THE IMPROBABLE OPPONENT

To be a man is to be responsible: to be ashamed of miseries you did not cause; to be proud of your comrades' victories; to be aware, when setting one stone, that you are building a world.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

NOTES

Title: The Improbable Opponent

Author: Sadie Sil

Beta: Puxinette

Genre: Angst/Adventure

Rating: T

Time line: Around the year 220 of the third Age.

Notes: Elves are considered adults when they reach 50 years old. The twins were born in the year 139; I've preferred to view Elladan and Elrohir as elves that have just arrived at the majority age, so they are not considered experienced warriors yet.

Disclaimer: I didn't create any of these wonderful characters. I've just borrowed them from the Professor, devoting them all my love. Now I feel they are also a little bit mine, but I am sure the good Professor won't mind sharing them with me.

My own characters in this story are: Lady Idhrenniel (a female healer from Imladris), Lord Enel Baradobel, Lord Eilafion and Lord Mithrion (two captains and one healer from the Gray Heavens), LordBalanidhren (an adviser from Eryn Galen) and Beinion, Angahor, Arnamo, Séretur, Cúndur, Earon, Varyar, Laston, Túro e Hérion (warriors from Imladris and friends of the twins).

Summary: During a time of peace, some elves of Middle-Earth decide to bring back an exciting experience: a tournament from the old days.

Story Idea: Some ideas here are associated to my other story called "The Next Warrior's Hand", which has already been translated to English, but I do not think the reader must know the events of that story to understand this one. If you have any questions feel free to ask.

Vocabulary:

Ion – son

Ionath – children - sons

Ield - daughter

Ada – dad (familiar/informal)

Adar – father (formal)

Nana – mom (familiar/informal)

Naneth – mother (formal)

Daerada – grandpa (familiar/informal)

Daernana – grandma (familiar/informal)

Daerion - grandson

Tithen-pen – little one

Pen-neth – little one

Astalder – The brave one

-nín – my

Obs: The expressions El-nín and Rohir-nín are nicknames which Celebrian used to call her sons in my stories. – Something like – "my star", and "my warrior".

CHAPTER ONE – THE TOURNAMENT

When there's no risk in the fight, there is no glory in the triumph

Pierre Corneille

Elrohir was too anxious. He was so anxious that practically everyone had given up on appeasing his spirit. The young elf seemed unaware of the utility of chairs and other resting places. He spent his days checking his weapons, training alone or with a partner, and occupying the rest of his time with other activities. He walked aimlessly from the house to the courtyard and to any other place that his legs would take him.

"My Sweet Elbereth, I can't understand what is wrong with him!" was Celebrian's comment after seeing her son leaving the library with a huge atlas in his hand. "Can this elfling not even sit down to read?"

Idhrenniel, one of the female healers and Celebrian's friend, also smiled. They were both taking a short walk in the garden.

"We have to remember, my lady," she commented. "It's been a long while since a tournament like this one has been held. The fact that the leaders have decided to organize it in Imladris was a big surprise."

"I don't think it's the excitement of having such a competition in our city that is making Elrohir feel this way," Celebrian observed, following the last steps of her son before he disappeared inside the large house again.

Idhrenniel's smile widened.

"Well, it was even hard for me to believe that someone as young as Elrohir could be among the participants. No wonder he is so nervous."

Celebrian offered another simple smile.

"He is young, but he is a talented warrior," she noted fondly, but in her eyes anyone could read how worried she seemed. She looked in her son's direction again, resting her palm upon her heart. "He's been winning all the tournaments Glorfindel's organized since his feet first stepped on the training field. I know those aren't anything compared to what is happening here involving all these great combatants…" She stopped for a minute, then sighed. "Even so, I'm happy that a group of warriors with more winters and battles in their pasts than anyone else here, have put their faith in him and have given him an opportunity to demonstrate his value."

Idhrenniel nodded.

"It's been so long since we have had a gathering of the best soldiers of the cities' guards," she added, looking around to the main square, where some of the visitors were also appreciating the innumerous splendors of the city. "Even some of Lord Celeborn's most valiant warriors are here."

