The Most Important Skill
Rated: K+
Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters or places.
Summary: Young Aragorn is about to leave with the rangers, and his family and friends try to teach him the most important skill for living in the wilderness. Each of them has a different theory what this skill is, but at the end it turns out to be something none of them expected.
Note: This story was written for Teitho Challenge: Skills. I didn't post it earlier since I wanted to edit it a bit and didn't have time. It was very hastily written, I had no time and wrote it at an airport waiting for the plane and submitted it as it was – full of mistakes (blushes in shame). I hope it's better now.
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The raven-black stallion stopped abruptly and shook his head in clear disapproval. The young ranger looked down and blushed guiltily. "I know, I know, Aros, I am not supposed to open them before I arrive at the camp." The horse neighed happily and trotted forward. Aragorn sighed in frustration and stared at the five packets tied to the saddle. If only he could see what was inside…
He had spent time with the rangers before, but usually not more than a few weeks. Never before had he left Rivendell for such a long time. The young man didn't feel particularly worried, but apparently everyone else held a completely different view. They had all thought that this was a big step and had insisted on giving him a proper 'education'.
Finally, curiosity won the better of him and he stopped his steed and jumped down. The stallion stared at him, clearly disagreeing with his actions, but the ranger paid him no heed. "I do not care what you think, mellon nîn, I am going to find out what they had given me," he stated firmly. His resolve faltered slightly when the horse grunted angrily, but when his eyes rested on the packets, he pushed all doubts away.
His hand traced a long object, wrapped in white cloth, and he quickly untied it from the saddle. He remembered very well how Elladan had given it to him. Do not open it until you arrive, the elf had instructed. Well, he did not have to know. The ranger unwrapped it and gasped. It was a beautiful dagger, clearly elven made. The hilt was white, decorated with shining precious stones. Aragorn hid it in his boot, and it became his constant companion for many years to come.
"Life with the rangers is going to be dangerous, little brother," Elladan said. "You will face many foes, and you must learn many skills in order to survive. But there is a skill that is completely necessary if you are to live. You must learn how to fight."
"I can fight," the young man protested.
"Yes, you are doing alright with a bow and you are not bad with the sword," Elladan said and smiled. Not bad with the sword? His little brother was exceptional. But, of course, the human did not need to know that. "But there might come a time when a knife can save your life."
"Why exactly a knife?" The ranger asked.
"I have accompanied the rangers many times, and I have seen what battles they fight," the elf answered. "Years ago we were attacked by a large group of orcs. I lost my sword in the fight and had to face an orc only with my knife. I was fortunate to have some skill with that weapon, otherwise I would be dead. You must learn to fight with a knife, little brother, it is the most important skill you are going to need as a ranger."
Aragorn smiled and traced a shallow cut on his left forearm. Elladan's teaching method involved a mock fight, and, of course, it hadn't gone without accidents.
Aros neighed impatiently and tapped the ground with his hoof. He looked at his master with obvious disapproval.
"I know, mellon nîn, I promised not to open them before I arrive." Aragorn looked apologetically at his steed. "You are not going to tell them, are you?"
The angry look at the horse's face showed that he was going to tell them.
"Well, if you are going to tell them, I suppose I am doomed, so I can look at the others anyway," the ranger said with a grin. Aros grunted in frustration and turned around. Aragorn approached the saddle and untied another packet, wrapped in blue. He quickly unwrapped it and chuckled at what he saw.
A small, wooden pipe.
"You will soon leave us and join the rangers, Estel," Elrohir said, his voice filled with sadness, concern, and pride at the same time. "I want to know that you are prepared. This is why I decided to teach you the most important skill you will need."
"The most important skill?" The man asked. His arm still hurt from Elladan's teaching.
"Yes." His foster brother nodded. "Tracking."
Elrohir led the ranger to the forest. "A few hours ago I walked along a path. I want you to follow my route."
Aragorn knelt down and walked forward confidently. The elf was good at hiding his tracks, but the man had mastered this art long ago. He could easily read every broken twig, every bent grass. Until they reached a narrow stream.
