2: Elrohir
-o0o-
"Retrieve your arrows", Elrohir commanded, watching as the elves under his command crossed the archery field to comply. They were slowing down. And although they did not complain, did not even grumble lightheartedly, it would be best to end this training session soon. The sun was beating down mercilessly on them all, exposed as they were on the open archery field. Arrows and elves painted stark, dark shadows on the parched grass as they passed. It was just after midday.
Blinking against the brightness, Elrohir glanced up at the sky. There was no cloud to be seen, no indication that this extended drought would end any time soon. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, lifting the black, sun-heated strands to let even a bit of air pass to his scalp and neck.
"Last round," he announced as his elves retook their position at the shooting line. His words were met with a collective sigh of relief and he smirked. When the first arrows thudded into the targets on the other end of the field, a slight breeze rose. The archers were lowering their bows, gauging the wind to make adjustments to their aim, but Elrohir no longer paid attention. He had caught something on the wind, something that made the blood in his veins freeze despite the hotness of the day.
Smoke.
He turned sharply, scanning the lower meadow next to the archery range. He had been correct. The edge of the field of dry grass was ablaze, a ring of high flames encircling one of the small knolls near the forest. On the bone dry meadow it would spread in minutes, devouring the grass and plants, and if they were unlucky spreading to the forest beyond. All of Rivendell would be in danger. He needed to alert his father and Glorfindel, organize a response -
Something moved within the ring of fire. A small shape stepped back from the lower edge of the flames, slowly moving backwards up the knoll of grass. Oh sweet Eru, no!
Estel.
He sprung into motion. "Fire!" he shouted, calling the attention of the archers even as he jumped forward to the nearest of them. "Faeron, run to the house, alert my father. Tell him Estel is on the meadow!"
He did not wait for Faeron's acknowledgement before he turned, running straight for the meadow, for Estel. He could see his baby brother moving up the hill, walking backwards as if unwilling to take his eyes off the approaching flames. But Elrohir knew it would do no good. The flames were all around the little hillock, creeping up at Estel from behind even as they advanced from in front.
And they continued to spread outwards. Offshoots of it were already passing him on the left, trailers of blazing flames that had raced off from the main fire, feeding hungrily on the dry grass of the meadow, expanding by meters in mere seconds.
When he reached the wall of fire that encircled Estel, it had grown two meters deep and so high he could barely spot Estel on the top of the knoll, his arms slung around himself, shivering and afraid.
"Estel!" he shouted over the roaring of the flames.
"Ro? Ro help!"
The fear in his little brother's voice was a palpable thing, desperation given voice. It was an order. Elrohir did not think as he jumped through the flames, ignored the heat licking at him with hungry tongues of fire, setting the edges of his hair and sleeves aflame. He landed in a roll, putting out the flames before they could take true hold, trying not to wince at the sting of pain on his exposed hands and face. The important thing was he had made it through, that he had made it to Estel.
Before he could rise completely Estel had already flung himself into his arms, sobbing, his whole frame shuddering with fear. "Shhh," Elrohir soothed, rubbing the boy's back and lifting him in his arms as he finally made it to his feet. The fire was still approaching.
"All will be well," he promised, even as he made his way to the top of the knoll where Estel had stood. It was too short a walk. And the fire was just as hungry on the other side of it. Their safe haven was shrinking with every second that passed, the air growing hotter and noticeably thin around them.
But before true desperation could take hold, a new breeze rose, stronger this time and Elrohir looked up instinctively. He had not been mistaken. Clouds were coming down from the mountains, blocking out the sun, gathering over the valley. Dark and grey and heavy with a promise of rain.
Elrohir was looking at their salvation.
Then Estel coughed. A harsh, ugly, wheezing sound. The smoke. Elrohir looked down at his brother, gently turning Estel's face away from the soot and embers in the air, from the smoke and into his own shirt, hoping but not truly believing that it would help. The wind, welcome though it was, stirred up the flames around them. They had soared to new heights he saw now and their wildly twisting shapes belched black smoke onto the hillock. Thick, impenetrable, suffocating.
Estel coughed again, more silently this time, and when Elrohir looked down he saw tear tracks in the soot that already stained his baby brother's cheeks. He looked up at the sky again, desperate this time, waiting for the clouds to finally fulfill their promise, to bring the rain that would clear the smoke from the air and quench the flames. The fire was almost close enough to touch, and higher than he was, bathing the entire slope of the hillock in flames. Already the heat burned his hands where they were slung around Estel.
Another weak coughing fit and suddenly Estel grew heavier in his arms, his hands, so tightly clenching to Elrohir's tunic only a second ago fell slack. No!
In desperation Elrohir summoned his healing powers in a rush. Light erupted around him, brighter even than the flames, channeling into the still form in his arms as he fervently prayed to the Valar for their salvation, for Estel's survival. The smoke was thick around them, blocking out even the glare of the flames and Elrohir felt it burn his throat and scorch his lungs and still he persevered. If he was feeling the effects of the smoke, how much worse was it for his little brother? He had to save Estel.
But a sudden pain raced up his legs and broke his concentration. His healing energy stuttered and disappeared. Within the smoke, darkness fell. The fire had reached them. Angry red flames licked up his left leg, setting the material of his trousers aflame, eating away at the skin beneath. And still the rain did not fall.
His leg buckled, and Elrohir crashed to the ground, only the precious burden in his arms lending him the strength to catch himself, to land on one knee and brace against the ground. This could not be the end. He would not let the flames claim his brother! The small hand twisted in his tunic twitched, a tiny grasp, but a sign of life. And then the smallest of whispers: "Ro. Help."
There was magic in the word. Elrohir felt it burning through him, his brother's trust giving him new energy, new resolve. He called upon his healing powers again, blocking the pain, ignoring the burn in his throat, focusing only on protecting Estel and on finding a way to save him.
He caught a glimpse of hope beyond the twisting, undulating wall of fire: Beyond the circle of flame, beyond the knoll of burning grass, the meadow close to the oak tree was free of flames. The shadowed patches of grass still holding on to moisture, still resisting the calls of the fire.
"Hold on, Estel," he whispered and jumped into the flames
-o0o-
tbc…
A/N: And then there were two of Elrond's sons in the flames - one more to go *hehehe*