, dear, I do not eat much else than soft stew these days." She smiled at him, and he could see the many missing teeth in her mouth. He stared. He had never seen such a thing before. That certainly did not happen to the Eldar…

But there was something else in her smile that he could see, as well: warmth, a motherly desire to comfort and nurture, and he stood cautiously, more curious than afraid now.

"There's a good little lad," she crooned. "Brush yourself off now and come to the fire. It is quite a cold night for such a little one to be wandering about."

He followed her back to the fire, and she sat him down on a log beside a large, burly man who grinned at him once, then turned back to his dinner.

"Now, listen to the stories quietly and do not fidget," she instructed gently, tucking a blanket around him, "and perhaps I will find you something to eat."

He muttered a nervous thank you and turned his attentions to the man telling the tales, who was gesturing with his hands as a broad smile split his face. The thought of human food intrigued him. He had never tried it before, and he wondered if it would taste at all like his food.

The stories were wonderful, far different than any stories he had ever heard before, and he listened, enraptured, until the story teller declared it was time for bed.

"Here you are, my little chick," the elderly woman said, pressing a small pouch of something soft and sweet-smelling into his hands. "You are a very good child. Run back to your parents now, and be quick!"

For the first time, he smiled at her and, on a whim, threw his arms around her middle quickly, then scampered off.

Perhaps hags weren't so frightening, after all.

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"That was very nice of her," Estel said, looking surprised. He turned sharply to look at his father. "Is Elrohir in trouble now? For sneaking away?"

Elrond laughed. "No, I believe too much time has passed to punish him now," he smiled. "But I do think it is time for one young man to go to bed."

"But Elladan and Erestor still have to tell me what they were afraid of!" Estel whined, squirming slightly.

Elrond frowned at his son.

"I mean, may I please stay up a little longer to hear Elladan and Erestor's stories?" Estel asked politely, a little sheepish.

"If their stories are short," Elrond said sternly.

"Our stories are one, Ada," Elladan said, sharing a knowing look with Erestor.

Elrond raised his eyebrows. "Then I, too, am eager to hear."

"My greatest fear as an elfling was the dark," Erestor said quietly, closing his book and setting it aside.

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The dark was bad. Going in the dark meant bad things were going to happen, that there were going to be more screams, more blood when he came out, more dead to bury. The dark was bad.

"Go, Erestor!"

"Ammë, I do not-"

"Go! They are nearly upon us!"

"Will you come?"

She kissed his forehead and shoved him into the hidden cellar at the base of the tree, closing the doors disguised as roots over his head. He huddled in the damp earth, the child of the tree, crying in silence. He was always silent. If he was loud, the minions of the Enemy would find him, just as they had found the others, and…

The times were bad. They were far from their lord's stronghold, and that meant they were far from strong protection. They were an easy target for the minions of the Enemy. That was what they had told him.

"Someday we will move east, to the caves and hills, and be near to Lord Felagund, and then all will be well, and they will no longer be able to find us and plague us so."

That was what they said. But it had never happened. And now the minions had come again, and he could hear the screams and shouts and battle cries once more. And here he sat, in the dark, unknowing if anyone would come to get him out this time, or if he would die here, in this damp, musty midnight.

"Someday…"

The dark meant bad things were going to happen.

"I, too, feared the darkness," Elladan said, taking up the story. "Especially in the dead of winter, when it is clouded and there is no moon, and everything is as black as ink…"

The darkness pressed horribly on his open eyes, suffocating and mysterious. He could see, but it did not matter. The dark was strange, the dark was foreign, the dark was an unknown. And in the stories, all the horrible things happened in the dark.

"Elrohir," he hissed, but the lump in the bed on the other side of the room did not move. Elladan supposed he would have to comfort himself… or go to someone else.

Yes, that would be the thing to do. He knew he would never go back to sleep on his own. He started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but stopped abruptly. The floor was dark. What if it wasn't really there? If the dark had swallowed it, and as soon as he got down, it would swallow him, too?

But plenty of people walked around in the dark, and they hadn't been swallowed. He steeled his nerves and put his feet down.

The floor was cold, but most definitely solid. He crept to the door, head flicking back and forth for signs of danger. Stepping out into the empty hallway, he shivered slightly, not because of the cold – though he could see the snow heavy on the treetops outside the window – but out of apprehension and loneliness. There was not even a moon to throw a friendly radiance onto the white stone beneath his feet.

His first thought was, naturally, to go to his parents' room. But Ada had been working very hard lately, and Nana, as well. They were ever so tired.

He turned his feet in the opposite direction. Glorfindel was away on a long-term patrol and would be gone for the next few weeks; both he and his brother missed the golden warrior desperately. He stared at Glorfindel's door for a few long moments, then at the door across from it. Erestor.

Elladan scuffed his feet nervously on the stone floor. He didn't like dawdling here in the dark, so open and vulnerable, but he simply couldn't decide. He did not want to disturb his parents, but Erestor might be short with him for waking him up. Wouldn't he? Perhaps, perhaps not.