The tracks ended in front of the water. The ranger crossed it swiftly, hoping that they would continue on the other shore, but they didn't.
"And now what, little brother?" Elrohir asked with a smile.
"Now I will go up and down the stream and examine both shores until I find the tracks again."
"This sounds like a good plan, but you will lose a lot of time if you start with the wrong direction," the elf countered. "Besides, there is no way to know which direction is right since you might give up and turn back just before the tracks reappear."
Aragorn frowned in concentration. "You are right," he murmured, took out a pipe and lit it.
Elrohir coughed violently and tried to push away the smoke with his hands. "Estel, do you really need to do this? It is terrible! You know how I hate it!"
"I think better when I'm smoking," the man answered.
"I doubt it," the elf grunted but suddenly stared at his brother with amusement. Aragorn's eyes were shining brightly as if he had been struck by a sudden idea.
The man jumped to his feet and quickly collected a pile of rocks and soil. He used them to block the stream, and soon the water started collecting behind the makeshift bent, leaving the river bed after it dry. Soon tracks almost washed away by the water appeared where the river had been.
"You have gone this way," Aragorn pointed downstream, smiling triumphantly.
"What if there were no tracks?" His brother challenged.
"This would mean that you have gone upstream, so that I cannot see them."
The elf nodded, looking impressed. "I still thing you could have guessed this without smoking," he argued.
"You are wrong," the young ranger said. "You have no idea how much this helps."
Aragorn placed the pipe in his pocket, and it, just like the knife, became his constant companion.
Aros was looking furious by now. He could not believe his master had completely ignored his brothers' wish to open the packets once he had arrived. But the young man was not going to stop there. "Let us see what we have here," he said and took a packet wrapped in green. Inside he found a few green fletched arrows, looking much better than the arrows he fletched himself.
"You life as a ranger will be dangerous, Estel," Legolas said. "But you can easily survive it if you learn the most important skill."
"I already know it," the man answered quickly. Two lessons in a single day have been quite exhausting, even painful, and he had no desire to have another one.
The elf's eyebrows were raised in surprise. "You know it? Mellon nîn, you are a terrible archer. I doubt that you will survive more than a month with your skills, or your lack of such."
Aragorn sighed inwardly. Archery. He should have known. He certainly wasn't a 'terrible' archer, he was definitely above average, but the elf's standards were unbearably high.
"After you have had a good shooting lesson, I will teach you how to fletch arrows. Your arrows are so clumsily made that I am surprised they fly at all. But we must start with something basic, and your style needs to be changed completely. As it is, you shoot like your brothers."
"I'll take this as a compliment," the ranger murmured.
Legolas only grinned mischievously. "Don't."
The man shook his head in amusement. His fingers traced one of the arrows, and he gazed at it in admiration. He would never be able to fletch arrows like this one.
Aragorn had to admit that the archery lesson had been quite pleasant and he had enjoyed it. Now, his next lesson was a completely different matter.
Ignoring his horse's horrified stare, the ranger reached for he next packet, wrapped in red silk. He wasn't at all surprised at the herbs packed inside.
"No matter how careful you are, Estel," Lord Elrond began, "you will surely be injured sooner or later. Your men will often be injured or ill. You are their leader, and you must be able to take good care of them and of yourself. Therefore, the most important skill you will need to survive in the wilderness is the art of healing."
"You have already taught me a lot, ada," the young man said. He was feeling rather tired after his three lessons in 'the most important skill' and didn't think he would bear a new one. "I am grateful for all you have shown me. I trust that I will be able to treat most injuries and illnesses that will arise."
"I haven't taught you everything," Elrond said. "I have yet to show you something very simple, but at the same time very useful. I haven't even taught Elladan and Elrohir how to make it, but I believe you would need it."
The ranger had suddenly paled. "Ada, please do not tell me that you mean Your Special Tea!"
Elrond smiled amused. "'My Special Tea', as you, Legolas, and your brothers like to call it, is actually called 'Green Root Tea' because the main ingredient, as you might have guessed, is the green root. It puts the ones who drink it to deep and healing sleep, greatly increasing their bodies' natural abilities to fight wounds, sickness, or poison. When they awake in a few hours, they feel as if their bodies had had at least a few days to heal."
