Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Author's Warnings: I do not think there is anything inappropriate in this story, nor do I consider its ending unhappy, but if you are particularly sensitive about death please do not read.

"Ada?"

If Elrond ever questioned his parenting abilities, Estel proved the answer, just the answer every parent wanted to hear. At that particular moment, he stood quietly in the door. Estel never asked twice, because he knew a reply would inevitably come. He had infinite patience for a seven-year-old.

Then, Estel had never been like other children. Raised in an open society, he was not easily embarrassed because he did not know to be: he did not know that other boys his age would blush to admit that they loved the small of lavender, that they were afraid of the dark, they had night terrors, they loved their fathers. Estel was not ashamed to inhale the rich scent of a bag of lavender herbs. He did not blush when he had to find someone in the middle of the night because the darkness squeezed the breath from his body. When Estel dreamed of horrible things he cried. He said "I love you", "I'm sorry", but never lied the words.

Elrond raised his eyes, and, seeing Estel, knew that summer reigned out of doors, for Estel changed with the season. Within a week of summer's break, Estel's hair was bleached light brown from the summer and his skin darkened that he might stand beside a tree, and only for his eyelids not be thought a part of the trunk. Estel's eyelids never darkened, for he closed his eyes only in sleep. By the end of the summer, his skin was almost darker than his hair.

In autumn, when Estel shed his summer coat and shuffled through the falling leaves, his eyes lit up with the changes, and suddenly he peered through the grey of stones on the riverbed: innocent, painfully innocent. In winter Estel's hair and skin changed again to clash black against palest white. In spring when snow melted it was again Estel's skin that gauged the season, slipping into hues of butter then of bronze. Soon he would be brown again, then snow white…

"Yes, Estel?"

The statistics on the page before Elrond stirred a deep envy in him when he glanced at Estel, who had abandoned his shirt somewhere likely forgotten and stood wearing only leggings, shining with sweat. Elrond reminded himself that his work was important, that the paradisical view of Imladris the world seemed to hold was only a distant fantasy. Over one hundred elves dwelt in Imladris, and the valley had scarce ground for crops.

Times like this made Elrond grateful for Erestor. In spite of his immature sense of humor, Erestor had a quick mind for business and enjoyed its application. When Imladris was only a bud and about to be nipped, it was Erestor who had saved it. At the time, the Elvensmiths paid the Dwarves for mined metals which they forged with great skill to sell in Gondor, where land was abundant and greed also, though less. Days were sunny and good, but Imladris was in debt. The money with which they paid he Dwarves had come from Celebrían's family and Elrond could not repay it, the work of the smiths and the healing potions sold to Gondor and Rohan brought in precious little profit. To make up for this, the smiths produced in greater abundance.

"Stop them," Erestor had said. "Watch your debt visibly disappear when you control the supply of Elven healing draughts, Elf-forged trinkets and weapons."

He had been young, at the time, but he had been right. Since then, Elrond respected the youth--for though Erestor had aged since, far be it from Elrond to admit it!

"Ada," Estel said in puerile tones, "what is 'died'?"

"Coloring cloth," Elrond replied, wondering for precisely what reason Estel asked about dye. Seconds later, he knew why. Estel frowned and his brow furrowed, and Elrond knew what Estel was asking.

"Glorfindel made the Balrog colorful?" Estel asked.

Elrond nearly choked on his shock. 'No!' he wanted to cry. 'Not yet, not now!' "Has Glorfindel been telling you stories?" Elrond asked. If the answer was 'yes,' Elrond doubted he could ever forgive Glorfindel.

"No," Estel said. "I was reading. I asked Glorfindel what 'slew' means and he said something about 'died,' then said to ask you." Of course. How could Elrond expect that Estel would not come across death in a book, when the child loved so to read?

'How is this to be explained to a child, especially one who will one day know death first hand!' "Estel, come here to me."

Grinning, unable to fathom the weight of the question he had asked, Estel ran to Elrond and clambered onto his lap. Elrond wrapped his arms around Estel, and the child relaxed such that he might have been asleep. He smelled like grass and heat, and more than anything lavender. "Estel…" Elrond knew that he must not be condescending. That would only put Estel on edge, make him anxious, which the poor child hardly deserved. "When you die, your body cannot move. It stiffens and becomes cold."

Estel shivered and curled against Elrond, as though he might by his father be protected from death for ever. To Elrond, Estel did feel cold, though heat emanated off his bare skin. "But it's all right, because your soul, what makes you the person you are, leaves your body behind and goes to the Halls of Waiting."

"Does everyone go there? All of them who die?"

"Yes, Estel. All of them."

"What are they waiting for?" Estel wanted to know then.

Elrond gave the best answer he could: "In time, you will know."

Without a word, but obviously dissatisfied, Estel left the study. He went to play outside, he told his father. That day Estel told two lies, and they were the first in his life: he lied in promising to ask Elrond any further questions he had, and he lied in saying he went to play outside. He went to find Glorfindel.

At night, Estel liked to ask questions. He asked some difficult questions and some simple, any question he wanted answered. Most importantly, he asked questions of Elrond because he knew that, when Elrond left, the candle beside the bed must be put out. Then Estel's only protection from the dark were the covers keeping him too warm and the lavender he stuffed into his pillow.

That night, focusing on lavender, Estel only said, "Ada, am I going to die?"

The answer troubled Elrond far more than it troubled Estel. "Yes, darling. Some day, you will die."

"But you will not," Estel added. "I know because Glorfindel said so. He said he went to the Halls of Waiting. I'm not scared any more."

Elrond nodded. "That is good. Do not be afraid."

When Estel next spoke, it was absent, mild words, spoken with clarity to the ceiling above him. "I know what I will wait for," he said. "Glorfindel says all Elves feel the call of the sea…" These last words he did not understand. "When I die, Ada will still be here. I will wait for you, Ada."

"I love you, Estel."

"'Love you, too, Ada."

Estel did not even consider lying those words. He would sooner not have said them, because love has magic. If he lied, he knew that Ada would not be fooled. It was better not to speak than to lie.

"For ever is a long time, Estel." Elrond would never know why he said that.

"That's all right, Ada. I can wait." The words dragged, and in moments Estel was asleep.

Elrond wondered if Estel did not wake in the night, frightened, because he sensed through his sleep that he was not alone. Elrond could not leave Estel that night, but sat by his bed, in case of night terrors.

In the morning, Estel pretended he had not woken when Elrond crept silently from the room. Mortals often fear that death haunts their days. Estel knew that only love haunted his.