First Lessons

Summary: Everyone is familiar with Legolas's skill with a bow during the Lord of the Rings, but did you every wonder if this was always so? Written for Teitho 'Twenty-Four' Challenge, and won third place. Also my first LotR fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or any other of Tolkien's marvellous creations. They are all owned by JRR Tolkien and his estate.

It was with some trepidation that Legolas picked up the unstrung bow. The weight of it felt strange in his hand, not at all like the light knives and other weapons with which he had until now been practicing. Suppressing a slight gulp, he turned the bow over in his hands, then looked up to Faranar, the Elf who was to be teaching him and his other classmates.

Normally Legolas looked forward to his training sessions, but today was their first day of bow-work, and he was terrified. Archery was what the Elves of Greenwood the Great were known for, and it would be more than embarrassing if the young Prince turned out to be bad at it.

"Legolas!"

His head shot up at the sharp sound, well aware of the snickers that erupted around him. Lost in his thoughts, Legolas realized that Faranar had begun instructing, and he was not paying attention.

"Are you now listening well enough for me to go on, Legolas?" questioned Faranar.

"I'm sorry, Faranar. It won't happen again, please continue."

Legolas made a concerted effort to snap out of his ruminations and watch what was being demonstrated. Faranar picked up an unstrung bow and in one fluid motion, too fast for even Elven eyes to follow, the strung bow was sitting waiting in his hand.

Looking around, Legolas was glad that he was not the only one with a slightly dumbfounded look on his face. His best friend Camthal, standing next to him, wore a similar expression, as did a few of the other students.

Smiling as he took in their faces, Faranar quickly unstrung his bow, and went through the motions three more times, carefully explaining as he went.

After watching the greatly slowed demonstration, Legolas sensed his nervousness slowly ebbing away, and felt ready to try it for himself. He carefully positioned the end of the bow against the outside of his left foot on the ground, then bent the bow back, stepping into the center of it, his left hand waiting with the free end of the string. Unfortunately, the end of the bow never got there, having slipped against his foot, uncurling with a resounding thwack against his right arm. He managed to bite back the yelp that almost escaped, but the noise had been enough to attract attention.

"Hey, Legolas!" came a voice from across the room. "I thought you royalty were supposed to be good at everything." The sarcasm on the word 'royalty' caused more than one snicker to erupt in the room.

"Enough, Diracharn. You attention would be better spent at you own bow," said Faranar, his tone barring any further comments.

Legolas refused to look up or be baited by their remarks, as a whisper at his side drew his attention.

"Are you okay?" asked Camthal quietly.

"Fine," Legolas replied, his face burning with embarrassment. The sight of Camthal's bow sitting neatly strung in his hand smarted more than Legolas's arm at the moment, and he doggedly went back to getting his own bow to a similar state.

After two more tries he finally got his bow strung, but his nerves had come back with a vengeance and were beginning to take their toll, as he could feel his whole body quivering. He himself felt as tightly strung as his bow. Closing his eyes he prayed to whoever was listening that the rest of the lesson would go better.

--

The end of the lesson found Legolas desperately hunting for a spent arrow he could not locate, the rest of the lesson having gone about as well as the beginning. His worst fears seemed to have been realized, as no matter how hard he tried he could not do anything right. His stance had been all wrong; he was awkward and ungainly on the draw, painfully snapping the bowstring against his arm more than once above where the armguard was protecting. When it had finally come time to string and shoot an arrow, his trembling hands had betrayed him once again, the arrow falling uselessly at his feet from his useless fingers before he had released the string. This drew a multitude of jeers and catcalls until Faranar had silenced them once more.

Everyone in the class had managed to hit the target multiple times, except for Legolas. He had lined up his shots so carefully, but they all seemed to be too high, low, or without enough strength, falling well short of the target. Many went completely wild, and it was one of these that he was tracking down now, not having had the time to find it during their quick arrow retrievals in class. So absorbed in the task he was, that he failed to notice Camthal coming up behind him, and jumped at the hand that was laid on his shoulder.

