Wildfire
-o0o-
It was another hot and sunny day. Anor had bathed the entire valley in glorious, uninterrupted sunshine for over a fortnight, making the temperatures sore as the rays of the last fruit of Laurelin reflected from the grey slopes of the mountains.
It was a great day to have an adventure, Estel decided, as he left the edge of the archery field where he had watched his brother train with some elves from his patrol, and descended to the nearby meadow. The one in which his favorite oak tree stood - perfect for climbing and home to the fastest squirrels in all of Rivendell. One day, Estel thought, he would manage to catch one. Or lure it onto his palm and feed it acorns, the way he had seen Legolas do. It was terribly unfair that woodelves could talk to trees and animals when he could do neither.
He was not entirely sure he believed his brothers that the elves of Mirkwood also talked to rocks and dirt and clouds. But talking to animals - that would be something.
He bent low to pick a few strands of green grass, harder to find now that the prolonged drought had turned most of the meadow to a pale, dry yellow, and approached the tree. "Mae govannen!" he greeted the tree, and any squirrels that might be lurking in its branches as he approached. There was no response. Unperturbed Estel crept closer, looking intently at the foliage, hoping to catch a rustle of leaves, a flash of a red bushy tail, any sense of movement. But nothing happened.
His shoulders slumped a bit as he came even closer, coming to stand next to the thick trunk of the oak, resting his hand on its calloused bark and looking up into the branches. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves above his head, but there was no sign of movement. The squirrels were out.
With a sigh, Estel dropped the stems of grass in his hand, his offering for the little animals, and decided on a new adventure. A mission. He was an adventurer, an explorer, a … his eyes roamed the meadow, from the edge of the nearby forest to the adjacent archery field … a border guard!
With quick, practiced moves he scaled the oak - his favourite climbing spot in all of Rivendell. From up here he could see all the way to the main house with its grey wooden walls, arched roofs and large stairway outside. He could see the expanse of the forest in the other direction, dark firs and beeches and oaks with their leaves bleached orange by the long sunshine this summer. The border! At the least the border to his own realm - for the forest marked the edge of the lands he was allowed to explore unsupervised.
His keen eyes sprang from trunk to trunk, scanning every opening between the trees, conjuring images of daring foes and lost strangers. Dangers that only he could save Rivendell from. He took a stick that had been wedged between two branches, close to the trunk - he must have left it up here on one of his earlier visits. It made a fine sword.
Standing securely on a large limb of the tree, one hand holding on to the trunk for balance, he slashed with his sword, practicing all the moves he had seen Glorfindel teach.
A sudden movement caught his attention - a dark shadow springing across the meadow and Estel did not hesitate. He dropped from the branches, landing in a crouch on the dry grass beneath and sprang to his feet. His stick held in front of him, he demanded: "Halt! Who goes there?"
A doe stopped mid-run, startled. She looked at him briefly, before jumping off and disappearing into the woods. Estel lowered his stick sword.
Only to bring it back up again as another deer jumped past him suddenly. The animal entirely unfazed by his presence, running into the forest as if fleeing a dragon. Holding his stick in front of him, Estel turned. What had set them running? There were no other animals nearby, but something glowed at the edge of the meadow, a light that shone behind the small hillock there. Was that smoke rising above it?
Was there actually a dragon?
Estel swallowed, imagining the roar of the fire-breathing beast as it lay on the meadow. He tried to remember what Erestor had told of the wyrms and dragons of the North - how far away was the Lonely Mountain, home of Smaug? But even as he pondered the information, his feet took him closer and closer to the orange glow. He held his stick sword tightly, as he ventured further and further forward. He had to see the dragon. Had to find the danger and then alert his father or brothers. They would be so impressed with his bravery.
He held onto that thought as he crested the small hill, as he slowed before taking the final steps and looked beyond it.
There was no dragon.
But there was fire.
A large swath of the dry meadow beyond the hill was burning, stretching from the forest edge on his left all the way around the edge of the hill on his right. The edge of the hill! Even as Estel realized the danger, there was another breeze and the flames jumped. In a flash they sped towards him, stretching, growing, devouring. Estel turned and ran down the hill, his stick falling from his hands in his haste. But it was no use.
By the time he reached the bottom of the hills the circle of flames had closed around him. He was trapped.
-o0o-
tbc…
A/N: This story is probably my favourite of the entire whumpvent calendar! Young Estel is just so adorable. Let me know if you agree :D