Chapter 3.  Many Questions.

Kneeling on the stone bench and propping his elbows on the balcony rail so that he could rest his chin in his cupped hands, Estel watched the falling rain. It was not heavy rain, not even a light shower but more of a mist, its gentle caress providing life-giving moisture to all the growing things in the many gardens of Imladris.

Suddenly he jerked upright, frowning. Something did not quite feel right, and he wondered what it was that had pricked his subconscious. Of course! How could it be raining so heavily 'outside' the gates, but not 'inside'? Maybe it had something to do with Gandalf? Everyone knew that wizards had mysterious powers. Recalling how unlikely it was that the old man would answer his query, he decided he had best ask Lord Elrond instead.

Leaving the rain to fall unobserved, Estel went back inside and walked over to his school desk. Rummaging through the numerous objects that were piled on top of it, he smiled as his hands quickly found his slate, and not long after, his chalk. Although he hated lessons, he was a quick study and had a natural aptitude for language that impressed his tutors, Gilraen and Elrond. Taking up his preferred position of lying on his stomach on the furry rug in front of the fireplace, he started to make a list entitled,

'Questions to ask Lord Elrond'.

Why does the rain fall harder outside the gates?

Why am I called 'hope'?

Do the spiders in Mirkwood really eat people? (I do not believe Elladan!)

Who is Gandalf?

When will I be old enough to go hunting with Elladan and Elrohir?

Satisfied that those were all the questions gnawing at his curiosity, at least for the present, he rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling while he contemplated how he would get a message to his foster father without leaving the room. He knew that his mother would not return for a few hours, and he did not wish to disobey her again by sneaking out to see Elrond. Asking his mother to take the message to him was, however, the sensible thing to do. Pleased with that solution, he put the slate on the small meal table and turned his attention to hunting around the room for house spiders. It was a futile effort, for he found none, but it made the time pass quickly and soon the sweet chiming of the noon bell could be heard, its usual crisp echo dulled slightly by the damp weather.

Shortly after the bell rang, he heard a knock on his door and opened it to find his mother, as she had promised, carrying his lunch tray. The meal that consisted of warm broth and some fresh bread rolls was more than enough for the two of them, and he was pleased to have her company.

"What is this?" Gilraen asked, noticing her son's neat script on the slate as she picked it up to move it from the table to make room for the tray.

"I have so many questions I need to ask Lord Elrond today that I wrote them down so I remember to ask them all," replied Estel as he helped himself to a bread roll and began eating his broth.

"Hmm.. I suppose he is the best one to answer these," she agreed after she quickly cast her eyes over the list. "Since you are in the mood for questions and answers, Estel, I have one for you. Why do you still call him 'Lord Elrond' when he has made it clear he would be pleased for you to call him 'father'?" It had been several days since Elrond had voiced his offer, but Estel had refused and become so upset that Gilraen had decided to wait for the right moment to pursue the matter.

"Because he is not my real father," stated the child simply, suddenly finding the bread crumbs on his plate to be of great interest.

"No, he is not, and he knows that as well as you or I," his mother said as she knelt beside him and placed her fingers under his chin so that she could gently turn his face towards hers. "But just as your father dearly loved you, so does he. As much as he loves his own children." Said Gilraen her instincts alerting her to the real issue. "I am sure that wherever your father is, he knows that you love him. I know that he would not be hurt to hear you call Elrond 'father', in fact, I think he would wish it."

"Why?" he asked dubiously, finding his mother's words a little hard to believe.

"Because they were good friends, almost like brothers themselves," she replied, smiling sadly at the memory of the look of wonder on the faces of the Elf lord and the Man of Númenor, as they stood, shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the newborn Aragorn.

"Really? They were great friends?" asked Estel, suddenly very interested in the turn of the conversation. Gilraen nodded, then pointed to the slate.

"Hand me your chalk and I will add that question to your list, then I will take it to Elrond, if you wish."

"Yes, please," answered Estel happily, pleased that his mother had offered to do the very thing he wanted her to without him having to ask. He was certain that once Lord Elrond saw how important the questions were, he would come and answer them immediately.

******

Elrond and Gandalf had spent the whole morning in Elrond's library discussing the difficulties facing Thranduil in Mirkwood, and what threat the shadow over Dol Guldur might signify for all the peoples of Middle Earth, both at present and in the years ahead. Finally having finished with the exchange of news, and making plans, Elrond refilled Gandalf's wine glass and asked him what he thought of Estel.

