Last edited: September 27th, 2012
A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews :) Here's a much longer chapter for my lovely readers, which is almost double the length of the first one. And I'm posting this a day earlier than I planned...good, hmm? I hope it was worth the wait. (If anyone was waiting in the first place, that is...)
And thanks to my friend fritillary252 for suggesting I add on a teacher + student list before each chapter. IOU one Fritz ;)
If any of you can think of extra subjects and teachers for Middle-earth High School, please leave a review. I'm not in high school yet, so I don't know which subjects I should include—or not—in this story.
And finally, much thanks to Lyrical Ballads, who provided me with the idea of having Tom Bombadil teach Music. Thank you!
Anonymous reviews:
Falca : Hehe, thanks! I was originally just going to have Elrohir and Elladan as graduates of ME High, but I've put them in as seniors for all the twin fans out there. (I love 'em, too, by the way.) Thanks!
Eraisuithiel: Thank you! And no, I do not write slash...I'm a little too young for that, I think XD
Gwaeros: Thank you! I didn't know whether people would like this or not, and I'm glad you think it's well-written. Thanks again!
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own The Lord of the Rings.
Welcome to Middle-earth High
Chapter II: Many Meetings
Struggling down the hallway after two raven-haired Elves, Aragorn found himself resisting the urge to groan in frustration. It was barely 8 o'clock in the morning and he was frankly quite exhausted. The Valar knew what the rest of the school day would do to him.
"Hurry up, Estel," called one of the Elves Aragorn was following. His fair voice was barely audible over the rumbling of the crowd. "You'll get lost if you don't keep up with us."
"I'm coming," Aragorn replied wearily. "You know, Elladan, you wouldn't be so fast either if you were weighed down with a dozen heavy textbooks."
He thought he saw Elladan—the elder of the Peredhil twins—chuckle, but before he could ascertain, the Elf had turned aside to converse with his brother.
It had not been one of Aragorn's best days in life when Elladan and Elrohir had declared that they would honor him with a thorough tour of the school facilities, so that their favorite (and only) adoptive brother would be able to socialize more easily with the other juniors, who were most likely to have forgotten his existence after his two-year absence. Oh, Aragorn had appreciated their sentiment in the beginning, of course; five minutes into the "tour," however, his opinion had changed rather drastically. So far, after chasing Legolas away the moment the elf and Aragorn had crossed over the school doors, the twins had left their human brother in the dust as they explored the myriad passages throughout the school. Elladan and Elrohir weren't that diabolical to be doing this intentionally, Aragorn knew (or were they?), but it seemed to him that the twins were far too excited at the moment to pay any proper attention to a certain grouchy junior. Therefore Aragorn had purposely lagged behind when the trio had begun nearing the senior student wing, a.k.a. the Territory Where No Junior Ever Dare Lay Foot On.
Muttering curses he had not realized he had even known before, Aragorn inadvertently pushed past a group of giggling ellith ("Oh, it's you, Estel! Have a good time at that exchange school up North?"). Finding his pathway clear, Aragorn shifted his book bag, wincing when a textbook bumped against his hipbone. The new books were extremely heavy, and they also happened to be hardbound. I wonder why they print these things in the first place, thought Aragorn, instead of soft and nice paperbacks.
He rounded a corner, picking up his pace—and then collided into something big.
And hard, thought Aragorn, his head ringing from the collision. Big and hard.
"Ow!" cried the "something". "Watch where you're going, won't you?"
Thrown off balance by his weighty books, Aragorn had landed bottom-first on the floor. He rose, rubbing his backside and endeavoring to hide the tic in his jaw. A none-too-small crowd had already begun to encompass the scene of the accident, and he definitely did not want to make a fool out of himself. Control yourself, Aragorn, he thought, inhaling deeply. You haven't been yourself since your exchange trip…. Calm, now.
"I'm sorry," Aragorn began in his Travel-Weary Ranger Voice™, especially reserved for cases like this one. "I was in a hurry, and I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?"
The stranger, apparently baffled by Aragorn's polite stance and his apology, nodded. "I am," he said. "But are you?"