"I know this," the young man said. "I have experienced it often enough. But you missed a very important characteristic of Your Special Green Root Tea."
"I did?" The elf lord looked surprised. "What is it?"
"That it tastes like warg urine," the ranger said suddenly.
Elrond's eyes widened and he did his best to look shocked rather than greatly amused. "Really? And, may I ask, how many times have you tasted warg urine?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I have never tasted it, but I imagine it just like your tea," the man replied grumpily.
The elf lord sighed. "It is not that bad, Estel. Whatever the taste, the beneficial effects are worth it."
Aragorn looked unconvinced. "Have you ever tasted it?"
"Once. A long time ago. After that I am doing everything possible to stay out of trouble and avoid using it. I was hoping that it would have the same effect on you, but you always find a way to come home injured."
"This is not intentional," the young man protested. "Believe me, ada, if there was a way to avoid your tea, I would do it."
"It matters not," Elrond said quickly. "Now you must learn to prepare the tea." He carefully instructed the ranger what herbs, weeds, and roots he would need, and what amount of which he had to use. Then the mixture was placed into the boiling water, and the tea was ready.
Aragorn stared at the brownish liquid. He was feeling strangely relieved that he wasn't injured.
"It looks right," Elrond commented, looking at the results. "Now you must taste it."
"Taste it?!" The ranger asked in horror.
"Of course. This is the only way to know that you have prepared the right tea."
"But, ada, you never taste your tea before you give it to me," the young man protested.
"This is because I know I have followed the right procedure. But you are still learning, so you need to make sure you have not made a mistake."
The ranger paled slightly and raised the cup to his lips. His brow furrowed in disgust. "Warg urine," he muttered.
"Then it is the right tea," Elrond said and smiled satisfied.
Aragorn shuddered at the memory. Of all of his 'most important skill' lessons this was the worst. Even Aros gave him a sympathetic glance as he saw the herbs Elrond had packed and recognized the green root.
Trying to forget the unpleasant memories and the taste that still lingered in his mouth, the ranger reached for the last package. He quickly removed the violet cloth to reveal a needle and a black thread.
"You will need a lot of skills to survive in the wilderness, my son," Gilraen said. "But the most important thing you must learn is to take care of yourself. You must learn to wash your clothes, to sew them when they are torn, and to cook. These are the most basic skills you must have."
"But, nana, I can wash and sew clothes," the ranger protested. "And I can cook." A fifth lesson for the day would be too much for him, and he still had unpleasant memories from the last one.
"You can sew?" Gilraen looked doubtfully at the dubiously sewn patch on her son's cloak. "If you say so. But I have never seen you cook."
Aragorn hesitated. "Well, as of today, I can prepare Lord Elrond's Special Tea."
Gilraen laughed heartily. "Estel, you must learn to cook something that will sustain your life, not something that will make you wish you were dead!"
Her son smiled. "So we have the same opinion about this tea?"
"I have tried it once," the woman said and shuddered. "When I first arrived in Imladris, I needed healing. It is a memory I am trying to forget. It tasted like warg urine. But you must learn to cook something that tastes good."
Aragorn smiled as he remembered the deer meat he had cooked for his mother. He baked it for far too long, so at the end it resembled a piece of coal, and most probably tasted like warg excrements. A real companion to the Special Tea.
The ranger was so lost in his thoughts, that the men who suddenly appeared on the road in front of him took him by surprise.
About a dozen men were standing before him. The one in the middle held a dagger and stared at the ranger with little, dark eyes.
Aragorn shifted uncomfortably on his steed, suddenly feeling that something was very wrong. "Can I help you?" He asked, hoping to dissipate his foreboding.
"I believe you can," the man answered with a grin. "Get off your horse, boy! It is not polite to talk to us from above!"
"It might not be polite, but it is safe," the ranger replied. Aros neighed nervously and took a step back.
