"How did you make the fire go out last night?"
The Adan child was full of questions, Legolas had soon found out. Grimacing inwardly at yet another of Estel's queries – which the Wood-Elf had quickly realized could begin an entire line of new questioning, making a never-ending series of hows and whys – the Prince removed his cloak and handed it to the Adan.
"I did not make the fire go out," he explained patiently, watching Estel wrap himself in the welcomed cloak against the unordinary chill of the summer's night air. "I asked the fire to go out."
Seemingly, the child accepted this, and Legolas had to stifle a sigh of relief that no more questions were forthcoming. However, the silence of the night forest was broken by the human's simple question, "How?"
At least it is not 'why,' he thought sardonically, and then truly did sigh. I had no idea human children were so inquisitive.
Legolas walked around the small clearing in which he had chosen for them to stay the night, picking up dry, broken branches and small limbs fallen from the trees above. "By asking the wood not to burn."
Estel narrowed his eyes and peered at the Wood-Elf skeptically, which caused Legolas to laugh as he dumped his collection of firewood in front of the Adan. The human said nothing, and the Prince hoped that his answer would pacify the human, but Estel snorted, picked up a piece of the firewood, and handed it up to the Wood-Elf. "Here," he challenged with a mischievous grin. "Let us see you do it."
I suppose asking fires not to burn is hardly practical knowledge for a human to have, the Prince thought satirically, taking the limb nonetheless. The forthright human child had amazed Legolas: it seemed the Adan intended to spend his years in the wilds, for he had quizzed the Prince all day about the trees, flowers, weeds, and wildlife they had encountered, and pointed out to Legolas that which he already knew the names of as if to show his knowledge to the Prince.
Legolas raised his brows, grinning at the human as he sat on the opposite side of the firewood. Settling comfortably in the grass, the Prince laughed heartily at the Adan's disbelieving glare, and explained, pulling a flint from one of his legging's pockets, "It must be lit, first." Estel frowned, wrapped his borrowed cloak more tightly about him, and opened his mouth to question. The Wood-Elf, knowing before the human uttered a word that he would argue with him about lighting the limb, answered, "Ah, I made no such claim! I did not promise to ask it to burn, but only to ask it not to!"
"Fine, then," the child complained with a phony frown, his dispute thwarted, and shifted his seat on the ground in impatient agitation. "Let us see it!"
Legolas arranged the branches to his liking, and with practiced motions near to the kindling, struck the flint a few times on his pyrite rock. Almost immediately, the spark ignited the dry twigs and stems into a smoking tendril, and within seconds and with a few softly blown breaths to help it along, a flame had erupted to lick upwards along the dry kindling, eventually engulfing the pile of wood into a writhing, orange mass of flames.
His glower deepening, Estel stared expectantly at the Wood-Elf, who felt suddenly like one of the performers in his father's halls, Elves who would amuse their brethren with sleights of hand and peculiar jokes. I hope he does not become frightened, Legolas thought, apprehensive that his innate connection with the forest might scare the Adan, as he had obviously never seen such a display up close before. Estel continued to stare at him, though, and Legolas smiled – the fire went out.
Estel startled, the hem of the Prince's cloak slipping free from his shoulders when he leant over the smoldering wood. The human prodded the fireless, lightless, and seemingly dead firewood with the end of a limb, responding with wonderment, "But you did not ask it."
"I do not ask with words," the Prince explained, allowing the fire to burn brightly once again when the Adan had sat back down.
Not flustered in the least anymore at the unusual display, the human, Legolas realized, did not see the Silvan connection to the woods as magic, as other humans would see it: nodding his head sagely, the Adan merely looked eager to discover more. Surprising the Prince with his astuteness, Estel surmised, "It is the Wood-Elves' union with the forest that allows this?" Legolas nodded, and was pleased to hear that the Adan knew more of Wood-Elves than the misconstrued legends. "Since you are a Wood-Elf, are not the trees upset at you for burning their branches?"
Hiding his smile at the Adan's serious demeanor, the Prince explained, "The wood is dead, and the trees do not mind if we gather the wood for our fire from the dead limbs and logs. It clears the forest floor, giving saplings room to grow."
"But if the wood is dead, how does it listen to you?"