Celebrian looked in the same direction and another subtle smile was on her face. She'd known some of those soldiers from her parents' land since she was a little child.

"Yes, they are here as well. Old friends of mine, worshipers of my father. I am glad they are here in this time of peace," she said with contented eyes.

"I feel the same, my lady…" Idhrenniel said thoughtfully. "This event couldn't have been held at a more opportune time. I am glad we can see our warriors using their swords as sporting instruments and not weapons of war.

Celebrian took a deep breath, pausing a minute to feel the weight of her friend's words.

"You are right, my dear Idhrenniel. This competition will be different from those Elrohir has faced thus far," she commented worriedly. "Mostly because he will be representing Glorfindel's banner. Glorfindel chose his players cautiously, testing them with several hard tasks over a long period of time. He is giving my son a great opportunity. Only Elrohir and Angahor were able to get through the decisive stages of the tournament and be classified into the semi-final competition. And Angahor graduated long ago with Ilfirion, Atarael, Arnamo and Lastone. Those elves have already been on patrol for some seasons. Elrohir is the youngest of them all."

"Only Angahor and Elrohir have made it this far because Elladan did not register himself to try to get a place in the tournament at all..." Idhrenniel observed with care, but her comments made the corners of the Lady of Imladris' mouth rise.

"Elladan has never accepted an invitation to any competition. This isn't the first time," she said, thinking caringly of her firstborn, whose mastery of many weapons was often praised by anyone who saw him in action.

"He is a healer," stated the dark-haired elf. "I have not seen such skill since his father."

"Well, he will be Elrohir's healer in this task, since each warrior must have his own healer. But I do hope we will not need their services in these days to come," Celebrian joked, and Idhrenniel raised her eyebrows and gave a small laugh.

The training fields were small for the magnitude of this great event. Each leader sent at least thirty soldiers to represent their homeland. Even though there were several events being staged, there were some competitions, like the sword bouts, that took everyone's attention. And it was in this category that the region of Imladris surprised their guests by introducing to them the younger, but undeniably brilliant, swordsman of the Last Homely House.

Elrohir had spent the entire fortnight dueling, defeating all his opponents and stealing the audience's applause. He had drawn the young ones' admiration, but more importantly, he'd made some of the older elves raise their eyebrows in surprise. Each of his opponents, all of them some good centuries older than the younger twin, were defeated in hard and very tiring combats. Some of the fights lasted an extensive period of time. It didn't take long for the guest fighters taking part in the event to change their minds about Glorfindel's inexperienced pupil. This young elf, toward which the skilled soldiers hadn't shown any concern, was, by the end of the first stages, ranked as someone to beat. Some soldiers were beginning to lose sleep over the prospect of fighting him.

"It's the first time that someone so young and inexpert was able to get this far in a tournament!" said a surprised Angahor. He and Elrohir hadn't shared anything that people would remotely call "friendship" until this day. Angahor and Elrohir were the only knights from Glorfindel's group who had not yet been eliminated from the earlier rounds of the tournament. However, after losing his final dispute of the day, Angahor had not felt terribly bad about the opportunity lost, because his opponent Baran—a humorous knight of the north—had experienced a similar bitter flavor in his next dispute. During the last minutes of that afternoon, when the stars had just begun to shine, Baran, the swordsman from one of the foreign lands, had faced the son of the host, and Elrohir stole from the overconfident warrior the desire to smile for some time afterward.

At that point, the younger twin won the friendship of Angahor, from whom the storms of fate had kept him separated since they were only elflings.

"He has been incredible since childhood, but these days he's unconquerable," Angahor admitted, receiving subtle looks of surprise from the others. Even Glorfindel couldn't hide his amazement at hearing Angahor professing words of admiration about Elrohir, and Angahor still seemed in awe of all he had been seeing since the beginning of the tournament.

In fact all of them were astonished with the coolness that took the twin's face as soon as he put his feet on the tournament field. Although he wasn't known as the most patient of Glorfindel's pupils, he always seemed to turn into another warrior on the training fields, taking the training seriously and doing his best. However, the way he was brandishing his weapon in this competition was totally different. He looked like an old and powerful tree, whose roots had dug into stone and whose height should amaze even the largest of birds. During the tournament the young son of Elrond concentrated even more than he had during training, being silent and deeply focused; seeming to remember what he had learned through the vow of silence he'd made during a period of his childhood.