He gesticulated at the space around Aragorn's feet. Aragorn peered down and, to his immense dismay, found the hallway floor littered with the remains of his book bag and his textbooks. The books, upon falling to the ground, had caught on the light material of the bag and had ripped the seams off it. The books being hardbound had done nothing to alleviate the problem. "Oh, Elbereth," Aragorn muttered. He bent down to pick up his books—and saw a hand holding out his Calculus book in his direction.
"Here," said the other student. "I suppose it's my fault your bag ripped like that. I should have looked where I was going, too. My apologies."
Aragorn inwardly smiled. What a few nice words and a polite attitude can bring you... I'll have to thank Ada and Erestor for these lessons, I know.
The two silently picked up the remainder of Aragorn's books. As the boy handed Aragorn the last of his textbooks, Aragorn opened his mouth to express his thanks, but was interrupted before he could say a word.
"I'll carry some of this for you," said the other teen. They began to walk together. "Say, you're new here, aren't you? I haven't seen you around here before."
It was Aragorn's turn to be baffled. "Er…. Sort of," he answered. "I was here for a month of my freshman year, and then I was up North as an exchange student for the rest. I don't really know most of the freshmen or the sophomores," he added, noticing two girls staring at him from across the hallway. (He self-consciously tugged at his battered cloak.) "And I wasn't exactly famous here before, either."
This elicited a response from the other boy, whose face fell not in contempt or malice but in sincere compassion. "That must be hard," he said. "I bet it feels strange to be back here."
The two boys rounded a corner. "Yeah," Aragorn agreed, adjusting his arms so that his books were in a less precarious position. "I guess."
They stopped at a door. "This is my class," Aragorn said gratefully. "Thanks for all the help."
The boy grinned. "No problem," he said cheerfully, handing back Aragorn his books. "It was my pleasure."
Aragorn opened the door to the classroom, and instantly relief washed over him. There at the back of the classroom sat Halbarad, his close friend and fellow Ranger from the local tracking club. Across from him sat Legolas, who was scribbling something on a loose sheet of paper. Finally, he thought, his lips lifting into a smile. People I know.
He took a few steps forward to set his books down at a nearby desk, and then turned back. He stepped back into the hallway. "Hey!" he called at the retreating figure of the boy who had helped him. "What's your name?"
The boy stopped at the sound of Aragorn's voice. "Boromir," he called back, grinning again. "Call me Boromir."
Boromir was in a good mood. He whistled as he walked down the stairs to his first class, hurrying slightly. He had been a little detained when he had offered to help the new—no, not exactly new—student with his books, but then again, it had been his fault that the accident had even occurred in the first place.
He made it to class barely on time. The professor was already in the classroom; Thranduil shot Boromir a murderous glare as the sophomore sat down at random seat, pulling out his Biology textbook from under his cloak.
"Everyone," Thranduil began, "welcome to Biology."
General groaning.
"Now," the professor continued, gliding to the center of the classroom. Thranduil picked up a piece of chalk and wrote a single word on the board. Spiders, Boromir read with a sinking feeling in his guts.
More groaning.
"Can anybody tell me where the vital point of the spider is?"
A few rows from Boromir's desk, a hand shot up into the air.
"Yes, Miss…?"
"Lothíriel," the girl who had raised her hand answered promptly. "The location of the vital point of spiders differs from species to species. As for the Mirkwood Giants, it is best to behead them first for the hunter to avoid major injuries, although their legs are equally promising targets as well…"
The girl droned on and on, until the only words Boromir was able to understand was the ands and thes. Thranduil seems very pleased, he noted, taking a sideway glance at the beaming teacher.
He couldn't believe this girl was his cousin.
"That is correct," Thranduil said when the said girl had finished. "Very good, Miss Lothíriel. Now, moving on with the lesson…"
Boromir quickly lost interest in the subject, and he stared up at the ceiling aimlessly. It had been a mistake to take Biology instead of Chemistry or Physics; he knew that Gandalf taught Chemistry, and there was no doubt that that class would have been fun. Exploding labs and dragon fireworks, Boromir thought wistfully as he chewed on the end of his quill pen. What is it with Thranduil and the spiders, anyway?
"Show-off," someone muttered belligerently.
Boromir jumped, before he realized that the comment had not been directed at him.
"That Lothíriel thinks she knows everything," the voice groaned. "Bragger."
"Professor Imrahil seems nice enough," a second voice retorted. "I saw him yesterday when I went up to Dol Amroth, and he offered me a ride home in his Mercedes-horse. Real nice, if you ask me."