"Safe?" The man raised bushy eyebrows. "Do you not trust us?"
Aragorn was about to reply when he sensed something and turned back. What he saw made the blood run cold in his veins. There were more men behind him. He was surrounded.
His grip on the reins tightened and his legs pressed tightly against the horse's flanks. He whispered soft words in Sindarin and Aros understood. He galloped forward and jumped, flying above the men.
Aragorn thought that his escape plan had succeeded when he noticed that one of the bandits, for he had guessed correctly that this was what the men were, had raised his bow and let the arrow fly. The sharp projectile pierced his right shoulder and knocked him off of his jumping steed.
As he fell to the ground, the young ranger heard a sickening crack. A burning pain immediately flared through his leg, and he knew that it was broken. He could not run away.
To his dismay, Aragorn realized that his sword had fallen away from him, and he could not reach it. His hands quickly found his bow, but the bandits were too close to shoot at them. So he finally pulled Elladan's knife out of his boot and held it tightly.
"Do you carry any gold, boy?" The bandit leader asked.
"No," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, trying to overcome the sheer agony in his leg.
"Wrong answer," the man said and knelt in front of him with a raised sword.
Aragorn's grip on his knife tightened and he trust it forward. The blade found flesh and stuck into the bandit's arm.
The man cried out and kicked angrily the ranger's broken leg. Aragorn gasped at the pain and for a moment his vision dimmed. Before it had come back to normal, a heavy object was slammed at his head and he knew no more.
oOo
Tired grey eyes opened slowly and tried to focus on their surroundings. The first thing that came to his awareness was an unbearable pain in his leg. He tried to stretch, but there was something restricting his movements. Bonds.
A filthy piece of cloth was stuffed into his mouth to prevent him from making any sound, and he resisted the urge to throw up. The gag made breathing hard, so the ranger tried to take slow, shallow breaths and figure out where he was.
Memories started coming back. Once again he saw himself unable to fire an arrow at his captors, and unable to kill their leader with his knife. Legolas' and Elladan's lessons had failed.
Night had fallen, and cool wind blew through the forest. The captive was placed far away from the fire, and his body shuddered involuntarily. His tunic was torn in the fight, making him vulnerable to the cold. He wished he could sew it where it was torn, a skill he had learned from his mother, but it was now useless.
His leg hurt so much that Aragorn reluctantly had to admit that he would have gladly accepted Lord Elrond's Special Tea, warg urine taste or not. He now knew how to prepare it, but could not. He was left on the cold ground, bound and gagged.
Aragorn looked around and, to his horror, discovered that they had moved while he had been unconscious. They were now in a part of the forest he had never visited. Even if he escaped, which at the present moment seemed highly unlikely, he would have no idea how to go back.
His eyes suddenly lightened in excitement as his gaze rested on the trail the men had left. Elrohir had taught him how to read tracks. Surely, he would be able to follow the way back.
But he could never follow the tracks bound as he was, and no escape plan came to his mind. All five lessons on 'the most important skill' he had been taught had been useless. He could not count on the skills he had learned anymore.
He was left on his own.
oOo
The bandits were sitting around the fire, which burned merrily irritatingly far away from the freezing captive. They were talking in quiet, muffled voices, unaware that the ranger had awakened and was listening to their every word.
"We should just kill the boy," one of the men suggested. "Slit his throat, throw him into the river, no one will ever know."
Aragorn listened intently. He had no doubt about who 'the boy' they were talking about was, and could only hope that the men's companions would disagree. Unfortunately, the next words he heard weren't too encouraging.
"Narin is right," another bandit said. "This will be safe. We cannot let him go, he knows who we are. And I don't think anyone would be looking for him. He was traveling alone, who would miss him?"
Several voices were raised in agreement, and the ranger felt his heart sink.
"You fools!" The bandit's leader suddenly called. "Didn't you see his knife? Have you ever seen anything like it? This boy has a lot of wealth, I can tell you that. He probably has a family who would give anything to see him safe."
