Disclaimer: I do not own any of this. I am making no money from this story. All recognizable events, places, and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkein and possibly New Line Cinema.

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Memory. It was quite a remarkable mental capability, Aragorn mused, as he wiped the icy rain from his eyes. Even in times when the body was under intense stress, his mind conjured conforting, peaceful images to distract from the numerous bruises and wounds that had blossomed just hours before by the hands and swords of the late Orcs that had attempted to capture him.

The sound of his own sword clashing, steel on stronger steel, with the foul swords of the Orcs brought memories of Elladan and Elrohir teaching him swordsmanship as a child. At first, he had only used sharpened sticks, but had gradually progressed to more dangerous weapons: "borrowed" dull spears, daggers, and swords, and finally true, deadly sharp elven swords. He remembered the first day that he had been presented with a "real" sword.

"Ada! Ada! Elrohir and Elladan are going to take me out to practice my swordsmanship for my birthday! Can I go? Please, Ada. I've learned my healing lessons for the day." The bright silver eyes shone up at the wise Elven healer, begging to be allowed to forsake the serious atmosphere of the healing wing for the sense of freedom the outdoors provided.

Elrond studied his foster son's face closely. "Well, Estel, I suppose you've learned well today. But before you leave - " The half-elf's remaining words were drowned by a gleeful cry from the ten year-old. Elrond's eyebrows rose, and he stared at the boy until he quieted down, abashed. "As I was saying, before you leave I'd like to test you, and see just how much you've learned today."

The boy's jubilant expression sombered, the smile replaced by a scowl. "Will it at least be a short test this time, Ada? I don't like it when you ask me something like 'How many virtues does athelas have, where can it be found, which verses does it appear in, which name is most widely recognized, and how many names does this herb have?'"

Elrond chuckled. "You never know what you might need to remember until the time comes and you have no idea how to treat a wound, Estel. But yes, this test is short. The question is, 'How old is Estel Elrondion when he is first allowed to fight with an elven sword?'"

Estel's eyes had grown steadily wider as the question progressed, and there were several seconds of stunned silence before a large grin had stretched itself across his face. "Ada! Ten!" he cried, his eyes fixed on his father's hands as they drew out a shining, bejeweled scabbard from beneath a sheaf of parchment. The child let out a soft gasp of surprise, and without hesitation rushed forward and embraced the elf in a tight hug, his small hands wrapped firmly around his new sword.

The child was oblivious as two identical dark heads appeared around the corner of the doorframe, grinning at their brother's happiness. "We'll make a fine warrior out of him yet, Elladan." One whispered to the other.

Aragorn sighed, remembering the eagerness with which he had trained with his first sword, and the many spars he had waged with Elladan and Elrohir. But now, even after all those years of practice, and the many years he spent hunting Orcs and wandering with the Dúnedain, he had not escaped unscathed. There had been nearly a dozen Orcs, and after spending many days alone in the wilderness, and the weather's turn for the worse, he had not been at peak form. The battle had only occured a few leagues from Rivendell, and Aragorn knew that if he could manage to set foot within Rivendell's borders, he would be safe. He only had to walk four more leagues.

Four leagues. A small smile spread scross his weathered face at another memory. Never before had four leagues seemed so short, and yet so enjoyable as they had that day.

The scarlet and gold leaves were crushed underfoot, the man and elves too impatient to watch where they placed their feet. The dark haired man was in the lead, his feet fairly flying over the ground in his haste. "Elladan, come on!" he called over his shoulder, breathless voice just barely reaching the sensitive ears of the elves.

"Estel, what's the hurry? Legolas can wait a few minutes before seeing your face, little brother." The man scowled, choosing to ignore the comment. "I have not seen Legolas in three years, 'Dan. That is far too long for a mere mortal to endure with only a few carefully worded letters from his best friend." Elladan grinned, shaking his head. "Well, Estel, there are only four leagues left ere we reach Imladris. Surely we can reach home before you. After all, we are elves." And with that comment, Elladan and Elrohir picked up their pace, quickly overtaking their foster brother with ease.

Estel found with dismay that he could run no faster, and contented himself for a few moments with running at his brothers' heels. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he watched Elrohir's feet fly past him. In a single sudden movement, his hand shot out and seized the elf's ankle, bringing the surprised elf to the forest floor. Elrohir fell on top of Estel with a grunt of shock and pain, and Elladan slowed to help his brother rise.

"Estel, why did you trip him? Could you not stand to lose to an elf?" Elladan teased, offering his hand. Estel accepted with a smile, but quickly jerked his arm backwards, pulling his other brother to the ground as well.

"No, Elladan, I was teaching you both a lesson. The man is much more cunning than the elf."

Yes, he could walk the last four leagues, and when he arrived in Rivendell, he would remind his brothers that man always triumphed.