Hello all! *waves at the people who accidentally wandered into my story* My name is Adrienne and I will be your author today. Today's special is a delicious cut of our best drama, seasoned to perfection and sprinkled lightly with tragedy. Served on the side is a wonderful delicacy of action/adventure along with our house special of angst.

We invite you to partake of our complimentary tissues, and would like to warn you before hand that our cooks tend to add a healthy portion of graphic violence, though this particular dish is more known for it's subtle inner-angst.

We hope that you enjoy your meal and ask that you give any questions, comments, or concerns to the two muses at the exit. They will take all notes into consideration so that we can make your return a more pleasurable experience.

Summary: Death, to an Elf is not easily understood, for their immortal souls rarely experience the devastation of this utter loss. But to one human, barely grown, the pain of mortality is well known in his heart. Can he make the immortal understand the life beyond loss, before the Elf's hatred destroys them both?

This is where I give the disclaimer. Now what I want you all to do is go to your bookshelves and pull out those 4 little books with funny, hairy-feeted short men on the covers. If you are reading this story you should all have them, if you don't, you're a disgrace. Okay, now that you have the books look inside. You see all those names? All those places? All those events that take place? Uh-huh. Now go to the front of the book. Good, good. See that name there? That J.R.R. Tolkien guy? Yeah, all those names, ect. belong to him. Not me. If they belonged to me I certainly wouldn't be here. And if I was making any money off of those names, ect. I certainly wouldn't be living at home with my mom. If you have any more questions consult my muses. They are currently not working at the moment and would be happy to inform you about my inadequacies as a writer.

P.S. I was serious about that disgrace comment.

" Memories of Ilithien "

Chapter One - An Immortal Soul, Lost.

Dark rain clouds thundered over head and harsh winds whipped at the clothes of the funeral procession, as if the very elements mourned the passing of an immortal soul. A desolate people made its way slowly down the hillside of Imladris to the resting place of the dead.

Estel walked at the head of the procession with his foster father and two older brothers. Ahead of them was the funeral pyre on the shoulders of four young elves. Lying on the pyre, covered in a mournfully woven black sheet was the body of his dearest friend.


"Estel, you get back here this instant!" Ilithien demanded, though her voice rang with mirth as she chased the small boy through the halls of Elrond. "You must take your bath!"

"No! You have to catch me first!" The mud-splattered little boy shouted as he raced out an open door, running past his nanny, avoiding her grasping hands.

"Estel, your father will kill me if you are not clean by the time the convoy from Mirkwood arrives!" The she-elf shouted as the boy turned a corner.

Fearing that she had truly lost him this time Ilithien increased her speed, rounding the corner to find Elrohir, the younger of Elrond's twin sons, holding a pouting Estel around the waist, the boy's feet dangling several feet off the floor as he struggled in the tall elf's hold.

Elrohir grinned and handed the boy over to his nanny, laughing as she carried him screaming towards the bathing room.


For many years Estel and Ilithien had enjoyed a bantering relationship of Nanny and boisterous child, then they, or at least he, had outgrown such a relationship and it had formed into an unbreakable bond of friendship.

But now the pole bearers were laying her lifeless, mutilated body into the tomb beside the one that held Estel's beloved mother, now 13 years dead. Tears fell from the youth's eyes, staining his dark clothes, as a heavy, carved stone was rolled in front of the tomb, sealing Estel's heart inside.

Slowly the mourners left the desolate place, seeking shelter from the impending rain and harsh winds. Soon only three grave figures were left at the dark tomb.

Elrond placed a comforting hand on his foster son's shoulder, wishing he could ease the boy's pain, but also knowing there was nothing he could do. After a moment the ancient lord left as well, following the disappearing backs of his elder two sons as the clouds above them released their torrent.


The rain fell in a violent flow, instantly saturating the two desolate figures at the tomb, soaking through their clothes, plastering the fine, dark clothes against their skin. The young human shivered as the freezing rain beat down on him, but he couldn't make himself turn away from him dear friend.

He stole a quick glance at the other figure, wondering who else could have loved his beloved nanny as much as he to endure the torrential rain to say goodbye. But the brief look shocked him and he found himself staring openly at the elf beside him.