"Still," the first voice grumbled. Boromir recognized its owner as Éomer of Rohan, whose name and face he knew but wasn't closely acquainted with; Boromir spent most of his free time with his friends from the Gondor part of town. "It's fine answering a teacher's question, but did she have to talk for a full five minutes like that?"
Boromir wasn't surprised when a minute later, Lothíriel turned in her chair. The girl was pretty if not beautiful, with dark silky hair and intense eyes, but she was anything but when she started to glare daggers at Éomer and his friend, mouthing words that Boromir thought weren't very appropriate for the daughter of a high school teacher.
Boromir snuck a furtive look at the clock. There was still thirty-five minutes left until class ended. Ugh, he bemoaned, burying his head in his arms.
The lecture continued.
Boromir rocketed out from his seat when the bell rang. He snatched up his textbook in one hand and his empty notes in the other; though Boromir had intelligence "well above average," as his father always said, he had never liked studying. The only person he knew who actually liked studying was his brother Faramir.
Speaking of whom….
Boromir turned against the tide of students, hurrying down the stairs to the first landing. All the freshmen's classes were on the second floor, but since the orientation would have just finished, he would have to go to the auditorium to see his brother. Faramir, he thought frantically, craning his neck for a better view. He had to find his brother. Where's Faramir?
At last, he spotted a familiar face among the gallivanting freshmen. Boromir weaved through the throng of students, muttering Excuse mes and Pardons as he went.
It took him a while to reach his brother, but Boromir was soon able to clamp his hand down on Faramir's shoulder.
"Gotcha!" Boromir laughed when the younger boy jumped into the air, surprised.
"Hey," Faramir greeted. He grinned, and his glasses slipped slightly from his nose. "How was class?"
Boromir raised one hand up to his forehead in a dramatic flourish. "Horrible," he said, pretending to faint from horror. "Thranduil didn't even give us an orientation. It was just class, class, and class. So," he asked back, "How was your orientation?"
Faramir's eyes lit up in excitement. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed, and the glasses slipped down further on his nose.
Boromir couldn't stop smiling at his sibling's zealousness.
"The principal wasn't there, like you said he wouldn't be, Boromir," Faramir continued. "But most of the teachers were present. I saw Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel—"
Boromir gaped. "Galadriel?" The Golden Lady, called so because of her lustrous golden hair and canary Porsche-horse, was famous among all students. She taught Psychology for the seniors and the advanced-class juniors, so naturally only the Elves could attend her lectures. The rumors about her were intoxicating among the younger students. "Really?"
Faramir nodded. "Really," he answered. "I don't know why she was there. They're saying that she'll stop teaching once this year's seniors have graduated." He paused for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "But it was weird having her there."
"How?" asked Boromir, intrigued.
"It was as if she was looking right through me. Like she was reading my mind, you know? But that's impossible," Faramir said, laughing. "That's just a story the sophs invented."
Huh, thought Boromir, inclining his head.
"Anyway." Faramir was suddenly serious. "Boromir, why are you here?"
Boromir blinked bemusedly. "Umm…to check up on you," he replied, but the note of uncertainty made his statement sound more like a question.
He and Faramir were on better terms than most siblings. The bond between them had only strengthened when their father, Denethor, had begun favoring Boromir over Faramir after the death of Finduilas, his wife. Boromir had at first begun to "baby-sit" Faramir out of a sense of duty, and of brotherly love; that emotion had changed into something entirely different over the years, though. Now, the two brothers were the best of friends, and there was no secret that they couldn't tell each other. The best of friends, Boromir thought distractedly, remembering something one of his school friends had told him earlier in the year. How do you two keep it up, when you live under the same roof?
At last, Boromir shrugged. "That's what brothers do," he said, wondering why Faramir had asked that question when he would have known the answer to it already.
"Yeah, yeah," Faramir said, rolling his eyes, rewarding his brother with a light punch on the shoulder. And then he was serious again. But this time, there was something else in his voice besides the normal inquisitiveness. Boromir detected desperation when Faramir asked him: "It wasn't Father who told you to do it, was it?"
Boromir caught his breath.
Faramir waited.
I should have known it would lead to this.