"He is a very perceptive, intelligent child, but far too inquisitive for my taste, or his own good," he said, smiling as Elrond nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I think it is only a matter of time before he questions his origins," the Lord of Imladris said.

"Especially if careless words are spoken where small ears can hear them," said Gandalf sternly. Elrond looked surprised at what was obviously a rebuke.

"To what, exactly, do you refer?" he asked.

"Apparently Elrohir is encouraging him to become a Ranger, and he is extremely curious as to why you and Glorfindel believe 'hope' is a very appropriate name," replied the wizard.

"He will become a Ranger, I see no problem there, we do not speak openly of his heritage, but his name. How did he hear that?"

"He inadvertently overheard an indiscreet conversation in the hallway," explained Gandalf.

"That is disquieting; I will take more care in future. The older he becomes, the more likely he will know he has not been told all; he is very astute, even at his present tender age. We must all be on our guard not to let the truth be known too soon," mused Elrond.

"Exactly, but it is not only Estel's ears we need be concerned about. Isildur's heir is safe in Imladris, as long as Sauron is not aware of his existence. We would all do well to remember that the Dark Lord has spies everywhere," warned Gandalf. They both started slightly when the ensuing silence was broken by a knock on the door.

"Gilraen, what can I do for you?" asked Elrond politely as he ushered his visitor inside.

"Estel has some questions," she said, handing him the list, which he read quickly then passed it to Gandalf, who raised his eyebrows in concerned surprise. A meaningful look passed between Elf and wizard; the list proved that their discussion had been well timed. The silent exchange did not go unnoticed by Gilraen.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"No, all is well. Ask Estel to come and see me later this afternoon, for I fear I will be unavailable until then," Elrond said apologetically.

"Do you think you could go to him, instead? I am afraid he is confined to his room until the evening meal," she explained.

"Of course, discipline must be maintained. His answers can wait," said Elrond with a smile that reflected both his understanding and approval of her actions.

"Would you care to join us in a glass of wine?" offered Gandalf, much to both Elrond's and Gilraen's surprise. "I think it is time we also become better acquainted."

"Why, yes thank you," said Gilraen as she sat in the armchair vacated by Elrond and accepted the wine. "So, tell me, Gandalf, are you a wizard or an Elf?" she asked with the slightest gleam of mischief in her eyes. Elrond and Gandalf both laughed at her boldness, and the three adults spent a pleasant hour in conversation, until Glorfindel arrived reminding Elrond and Gandalf that they had other business to attend to that day.

******

Estel was bored. He wandered listlessly around his room, rushing to the door whenever he thought he heard voices outside, hoping that one of them was Elrond. He knew that Gilraen must have delivered his message hours ago, and he was beginning to believe that his foster father did not wish to see him, that he was angry with him for some reason. Maybe he was still angry with him for going into the forest this morning, or maybe it was because he had not yet called him 'father'. Maybe Elrond did not love him anymore. That was why he was being ignored.

As his thoughts turned dark he grew angrier and in a fit of temper he stomped around the room, kicking selected pieces of furniture. In an act of revenge, he picked up the book Elrond had set him to read for his studies and threw it across the room. Tears of anger and hurt filled his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks as he climbed onto his bed, buried his face in his pillow and began to sob uncontrollably.

Elrond heard the muffled sobs through the bedroom door and rushed into the room and over to the bed.

"Why the tears, Estel?' he asked softly as he lifted the child into his arms and hugged him close. Rather than try to resist, Estel snuggled against Elrond's chest and sobbed all the more.

"You... you... did not... come." he stammered, trying to control his voice. "I waited forever. I thought you were angry...I thought you did not love me anymore." The pain in the words almost broke Elrond's heart.

"Shhh... I am here now; I came as soon as I could. I am not angry with you and I will always love you, Estel, just as if you were my own son. Never doubt that. Never!" he whispered emphatically as he gently stroked the child's hair, and softly kissed his brow. Elrond's soothing ministrations soon had the desired effect and the sobbing ceased.

"I love you too.. Father," whispered Estel shyly into Elrond's ear.

The tears of joy of the Lord of Imladris fell as softly as the misty rain.