The crowd went quiet thinking over the man's words. Suddenly a boy at about the age of thirteen, obviously a servant, approached the men, carrying some food. He handed one of the bandits a bowl of stew, but his foot slipped, letting the boiling liquid pour over the man's tunic.
"Sirak, you useless scum!" The man rose and shoved the boy backwards. "I still can't figure out why we are keeping you alive."
The boy instantly fell to his knees and bowed his head. "I am sorry master," he said quietly. "I made a mistake and I accept my punishment."
The man kicked him in the ribs. "You will have your punishment, don't worry about that. But for now make yourself useful and take care of the prisoner. Go bring him some water! We don't want him to thirst to death."
Aragorn was watching the scene with interest, revolted by the way the bandits treated one of their own. He would gladly welcome the water, his throat was parched. Anything that could take his mind off of the burning pain in his leg was welcome.
Sirak came to him and removed the dirty cloth from his mouth. Aragorn breathed and gladly accepted the water the boy offered. "Do they always treat you like that?" He asked.
The boy frowned in confusion. "Like what?"
Aragorn gazed at him in sympathy. It seemed that the poor boy knew no other treatment. "These men treat you like filth. If you help me escape I will show you another life. You will join the rangers and you will be treated as equal. No one will hurt you or insult you."
"This is not possible," the boy said quietly.
"Sirak, listen to me…"
"It's impossible!" The servant screamed and tears streamed down his cheeks. "Do not lie to me! I will always be hurt and insulted. In fact, I will be punished for talking to you!"
Before Aragorn could protest, the filthy rag was stuffed back into his mouth and Sirak left.
oOo
Most bandits had gone to sleep when Narin came to visit their captive. He crouched in front of Aragorn and their eyes lock. "They say you have a wealthy family, boy," he said. "Tell me where to find them and I will go easy on you."
Aragorn stared at him defiantly. Of course, he would keep the peredhil out of this.
"Don't want to talk, scum?" Narin's eyes narrowed dangerously. Maybe this will help." His foot pressed down on the ranger's broken leg. He bandit observed with a satisfied grin his captive pale visibly and nodded approvingly at the groan, muffled by the dirty gag.
"You will talk, boy, sooner or later. Every single night I will pay you a visit, and your leg and I will have a heartily conversation." He gave the injured leg a last kick. "I doubt it will ever recover."
Narin left his captive, not noticing the two eyes watching him intently.
oOo
A few hours after Narin had left, a small form walked to the prisoner. Sirak knelt in front of Aragorn and their eyes locked. "I will removed your gag, but you must keep quiet." The ranger nodded, and the boy removed the offensive cloth. "You told me before that there existed people who would treat me with respect," he said. "People, who would never hurt me or injure me. Is this true?"
"It is," Aragorn answered weakly, exhausted by the pain and lack of food. "If you join the rangers, you will know a life you've never known before. Their life might be full of hardships, but they help each other and care about each other. You will always find support if you need it."
For a few seconds Sirak only stared silently at him. "If those rangers you are talking about are anything like you, I believe you," he finally said. Then, without a warning, he placed the dirty rag back in the prisoner's mouth and walked away, leaving Aragorn staring in confusion at his retreating back.
oOo
On the next night Narin came as he had promised. "Have you decided to talk, boy?"
Aragorn shook his head. There was nothing he could tell the bandit.
"Good," Narin said with a sick glimmer in his eyes. "Then I need to have a good talk with your leg." He stepped on his injured leg and pressed down. Aragorn gasped through the gag and suppressed a scream.
"Do you know what I think?" Narin asked and didn't wait for an answer. "I think this story about your rich family is nonsense. A piece of filth like you cannot have a rich family. We should have killed you from the very beginning." He knelt and pressed his dagger at the helpless prisoner's throat. "If I kill you now and throw your body into the river, no one will ever miss you. No one." His blade moved forward, and scarlet droplets of blood flowed down the ranger's throat.
Aragorn winced and closed his eyes. It seemed his family had been right. He was not ready to be a ranger after all if he could not escape this capture. Whatever the most important skill was, he clearly did not possess it.