"No," Boromir mumbled, looking not quite at Faramir but at a poster on the wall. Looking for new members on the basketball team, it read. Tryouts this Friday at 5PM. Cool, he thought, biting down on his bottom lip. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. "Look, Faramir," he said, unconsciously slipping into the brotherly tone he only ever used with his younger sibling. "We both know Father favors me—"
Faramir sighed. "I was just asking," he intoned. "Bro, we can talk about it more at home."
"But I—"
"You'll miss your next class," Faramir pointed out.
As if to emphasize his point, the bell rang.
"Mordor!" Boromir spat, pushing through the crowd and racing up the stairs. "I'll see you later," he called over his shoulder. "You can take care of yourself for a few hours, right?"
"Right," Faramir yelled back. "Thanks for coming to see me, anyway...You're the best!" he added, earning curious glances from the dispersing crowd of freshmen.
Boromir turned around to catch one last glimpse of his brother. Faramir stood alone in front of the auditorium; when the younger boy saw Boromir looking at him, he raised his hands and gave Boromir a double thumbs-up, a brilliant smile lighting up his features.
When would their father see how delusional he was about Faramir? Faramir was just a boy, for crying out loud; he loved to learn, he loved to read, and he respected Denethor more than anyone. Boromir was doing the best he could, protecting and helping his younger brother even after Faramir had entered his teens; how longer could this go on, though? How much more could Faramir take, with the years of his childhood starved from the love of a parent? How much more?
With a cold, sinking feeling in his heart, Boromir ran down the empty hallway.
The rumors started in third period.
"Did you hear?" whispered a girl.
Ooh, thought Boromir leaning forward in his chair, careful not to be too obvious in his rubbernecking. Juicy gossip.
"No," her neighbor whispered back. "What is it?"
"They're saying that a new junior is here today."
"So?"
Boromir leaned in closer. The whispers had become lower when Théoden had turned back from the blackboard to face the class, having finished drawing his diagram. The professor gestured toward the board, talking about how the grades were given and the various outdoors activities they would do throughout the year.
"I'm not really sure," the girl whispered. "But I heard some of the Elves talking when I was walking by the lockers, and I think they said his name is Aragorn."
A pause. "Aragorn?" asked the other girl. "Does that mean something?"
"Yeah. I think his great-grandfather or somebody was famous—you know those stone busts at the front of the school?"
"You mean that Most Contributed to School's History group?"
"Ugh, tell me about it. I've looked at those statues at least a hundred times, and the teachers are always hammering in our ears about how important they are."
Boromir absentmindedly nodded to himself.
"Anyway," continued the girl. "I think this junior's related to one of them."
"Whoa."
Pause.
"You know, most of those busts were modeled after very handsome guys…"
There was a short burst of giggles between the girls.
"Please quiet down, you ladies there," ordered Théoden. The teacher frowned. "There are other students in this class besides you two."
The two girls mumbled their apologies to Théoden.
A silence filled the room. Most of the other sophomores were still awake; Théoden was a good teacher, and he taught a good subject, Physical Education. The promises and bribes for an exciting gym lesson were working very well on this particular class. Guiltily, Boromir opened his clean notebook and started jotting down notes with a freshly sharpened quill pen.
A new junior, huh? Boromir thought. With blue blood? Sounds interesting.
It would be a while before he realized that he had not asked the junior in the hallway what his name was.
"Hey, Frodo," called a muffled voice, "Are you done packing yet?"
Frodo Baggins of the Shire sighed. "Almost," he called back, fingers fumbling with the locks on his first trunk. The rest of his baggage lay piled together in a heap beside his old writing desk. "Is Sam there, Merry?"
"I'm right here, Mr. Frodo!" a second voice—also sounding uncharacteristically muffled through the thick wooden door—answered.
"I'm here, too." It was Pippin. "Say, Frodo, I think it's going to rain, and if we don't hurry soon we'll miss the carriage and we'll be in big trouble. We should have headed out fifteen minutes ago."
Frodo stood up. "All right," he finally said, dusting his hands and giving a last, fond look at his dorm room in Hobbiton High School. "I'm coming."
He would not be coming back home for a long, long time.
A/N: Please review! I'm still a novice writer, and I'd love to hear if there's anything wrong I'm doing. Kindly let me know by either PM or review!
~Enchanted Authoress