He had seen the immortal several times in his short life but had never spoken to the other being. The elf's face was an emotionless mask as he stared at the grave of his betrothed. The rain glued his black tunic and dark gray leggings to his body, the winds tore at his hair, whipping the long, rain soaked blonde strands around his face, and his brilliant blue eyes shone brighter with tears that slid slowly out, mixing with the cold rain and getting lost on his fair face.

Estel had not even known the youngest prince of Mirkwood was in Imladris.


A young Estel ran into the throne room of King Thranduil and immediately sought out his foster father, hiding his small face in the elf's robes.

"Estel?" Lord Elrond questioned, kneeling beside the boy. The child did not look at his father, but instead wrapped his little arms around the elf's neck and buried his face in his hair.

"I'm sorry, Ada." The small child whispered, his young voice hitching with tears. "I didn't mean it."

"Mean what, Estel?" Elrond asked, prying the boy's arms from his neck and forcing the small human to look at him. But the boy had no time to answer, for a furious young Silvan elf burst through the main doors and strode over to where they and the king stood, his face twisted in a mask of rage.

"I told you it was foolish to allow that human into our kingdom." The youngest son of the king seethed, pointing an angry finger at the boy. Estel buried his face in his father's robes again. "That brat has just let loose our entire flock of hunting birds! Who knows what other damage that child of filth will cause while he is here."

Lord Elrond immediately opened his mouth to come to the defense of his youngest child but the king beat him to it. "Hold you tongue, boy!" The king demanded, rising from his throne. "You are a prince of Mirkwood, not some uncivilized barbarian! You will remember to keep your manners as such, and you will not speak in such a way of one of our guests."

The young prince turned his head away in anger, too enraged to have the decency to appear embarrassed. Lord Elrond was an esteemed guest, and the child was, to Legolas' disgust, his foster son. But his hatred for all human kind would not allow him to back down.

"Tomorrow you will leave with your garrison to patrol the borders for 3 weeks." The kind ordered, his eyes burning with barely contained anger. "While you are there I suggest you consider in earnest what it means to be one of the Eldar, for as of now you are not acting as such."

The verbal blow was as painful, if not more so, than a physical wound. His eyes glazed over with a forgotten pain and he turned slowly, walking from the room. On the way out he passed the child's nanny, not even glancing at her as he walked away when normally he would have given worlds simply to look into his beloved's eyes.

The slender, raven-haired elf walked to the other side of the hall and gently pulled the shaking child away from her lord. "The hurts of his past are still deep in his heart. He will let them go, in time." She said softly, stroking the dark hair of the child in her arms.

The king nodded, but still felt a great sorrow pull at his heart as he watched his youngest child leave his halls, his shoulders stooped in defeat. But what the young elf had done could have had, and still might, have grievous results. The friendship between the Silvan and the Noldor elves was thin enough as it was without the brash youngling clawing at the very center of it in anger.

"I am sorry, Lord Elrond." The king said sincerely, turning to the still kneeling elf. "I apologize to you, and your son, on behalf of my own. What he said was inexcusable."

"Perhaps." The wise elf said as he stood. "But I believe we can let matters pass this once. I do believe though, that the young prince chooses not to remember that my father was also human. And as such I am produced from the same… filth, that the boy is."

The king cringed at the other elf's words, but Elrond quickly changed the subject back to the conversation they were engaged in before the interruption. Ilithien left the two ancient elves, quietly walking from the room, whispering soothing words in Sindarin into the child's ear.


Estel had asked her once what the 'hurts of the past' were that she spoke of, but she had told him that it was not her place to tell. All Estel knew was that whatever had happened, it had turned the prince against humans.

The young human had encountered the prince several other times in visit's to Mirkwood, or when the prince had come to his own home, but he had made very sure to stay out of his way as best as possible. Now he decided that he would leave, and allow the prince to grieve for his beloved in peace.

Estel watched him a moment more, entranced by what he saw. The prince had not moved since the others had left. His body was rigid, swaying lightly in the strong winds, and his hands were clenched into fists at his side. His wet hair whipped his face harshly as it was flung about by the wind but he seemed not to care, or notice. His fine face was set as if in stone, and he stared, unblinking, at the tomb.

Estel wondered if the fair elf was alright, for he knew that elves could become sick with grief, or possibly even die. But the young human knew well the pain of loosing one you loved, and supposed that the elf would be alright in time. He cast one last despairing look at the grave of his dearest friend, then silently turned and left.