"Come on, Legolas. Everyone else has left, and it's beginning to get dark. I'm sure Faranar will not be upset if you stop now, and look for the arrow in the morning."

Camthal's soft voice cut through the still air of the archery range, penetrating the fog that Legolas had fallen into. Mentally shaking himself, Legolas looked up into the eyes of his friend. Seeing a flicker of pity in their depths, Legolas quickly turned back to his task, scanning the grass for any signs of his wayward arrow.

"Nay," he finally replied. "I think I'll stay here a bit longer. I just want some time to myself." He didn't expect that his friend would argue, and he was right.

"Okay, but Legolas, don't be too hard on yourself. Everyone's allowed to have a bad day. Even you." With that, Camthal slowly turned, sparing a glance back at his friend who was still crouched over the grass; his words had clearly not penetrated the wall of self-hatred the Prince had wrapped around himself. He sighed as he went up the hill, the archery field slowly falling from sight, hoping his friend would come to his senses soon.

--

Legolas had barely heard his friend leave, so intent he was on his own thoughts. At long last spying a hint of gold among all the green, he went over to the edge of the field, finally pulling his lost arrow out of the long grasses that surrounded the range. With a sigh he gracefully lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the ground, fingering the arrow absently.

Two hours. It had been two hours since he had first picked up a bow, hoping he would make his father, his kingdom, and himself proud. Instead, he had found shame and embarrassment. Eyeing the green and gold fletching on the arrow, the anger and frustration that had been building up finally released itself as he heaved the arrow as far as he could, wishing he could just throw this day back with it as well. Bringing his knees up he rested his head on them, unbidden tears threatening to spill out.

Angrily he wiped them away; he was Legolas, son of Thranduil and Prince of Greenwood the Great. He did not cry.

Legolas took a moment to collect himself, then he picked up the bow, his decision made. He would stay here and practice for as long as it took. All week if he had to. He wasn't leaving until he could prove to the others, and himself, that he wasn't a failure.

--

Ten hours later and Legolas was finally managing to hit the target consistently. The solitude seemed to help his badly frayed nerves, and he found himself beginning to improve. Slowly.

Having not taken a break in over an hour, Legolas finally allowed himself a brief rest. Elves were well-known for their endurance, and Legolas was not yet feeling the effects of his sleepless night, but his shoulders and back were definitely beginning to feel the strain. Legolas was very fit, but his muscles were not yet used to the strain of constantly drawing the bow, and he felt he needed a quick break before continuing.

He was improving, but he was still not doing as well as he had hoped. Though he now was hitting the target, he was determined to be able to hit the red circle surrounding the center, if not the yellow bullseye, every time before he would feel comfortable enough to allow himself to end his session. Letting out a quiet sigh, he reached for his bow, feeling that he had allowed himself enough of a break. As he was reaching for another arrow he paused, thinking that he had heard voices. Looking up he judged the position of the rising sun, and quietly let out a curse. Of course, it was now morning and other Elves would be coming to practice on the field.

Not wanting to be seen, Legolas quickly grabbed up the rest of the arrows he had been using, and snuck into the grass surrounding the archery range. He quickly found a tree and scaled it, then looked back over the field.

A group of Elves had entered, wearing the garb of the Palace Guard. Quickly setting themselves up on the shooting line, they glanced around to make sure the range was clear, then began shooting. Unknown to them, Legolas was watching from his perch in the tree. As he took in the sight of all the skilled archers below, Legolas let out a sigh. Effortlessly, they all hit the bullseye in the center, time after time. After their warm-up, they moved on to more challenging shots: shooting from farther back, or while at a run, shooting multiple times in a row, or sometimes even multiple arrows at once. Losing himself in the skill and artistry of the archers, Legolas quickly lost track of time.