Erestor sometimes confused Elladan. Elrohir understood their father's advisor much better than he, and he suddenly wished Elrohir was here with him. But his brother would surely be angry with him if he woke him up. Elladan said Erestor was grumpy, but Elrohir said he was pensive and contemplative; Elladan said Erestor was too strict, but Elrohir said he cared about them and wanted them to learn; Elladan said Erestor was dusty, like the volumes in the library, but Elrohir said he was learned and wise. Elrohir liked to use big words. He learned them from Erestor.

Elladan sniffed, and knew he had to make a decision. Wake his parents, wake Erestor, or go back to bed and be afraid.

He crept silently to Erestor's door and opened it, stepping into the antechamber and slipping quickly through to the second door on the opposite side. He had to take a deep breath to calm himself before he raised his small fist and knocked twice, half hoping the Elf inside wouldn't answer. But then again, he did not want to be left alone in this strange room, in which the furniture took on the characteristics of nightmares.

There was a long pause, and the door opened. Erestor stood before him, tall and frowning, wearing a dressing gown. Elladan stared at him, wishing suddenly that he hadn't even thought about such foolery.

"What is wrong, Elladan?" Erestor said quickly, his voice gentler than Elladan had expected. "Are you alright?"

Elladan nodded, shuffling. "Erestor, I… I am sorry for waking you, but… I was afraid."

"Afraid?" Erestor repeated, crouching to the elfling's level. "What were you afraid of?"

"The dark."

Erestor looked at him steadily, then stretched out a hand to take Elladan's and led him into the bedroom. Elladan held tightly to him, glad not to be alone anymore. But Erestor didn't light a candle, instead sitting in a chair and lifting him onto his lap.

"Why are you afraid of the dark, Elladan?"

It sounded like a question he would ask during their lessons. "I do not know," Elladan professed. "But it is so… puzzling, and I do not know what is in it, and in the tales, all the frightening things happen in the dark."

Erestor took both of the elfling's hands and stretched them out in front of him. It reminded Elladan of playing blind-man's bluff. "Feel out before you, Elladan, and tell me what you think."

Frowning, but not understanding, Elladan did what he was told. "It is just air," he said. "There is nothing there."

Erestor smiled at him, and Elladan suddenly realized he had never truly seen the advisor smile before. "Exactly. It is only darkness. There is nothing there."

The elfling blinked. "But-"

"You are feeling the darkness now, young one," Erestor explained, touching Elladan's still-outstretched fingers. "Is it so frightening? It is the same air you breathe during the day. It has not changed."

"It has gotten darker."

Erestor chuckled, and Elladan had to struggle to keep his mouth from falling open. "Yes, it has gotten darker. But the dark is not anything, Elladan. It is nothing."

And suddenly, Elladan understood.

Erestor pulled the elfling's arms down and wrapped his own arms around him. Elladan sighed and leaned backwards, tired again.

"I, too, was afraid of the dark when I was your age," Erestor confessed quietly.

"Really?" Elladan asked, shocked.

"Yes, very much so," Erestor confirmed. "But it took me much longer to learn what you have just realized: that the darkness itself cannot harm us. So, we are not afraid of the dark, but of what may be lurking in it. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Then this is an easier fear to assuage. I can assure you there is nothing lurking," he said gently. "I would have heard it. I am a very light sleeper, as I am sure you can tell, your knock was so timid. I am right here, and your Ada and Nana just down the hall. We are watching over you, Elladan, even when you are dreaming. You have nothing to fear."

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"And so I saw the true Erestor for the first time," Elladan concluded, gazing fondly at the advisor's determinedly averted face. "And eventually came to like the dark, because my friend Erestor had taught me about it. Do you understand, Estel?"

Estel nodded slowly. "But… I see Erestor smile and laugh," he said slowly. "Sometimes…"

Elrohir laughed, and Elladan said, "Well, yes, he has softened up quite a bit since we were elflings."

"I have done no such thing," Erestor snapped. "I simply like Estel better than I liked – like – the two of you."

Glorfindel and Elrond laughed, and Estel beamed first at Erestor, then at his brothers.

"Alright, favored one," Elladan growled playfully, standing and swinging the child into his arms and over his shoulder. "I believe Ada said it was time for bed."

Estel moaned, but kissed his family goodnight, thanked them for their stories, and followed his father back to his room.

"You see, Estel?" Elrond said, holding his candle higher to illuminate the pile of rather muddy tunics and leggings on the floor of Estel's bedroom. "Nothing to fear, save for the smell. Come now, and I will tuck you in."

Estel clambered obediently into his bed, and Elrond adjusted the blankets around him, finally sitting on the edge of the bed and kissing his son's forehead. "I love you, ion nin."

"I love you, too, Ada," Estel replied, hugging his father tightly around the neck.

Elrond smiled. "Do not be afraid, Estel," he murmured, brushing dark hair away from the round face. "And even if you are, remember what you have learned tonight."

"How hags walk?" Estel giggled.

"No," Elrond said patiently, tickling the boy briefly. "That fears can be overcome, and most of them are not really anything to be afraid of after all. Once you see this, they are not so frightening anymore, are they?"

"No," Estel agreed. "I do not think my dirty laundry is very frightening."

"I am afraid you are alone in this sentiment, little one," he sighed, taking his candle and standing. "Goodnight, Estel."

"Goodnight, Ada."