The rain had turned the world around him into a dark, dreary, and muddy place. The young man was barely halfway to his home and had already slipped in the slimy substance beneath his feet several times. He stumbled again, but caught himself this time, cursing his ungraceful human body.

Righted once more, he jammed his hands into the pockets on his tunic, hunching his shoulders against the biting cold that seemed to be seeping into his very bones. But as he continued on his hand found in one of his pockets a small item he had nearly forgotten.

He pulled it out and looked down at it, blinking against the blinding rain to see the small brown acorn.


Ilithien walked up behind the boy and sat down beside him on the carved stone bench. "Why such a long face, my little Estel?" She asked, running a hand through his unruly dark hair.

"I'm not little." The boy said defensively, but his voice held a betraying trace of tears. Ilithien looked down at the child, then out into the woods he was staring intently at. She saw several young elflings climbing very high trees. She smiled and looked down at the boy.

"Do you wish to climb the tree too, my Hope?" She asked softly.

"They said I can't." The little boy sniffled. "They said I'm too little." He leaned over and rested his small head on her arm. She shifted until he was resting on her shoulder instead, her arms wrapped lovingly around him.

"You are little, Estel. But that is alright because you are still very young." The elf maiden said kindly. She reached down to the ground and picked up a small brown object. "You will grow in time. And then you will be able to do anything you want."

She picked up his small hand and placed the acorn inside. "Those trees that the children play on, even the ones that are too big for them, all started out very small. But now they have grown, and can do all the things they were created to do."

The little boy stared down at the acorn in his palm. "How long will it take?" He asked, the tears gone from his small voice.

"Not long." His nanny assured him. "Why, in fact, I do believe you have grown, even while we speak." She smiled down at him, a glint in her eyes.

"Have not." The boy admonished, rolling his eyes at the older elf. "It doesn't work that way."

The elf laughed at the somber little boy.


Estel had kept that acorn; he always carried it with him wherever he went. He had meant to leave it at her tomb, as a symbol of their friendship. He stared down at the acorn, then looked up towards his home. He could just barely see the warm glow of fire light coming from the windows.

'I'm already soaked through.' He thought, turning around and walking back towards the grave. 'A little more won't hurt.'

At the tomb he walked over to a statue beside Ilithien's grave. It was a figure of an Elf-maiden with her hands stretched towards the sky, a symbol of Ilithien's joy in life. Estel placed the small nut in one of her upturned palms then turned to leave once more.

But a quick glance told him that the prince was no longer standing before the tomb. He wondered where the elf had gone, for he had not passed him and there was only one path that lead back to the house. A closer look revealed what he had not previously seen.

"Ai!" The young human cried as he ran to the side of the fallen prince.

On passing, hidden by the rain and his dark clothes, Estel had not seen the prince lying face down in the mud. One arm was twisted beneath him, mud and rain plastered his clothes and hair. Estel gently rolled him over onto his back, revealing a stony face covered in mud. The elf's eyes were closed.

"Oh Valar." The human sighed. He reached his hand out and felt the princes muddy neck; there was a faint pulse.

"Estel, what happened?" The man jerked his head up, startled to see his oldest brother, Elladan, kneeling beside him. "I came to find you, to get you out if the rain." The elf explained as he stared down at the prince. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I left for a moment, when I came back he had fallen." The young human's eyes were wide, frightened. He feared for the prince's life, despite how he had treated him in the past. "Go get, Ada, please." He asked his brother as he reached down to pick up the prince.

The elf nodded and raced towards the house as Estel stood, cradling the limp form of the prince in his arms. He was met at the door of the large house by a barrage of worried elves; word of the prince's fall had spread quickly. His father quickly pushed his way through the crowd. One look into the older elf's eyes told Estel that he did not hold much hope.

"Varilas, take him to his chambers." The wise lord said. "I'll see to him there."

A blonde haired elf, Estel remembered him to be the prince's aid, took the prince from his arms and turned towards the center of the house.

"Adar?" Estel asked as the older elf turned to leave. "Will he be alright?"

The elf turned back and looked the young human in the eyes. "I do not know, Estel." He said softly, then turned and followed the prince's aide.

To Be Continued…

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Until next time!