Oh my, the Wood-Elf thought with some distress, rubbing his aching forehead at the increasingly harder to answer onslaught of questions. If he asks Lord Elrond as many questions as he has asked me, he will know all that Elrond knows before he is old enough to bear arms.
"The dead wood is a part of all things, as is the living wood, as is the rock or the water or soil, any animal or you or I. Just because it is not living does not mean that its part in Ilúvatar's song has ended. It has merely changed. One must know how to listen." Shaking his head and frustrated at his inability to explain to the child that which he abruptly realized that he had only taken for granted, Legolas suddenly stilled his movement and thoughts.
Something approaches.
From the distance came the distinct sound of quickly approaching feet. Wrinkling his nose as the growing stench of Orc and Warg began to fill the air around them, Legolas held up his hand and tilted his head to the side, listening intently: Estel quieted forthwith at the motion, his own time in the forest with his Elven brothers having taught him that the Eldar would perceive danger long before he would.
"You must go," Legolas whispered, standing in one graceful, fluid action.
After Legolas' sudden proclamation, Estel watched the Elf become eerily still; the tranquility lasted only a moment, for in the next, the Prince had stepped over the fire, which snuffed immediately as if it were afraid to burn the Prince. Legolas yanked Estel to his feet.
"Up," the Wood-Elf hissed softly, not giving the Adan the time to steady himself before he was pushing the human away from him and into the deeper part of the forest around them. "Go, child."
Confused, the Adan stumbled forward and turned around. The Wood-Elf was not following him. It was clear that something foul was amiss and that Legolas did not intend for him to stay to discover what it may be, but that the Elf did not follow him disconcerted the Adan, and he asked, "What, Legolas? What is it?"
"Quiet," the Prince chastised, though not unkindly. He pulled free his bow from its catch and an arrow from his quiver. "Run," Legolas advised, glancing quickly behind him and tensing at the approaching beats of heavy feet, which the human could only just now hear.
A chill of fear crept up the human's spine, and for the first time since being in the forest, the Adan was afraid of something more than going hungry. "What is coming?" He stepped towards the Wood-Elf, not willing to leave the safety of the Elf, or to leave the Elf's safety in question. The two were strangers, but for the Adan, he had little else of familiarity in the forest save for Legolas, and his fear of facing the unknown danger without the Wood-Elf alarmed the young human.
"Run," the Prince demanded, adding when the Adan did not budge, "I will lead them away from you and then lose them in the trees. Run west. I am sure the Noldor guard will find you before you have reached the Last Homely House."
"I cannot find home by myself," Estel argued, his fear mounting, as the heated, rapid footsteps of the approaching beasts grew louder. The Elf and Adan were not far from Imladris, but were far enough to be clear of Lord Elrond's protective presence over the valley. It was not a situation the young Prince of Gondor had ever undergone.
Throwing the Adan a frightened, exasperated glare, Legolas ordered, "Run, human. I will find you after I have led them astray."
"I can fight," he assured. "I am trained –"
"I do not know their numbers," the Wood-Elf explained, pushing Estel again, "and it will be easier for me to lose them without you."
Never having left the shielding area around Imladris, Estel had never seen the foul beasts that roamed the wilds, unless one counted his encounter with them as a babe. But that incident the Adan did not recall with much detail, and so it was with dismayed marvel that Estel gripped the hilt of his short sword, tugging against the leather thong that held it to his thigh to cut it. He began, "But –"
"No," the Prince said urgently, pointing at Estel's sword and shaking his head. "Go. You do not have the experience to fight in battle, of this I am certain." The Wood-Elf pushed the Adan forcefully towards the forest. "Go, Estel. There is no shame in fleeing."
Estel stumbled again; he turned, seeing the Prince notching his arrow, letting the arrow fly. He could see nothing in the dark shadows around them but Estel heard a vile, pained scream as the arrow hit its mark.
The Wood-Elf was right – he did not have the experience and his flight was the better idea than his remaining. Estel had the youthful desire to learn, however, and it became too late for flight when the foul beasts broke through the thicket. I am not too young, he said to himself, though the three shaggy, snarling, and famished-looking Wargs that leapt over the brush and into the clearing soon had him doubting this declaration.