--

Sometime later he was startled out of his reverie by a curious squirrel, and he quickly glanced around, noting that the sun had made steady progress on its journey across the sky. Realizing he wasn't improving his skills any by watching from this tree, with one last look of longing he quietly made his way farther back into the forest, and away from the archery field.

Afternoon found him in the deserted indoor archery range, usually used only in the winter. It now found a new use, hiding the young Prince of Greenwood from prying eyes as he continued to practice. Lost arrows presented little problem in here, and for the first few hours he had been steadily improving. However, the last couple of hours had brought a very noticeable drop in the quality of Legolas's shots. Irritated, ignoring the now constant ache in his shoulders and back, he continued to fire arrow after arrow, each one seemingly flying more wildly than the last. After emptying his quiver yet again, Legolas stalked to the target to retrieve the arrows and continue on with this seemingly pointless exercise.

--

Twenty hours. Legolas had been practicing for twenty hours and what did he have to show for it? His aim was becoming worse than when he had started, and despite his best attempts to ignore it, his shoulders and back were screaming at him, making even reaching to retrieve his arrows difficult. With a sigh of frustration, Legolas let himself sink down against the wall, needing the brief respite. His thoughts were stuck on the archery lesson from the previous day. He could still hear the snickers and whispered comments in his head, and they were beginning to overwhelm his thoughts. What good am I? he though to himself. A Greenwood Elf, and a Prince no less, who can't even shoot a bow will never amount to anything. He was too tired and frustrated to even notice that his thoughts were drifting.

--

Awareness hit him like a bucket of cold river water. Anger at himself followed shortly thereafter. How could he have fallen asleep? He was an Elf, for Ilúvitar's sake. Twenty-odd hours with no rest should be simple. Muttering a Dwarvish curse he had learned from Camthal, he once more got to his feet and doggedly went back to practicing.

Though he hadn't wanted the break, the rest had done him some good. His next shots were improved as all hit the target, which hadn't happened in the last three or four hours. Still feeling as though he wasn't near good enough, Legolas went back and retrieved his arrows once more, determined to continue on. A hand on his shoulder surprised him as he was nocking an arrow, and the bow fell from his hand with a loud clatter as he jumped. Spinning around, he saw his father standing there with an expression that crossed between amusement and concern.

"Legolas, I've been looking for you all day. You missed the break fast, and the afternoon meal," Thranduil said, looking down at his son.

"I'm sorry, father. I lost track of time," responded Legolas, not willing to meet his father's gaze.

Thranduil continued to eye his son, while also taking in the rather torn up target, and the bow that lay on the ground.

"Don't tell me that you've been here all day, íon-nin."

Legolas lowered his eyes even farther as he could not lie to his father, but he also did not want to have to admit to his reason for being here.

"Legolas?" his father questioned, expecting an answer.

"Yes, adar. I have."

Legolas's father continued to look at him, and he slowly felt himself wilting under the gaze.

"I'm sorry, ada. I just wanted to please you, to make you proud of me, I'm sorry." The events of the rather long day finally caught up with Legolas, and despite his best efforts, he felt himself losing control. He let his head hang, not wanting his father to see how upset he was.

As Thranduil watched his son, the bits of information he had managed to pull from his household began to make sense. Faranar had been somewhat evasive about how the first archery lesson had gone, just saying that Legolas had tried his best, but appeared to be nervous. After not being able to track down his son for break fast, Thranduil went to Camthal, figuring that he might be able to get more information that way. Unfortunately Camthal seemed just as reluctant to talk, only saying that Legolas had been somewhat upset by events in the lesson, and that he had stayed behind after to look for a lost arrow.

Thranduil had checked the outdoor archery range, but only found off-duty members of the Palace Guard, none of whom had seen Legolas. He had a hunch as to where his son was but didn't want to push him, so had left him as long as he felt he could. He tried to ignore Legolas's absence at the afternoon meal, but after a few hours he found himself unable to turn a blind eye anymore, and had gone straight to the indoor archery range, where he had a strong suspicion that he would find Legolas. Sure enough, his hunch had been right.