Suddenly Narin stopped and put his knife away. "I give you a last chance, boy. I will come for you tomorrow, and if you are still unwilling to talk, I will feed the fish with your body," he said and walked away.
Aragorn looked after him, slightly trembling from the cold. He could think of no plan to come out of this alive.
A dark shadow slowly crept towards him, and the ranger's keen vision spotted it easily. A swift hand removed his gag, and a blade cut his ropes.
Sirak's face appeared before him. "Be quiet," the boy said. "This is yours." He handed back to him Elladan's knife. "Will you take me away now?"
"I cannot walk," the ranger whispered. "My leg is broken."
The boy helped him rise and supported him. The two limped slowly forward. "You know what you are doing, don't you?" Aragorn asked. "You know you are putting yourself in danger."
The boy nodded. "Of course I do. I know the risks I am taking, but I have no doubts. You gave me something I have never had before."
"What is it?" The ranger asked in confusion. "What did I give you?"
Sirak looked at him, and for the first time in his life a genuine smile graced his lips. "Hope."
oOo
Lord Elrond listened carefully to the tale his foster son was telling. When Aragorn finished, the ranger sighed tiredly and relaxed on the bed in the healing wing of Imladris.
Elladan was staring at his twin in surprise. "I cannot believe that you told him tracking was the most essential skill! It is much more important to know how to defend himself!"
"Exactly!" Legolas said. "And he would defend himself much better if he could kill his foes before they have come anywhere near him. That is why archery is much more important than fighting with a knife!"
"Archery didn't help him against the bandits!" Elladan protested.
"Neither did his knife," Elrohir helpfully pointed out.
The three younger elves continued arguing and Elrond and Gilraen exchanged a meaningful glance.
"Neither of the skills we taught him helped as much as something else," Aragorn's mother said.
"We all tried to teach him the skills that were most important to us," Elrond continued. "But Estel found his own skill. His skill helped him escape, and he proved that he is ready to be a ranger." Four sets of confused eyes stared at him, and he went on. "His greatest skill is to be estel. To give hope. He gave the young bandit the hope that there was a better life, and this is the reason he is free now."
The three younger elves' gazes turned down guiltily. "This was well done, little brother," Elladan said, his voice filled with pride and regret. "I am sorry if the numerous lessons confused you, and I am glad that you managed to find your real strength in spite of that."
"There is no need to apologize, gwador," Aragorn said. "I –"
"You need to rest," Elrond suddenly interrupted him. "You have many injuries, but, fortunately, I have exactly what you need."
The ranger suddenly paled. "Ada, surely you don't mean to –"
Elrohir gasped as understanding hit him. "Ada, you are not going to give him Your Special Tea, are you?" His voice sounded horrified.
Legolas looked at him almost pleadingly. "Please, Lord Elrond, he is not that injured. There is no need for this. This… this is cruelty!"
Elrond shook his head in amusement. Elflings… The tea could not be that bad. Or could it? He poured a cup and handed it to his foster son. "Drink it and do not complain! It is good for you."
While Elrond was preparing the drink, Elladan pulled his twin and his friend aside. "We must track those bandits," he said. "They need to be taught a lesson."
"Certainly," Legolas answered angrily and his fingers traced the hilt of his knife. "I have a few things to say to Narin." The three younger elves turned back towards the bed.
Aragorn took the cup and stared miserably at it. He looked up and found Elladan's sympathetic gaze.
"It was a pleasure knowing you, little brother," the older twin said dramatically.
"Elladan! How can you jest with his pain?" Legolas asked.
"But I am not jesting, mellon nîn, I am completely serious."
The three elves laughed at that, making the poor ranger feel even more miserable. He lifted the cup to his lips and drank. It did taste like warg urine.
My skill is useless for right now I can find no hope for myself. He thought as the terribly tasting liquid flowed down his throat.
THE END
That's it. What do you think? I wasn't really proud with it when I first wrote it, but now I decided to give it a chance. Thanks so much for reading!
To everyone reading "Faces of Darkness": The next chapter is called "Joy and Sorrow" and is coming in a few days.
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