"But having made it to the bouts of these latter stages does not make him a champion yet," recalled a visibly worried Glorfindel, while checking their weapons at the end of the day.

"But he's gotten got this far!" said Hérion, another childhood friend of the twins. "Tell us master… You have seen many disputes such as this. Do you think Elrohir has a chance?"

"You must be joking!" Beinion protested in a tone of disdain. He had never been one of Elrohir's friends. "Depending on the other results, Elrohir will have to face the second Captain of Mithlond tomorrow. Do you really think he has a chance? Everybody says that warrior is the most skilled swordsman in all of Eriador. I've even heard Lord Círdan didn't want to send him and deprive the havens of one of his best officers."

"He is still just an Elf," Glorfindel pointed out, but the power of Herion's question was still prodding his mind. Not because he didn't know what to answer to his ex-pupil, but because the answer for that question came so fast to his mind. Extremely fast actually; Yes, Elrohir was the most skilled warrior he had ever had the opportunity to teach. If there was anyone talented enough to be in the final fight and face the greatest warrior, that person was the stubborn dark haired elf. That person was Elrohir.

"Could you stand still for but a moment and hear what I have to tell you, elfling?" Glorfindel had tried everything he could think of to get the attention of a visibly agitated twin, who was now walking restlessly through the room, picking up and dropping various objects. He then began pulling books from a shelf only to place them elsewhere, pushing chairs around and scrambling up onto his brother's desk, moving all kinds of papers and messing up everything. The blond warrior had tolerated his pupil's listlessness for as long as his own almost nonexistent patience was able to endure. In a short time he was holding the younger twin's arm tightly, bringing him unwillingly to sit on his bed. "Right now you're going to lay your hard and empty head on that pillow, do you hear me? If you don't, you won't have enough energy for all of tomorrow's events."

"I have enough energy," protested the angry elf. "I don't understand why we keep having these stupid pauses. We left at the most important part of the competition."

"Perhaps we have these breaks so some people, who have the habit of sleeping a little, can do so," said Elladan from his bed. He had tried to convince his brother to rest as well, but when that failed he decided to try to sleep himself. His own absence of rest—caused by his eternal commitment of chasing after his younger brother, helping him, listening to his complaints and laments—was stealing the rest of his humor.

"Your brother is right, you stubborn elf." Glorfindel hadn't given up, and he forced the young elf to lie down and threw the covers over him. "If I hear another word out of you, I'll bring your father in here to sedate you."

Elrohir had practically thrown himself on the pillow, but on his face there were other expressions of indignation. Glorfindel read the challenge mirrored in Elrohir's eyes for a minute. He would have viewed the energy Elrohir channeled when confronting everyone as a positive weapon, if he hadn't been so worried about the young elf. Elrohir always acted as if he were pretending to be on the battle field, but now was not the right moment to play that game.

Whatever Elrohir's intention was, it seemed to disappear under his mentor's threat, and Glorfindel almost smiled when he realized it. In his years of teaching this stubborn elf, there were two things he could make Elrohir believe: His threats were never mere words, and he never said anything without having the intention of fulfilling the consequences.

"I cannot sleep, Glorfindel," Elrohir revealed at last, while he gripped the sheets that covered him. "It's easy for you to say lay your hard and empty head down and sleep, but doing that with a mind full of all sorts of images and ideas like are in mine now, is another thing. It would be a relief if my head were really hard and really empty…at least I might find that relaxing right now…"

Glorfindel listened to those complaints, and then he carefully analyzed the young elf's face. Elrohir had moved his eyes to the ceiling, but his dark pupils danced as if they were seeing a thousand scenes simultaneously. He shook his blond head then. He decided that it really was asking too much of an elf of Elrohir's age and nature to do what they were trying to impose on him. He had just come into maturity and there were still a few good seasons until his father could actually name him captain. Plus, he already had a challenge that took many fighters hundreds of years to be able to achieve.

"Do you know the last time a tournament of this magnitude was held?" Glorfindel asked.