Legolas kept looking down as his father continued to silently study him. Slowly he felt his cheeks begin to redden as his father kept looking at him without saying anything. He knew he had disappointed him, and was awaiting his punishment. It was not until Thranduil started laughing that Legolas lifted his head, wondering if he had finally caused his father to lose his mind.

Seeing Legolas's very confused, and somewhat hurt look as his son finally met his eyes, Thranduil tried, with some success, to stifle his laughter.

"I'm sorry, Legolas. I shouldn't laugh, it's just… Well, it's a bit of an embarrassing story, but you have probably earned the right to hear it." Thranduil went over to the wall and sat down, expecting Legolas to follow him. Sure enough his son came, and joined him on the floor.

"Looking back, I probably should have mentioned this to you, but really, the whole thing had slipped my mind until I found you here. And I really didn't think… But no matter."

Legolas was still looking at him like he had lost his mind, so he continued on.

"I'm assuming by your actions that your first archery lesson did no go as you had planned, or hoped." Thranduil didn't need to see Legolas's head shake for him to know the answer. "Well, I'm not sure if it will make you feel any better, but neither did mine. I was so eager to prove myself to my father and to the realm, that I made all sorts of horrendous mistakes. I was absolutely horrible. In fact, my instructor called me the worst archer in all of Greenwood the Great. That was after I shot him of course."

Seeing Legolas's horrified look he hurriedly added, "It was an accident of course. And he was fine, I mostly caught his clothes."

Legolas could not believe what he was hearing. It was simply not possible that his father had been a horrible archer. King Thranduil was good at everything. He never put a foot wrong, and as far as Legolas knew, he never made mistakes. Hearing this he felt somewhat better, though he was still far from feeling good about and accepting his poor archery performance. As he was thinking these thoughts, he realized that his father was continuing on.

"After today, I'm starting to wonder if poor archery skill is a family trait. So, Legolas, if you want to blame anyone, you can blame me." Thranduil smiled at this, and hoped his son would too, but Legolas's face was still creased with a thoughtful expression.

"But, ada, I've seen you shoot numerous times. You are a very good archer, in fact, from what I hear you are probably one of the best shots in the realm. How could this be possible?" Legolas didn't understand how someone, such as himself, who clearly possessed no natural talent could possibly become such a great archer.

"I practiced. Every day I would practice for many, many hours. Though, I don't ever recall pulling off a twenty-four hour practice session." He smiled down at his son, and finally he was greeted with a small smile in return. "I'm not sure it will make you feel any better, but here's what I've learned: It may feel like a curse right now, but sometimes being bad at something can actually be a blessing. If you want to be good, and I can tell that you do, you will need to practice, a lot. People born with a natural talent may not feel this urge, and thus, eventually you will surpass them in skill. Natural talent is a wonderful thing, but if you don't put in the effort it can only take you so far."

Legolas sat quietly and though about what he had just been told. Though he didn't believe that his father would make up a story just to make him feel better, he had a hard time envisioning that his father, or any of the other archers in the realm for that matter, had ever been bad at archery.

"But I've been practicing all day. How can that be so? I'm no better than when I started."

"Oh Legolas, you can't possibly believe that you would become a good archer in one day. Centuries, Legolas, you have centuries in which to practice."

"Oh." Looking back on it, Legolas was starting to feel slightly silly. He wasn't sure why he thought that he could improve so much in such a short period of time. He had just been driven by a blind need to make his father proud.

Getting to his feet, Legolas looked down at his father. "I think I'm beginning to understand now, and I'm prepared to put in the time and effort, but would it be okay if I got something to eat first? I think I'm kind of hungry."

"Of course, íon-nin. Just promise me you won't feel the need to do this again. You don't have to prove yourself to me. Ever."

"I won't, ada. I promise," Legolas said. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, Legolas felt the tension leave his body as he followed his father out of the room.

END

(Probably unnecessary) Elvish Translations

íon-nin: my son

adar/ada: father/dad