Elrohir twisted his lips and wondered what prompted this question. Any elf in Imladris could answer it; even if a poor being had been dropped here accidentally by an eagle, he would know it as well.

"So, you stubborn elfling," Glorfindel said, not even waiting for the reply. "Most of the warriors who are here have never participated in such an impressive tournament, even though they are hundreds of years older than you are."

"I know that," Elrohir said as he frowned, even without understanding the reason behind the information. He was so unwilling to discuss trivialities, he could barely disguise his disgust. What he wanted at that moment was to jump out of his bed and go to the training camp. The tournament would only last two more days; why did he need to sleep now?

"I know you know. What you don't know is that each of the remaining warriors, just like you, will face their opponents by the semifinals tomorrow. If they are more clever than you, which I am sure they are, you can believe that they have been trying to rest, because they know very well what kind of battle they will be facing."

Elrohir grimaced.

"I know what kind of battle I'm going to face," he answered in annoyance. "I have been fighting in the tournament for more than a fortnight."

"More than a fortnight, Elrohir! You have gone without sleeping for more than a fortnight. If you would allow your body and mind to relax a little, instead of thinking of every detail of what happened today and in the days prior, then sleep would surely come to you. You've been holding yourself to this grueling schedule for so long that I cannot believe you are not feeling any kind of fatigue."

"No, I'm not. I'm not feeling any kind of fatigue. I'm not tired. I—am—not—tired," repeated the young elf, saying it slowly only to provoke his master. "I do not know why I need to sleep if I'm not tired."

A snort of discontent escaped from Glorfindel's lips as he sat heavily on his pupil's bed. He heard Elladan mumble something like, stubborn elf, I'm going to sedate him myself... as he turned over to his other side in search of some peace.

Glorfindel resisted the desire to actually ask Elrond to talk to his son, because he knew what it would symbolize if he did. The warriors who were accepted into the event were required to have contact with a minimum of people during the tournament. It was part of the rules; in the final stages the warrior could have only his mentor and his healer by his side. As Elrond was the host of the event, Elrohir had not objected to having his brother in the role of his healer. So if Glorfindel brought Elrond or Celebrian here to speak to Elrohir, he would have to give a reason to the Council about the purpose of the visit.

Glorfindel sighed and another snort escaped from his mouth. Telling the Council that he needed the presence of the warrior's parents because an elf, who wasn't a child for some good winters, just did not want to sleep, definitely wasn't among the kinds of reasons the Council would even consider.

The Council was composed of several elves from all the realms that were represented in the tournament. They were invited by the leader of Imladris, and it had taken a great deal of conversation before Glorfindel had persuaded Elrond to organize the event. Tournaments of this type weren't repeated for long periods of time, because the ages had been swallowed by sad moments of conflict or inhibited for long years because of real wars, which had made such activity totally unnecessary to any warrior.

However, in these days of peace, which encompassed more summers than many who had seen the pain of war might be able to believe or expect, the idea of the tournament had been so well received that some of the most illustrious warriors had come or had sent their most valiant officers. Many crossed over the lands eagerly and entered the city in the valley with radiant smiles and words of encouragement and praise to Elrond for the initiative he'd taken. They seemed gratified to be here and were showing their appreciation in the words they said and through their offers of help.

Glorfindel closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but when he reopened them to renew his attempt to make the problematic young elf sleep—maybe hitting him with a straight left—that would certainly force the twin to rest for at least a few hours—the image he saw suddenly made him forget why he was so angry. Elrohir had fallen asleep with his face tilted up and his lips slightly parted. Glorfindel shook his head again.

"Stubborn elfling," he said softly with a small smile. "You always do that to me; make my nerves go to their limits and then just follow my advice." His eyes moved down to look at the visible marks left on Elrohir by the events in which he'd already participated. The healers were having more work to do than was expected at the start of the tournament, and many disputes were finished or discontinued due to the injury of one of the participants. It was as if a long period of peace had concentrated a burning desire for some excitement in the fighters' hearts, sometimes causing the bouts to become too serious.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, worried, placing his palm gently on Elrohir's arm, where one of the numerous bruises from his previous battles had bloomed on his skin. Elrohir was really quick and certainly one of the least affected of all other participants, but he still had to endure the battles of tomorrow, and that was what his blond master was more worried about than he wished to be.

"And if he wins the trials today, master?" The always interested Herion joined his blond master, along with all the other former pupils, as soon as he appeared in the training camp the following morning. Glorfindel looked up at the blue sky above, asking for a little more patience, so that he wouldn't explode right there.

"You know what happens with the winner of the trials today. He will have the opportunity to confront an Alcarinquallo or Alcarinquë."

"Elbereth!" Angahor shook his head, as if to dispel that idea, which sent tingles down his spine. The Alcarinqua were elves considered "venerable", all of them experienced elves with deeds of such valor to their names that they were exempt from needing to demonstrate their skills in a tournament such as this. Glorfindel was among those chosen ones.

"Who else besides you, Master?" Insisted Beinion, who had repeated that question so many times that Glorfindel was already tired of trying to find an evasive reply to it.

"You know I cannot tell you. Each of the groups represented by a banner are the only ones who know their choice."

"I have an idea of who they might be…" Angahor said thoughtfully, already thinking that being disqualified from the tournament before the finals had not been so bad.

"What are your guesses, Angahor?" Herion wanted to know, moving his clear eyes to his friend.

"Well... Lord Celeborn is here..."

"Elbereth!" all the pupils now exclaimed in unison. "But is there the possibility of Elrohir facing a relative such as Lord Celeborn in the final bout?" Herion asked.

"He will face who the Council decides he will face," Glorfindel said, exasperated. "The Council will not facilitate the victor. Certainly the worst threat of the Alcarinqua will be selected to confront whoever the winner turns out to be."

"They will not facilitate? What do you mean?"

"Worst? Lord Celeborn would certainly be the worst opponent, wouldn't he?"

"Tell us, Master!"

The young elves interjected their questions rapidly, each of them caught between curiosity and concern. While Glorfindel had his doubts, to Elrohir's friends the twin's victory was something certain.

"He still has to face Enel Baradobel, the main captain of the guard headed by Lord Eilafion of Mithlond and one of the right-hand elves of Lord Círdan," Beinion added. "That is, if he is able to beat the other three elves he has to face in the trials of today."

"The lottery for drawing opponents really has not favored Elrohir at all," Angahor admitted with a frustrated tone. "I've never seen an elf draw opponents as difficult as he has been made to face since the tournament started. Enel was luckier. He, of course, will be at the final trial of today."

"Lord Enel will also have to win the fights for it," Herion said with his chin up. He did not want to give that elf more credit than the others.

"He will do that..." Glorfindel's gaze was now distant and preoccupied, and he made the remark like someone who was talking to himself. His ex-pupils could see that, of all the trials of that day, this was the one that worried him most.

"And Elrohir will also be there to meet him." That observation came from Angahor, and it was his comment that brought some peace to Glorfindel's heart. At least the tournament had resulted in something good. It established ties of friendship that would be needed in the future.

"I heard that Enel dislikes Elrohir." Beinion's comment seemed to throw Glorfindel in his indigestible wave of doubts again, besides awakening sounds of disapproval from the small group.

"There you go again, Beinion!" protested some of them.

"These are old tales. They are not true," Angahor said. "Lord Enel is a seasoned elf. He has more than a millennium of service in the Haven. He has participated in major battles. What might he have against someone who still has so few deeds to his name as Elrohir?"

Glorfindel knew that answer, but chose to keep it to himself. Enel was the chief of the guards at the Haven, responsible for security at the dock as well as at sea. Certainly the news that a young elfling had managed to not only get into town and walk the pier without being discovered, but also cross the gulf on a children's raft unnoticed, and then breach a forbidden place, were not exploits that garnered any praise from the Eldar Captain at the time. The boy became something of a legend in Círdan's town. Some of the elves that came from Mithlond even wanted to meet Elrohir, to see firsthand the author of that feat. Círdan himself had sent the young elf his wish for good luck.

Yes. Enel had many reasons for wanting to steal some of the bright light from that naughty elfling, who had transformed his life into a storm and had still gained merits for the delinquencies he had committed.