Author's Note: Nilmandra, I'm way ahead of you. This chapter was almost finished by the time I saw your review. ^_^ It was kinda creepy, actually. Anyway, yeah, this is the sixth chapter. (And no, there's not going to be any slash. Don't worry, Frodo, I've actually gotten a lot more reviews than this, they just got erased when I had to repost the fic.) Aragorn's a little older now, and will be Estel from now on, until he learns about Isildur. He's pretty much forgotten about his past (except when certain people bring it up), since it happened to him when he was much younger, and considers himself a son of Elrond now, for all practical purposes.
PS - Yeah, I'm a quick updater when I'm inspired, but it'll probably be a little slower during the week than during the weekend, because real life interferes with my writing time. So don't get used to like, two updates every day, just 'cause I can afford to do that on the weekend. *laughs* Alrighty?
Lessons with Legolas
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Estel, for Elbereth, open both of your eyes! You do not want to be half-blind when you shoot a bow!"
Estel pulled the bow back further, straining the elvish hairstring as he aimed. "Legolas, Andune could take out an orc's eye from a mile-high dive, and he is half-blind."
"If mortals had aim as good as a hawk's eyes, they could afford to use only one. Do as I tell you."
It was his first time to draw from the custom quiver that Legolas had brought him, as his thirteenth birthday present. Legolas would not let him use arrows from the beginning. There was no need; the prince of Mirkwood had been using a bow for centuries before Estel was ever born. He could correct the boy just by watching him aim at a target and let loose the bowstring.
Estel learned fast; the boy learned fast not only in weaponry, but in everything there was to learn for him at Rivendell. From his brothers, he learned to hunt, to gut and clean kills (not his own, not yet, but the kills of Elladan and Elrohir), to bless them and thank the woods for yielding them, then thank the creature for giving its life to them, to use every bit of a kill, meat, hide bone, and sinew, so that the creature's life would never have been in vain. He learned to find his way in the woods, to fish in quiet streams and pools, to know directions by the stars, to track and to walk the way the elves walked, without breaking twigs or crushing leaves, so that the ground was giving and silent beneath his feet. From Elrond learned the history and the language of the elves, and the manners of court.
He was drawn to hunting. He could sit in a tree for hours and hours with a strange patience that was not childlike in the least, through a day and night, waiting for something to come along. When it did come, he would slowly draw up the training bow Legolas had given him, draw...and let go of the empty string. He would not kill in practice. Ever.
Legolas was also his teacher, when he could make a visit to Imladris, which he did as often as he was able, as he had promised so many years before. But the lesson that Legolas would have him learn was darker than any of the ones his brothers or Elrond cared to teach him. Legolas only wanted one thing from him; it was the skill that was most important to the elf: how to shoot a bow, and how to hit what you aimed at every time. How to kill with one blow, not deer or rabbits, or wild boar, but yrch. Orcs, the bane of the dark forests of Mirkwood.
The others had taught him too, but it was only Legolas who forced him to learn. Elladan and Elrohir let him follow them around, and he picked up what he learned from them by watching and helping. Elrond answered his questions, whenever he had them. But Legolas was always asking them, always pushing Estel, trying to figure out if he had really learned what he was being told. He came and went out of his way to teach the boy. Sometimes he seemed hard to please, and other times he seemed impossible. But to Estel, he proved to be the best guide of them all.
"Okay, Estel," Legolas said, coming up behind the boy and correcting his aim, placing his hands over Estel's. He leaned his head in next to the boy's, leaning down so that they were cheek to jowl, his elvish eyes clear and sharp as he looked down the line of the bow. "If your quiver is even a little uncomfortable, or low on your back, tell me now and I'll fix it. We didn't come here to chase misguided arrows because your pull was off."
Estel let out a growl of frustration and rolled his eyes, looking back at the elf with an indignant scowl. "Legolas, what would you do if I didn't tell you that the quiver was low? What if I missed every mark on those tree trunks? Cuff me up the head like a child?"
Legolas grinned. He could no longer consider Estel a child. He was the same boy that the elf had brought to Rivendell all those years ago, and he was different at the same time. There was a confidence in his expression, a broadness across his shoulders. He was a shadow of the man he was to become. "You're not a tot to be slapped and struck in correction, and I won't treat you like one."
"So what if I miss?"
Legolas's voice was tranquil and completely sure of Estel's ability. "You won't miss."
"But what if I do?" There was a flicker of uncertainty in the boy's voice that Legolas didn't like.
"You'll do it again. And again. And again. Until you get it right, or the light fails us, or you faint from exhaustion. Or all our arrows are lost. One of the above, or all of them."
Estel groaned good-naturedly. His arm was already aching with the thought of it. He tested his quiver again. It was slung across his back, and was much simpler than the quivers of Legolas or his brothers or any of the other elves, but it served its purpose, simple or not. Estel had had to stand still for many days and pull arrows from it over and over while Legolas watched, until it had been fitted to perfection.
"Those aren't just marks, Estel."
Estel snorted proud laughter, lowering his bow. "They're not?"
Legolas did not return the smile, or the laughter. His face was silent. "They're not. They're the yrch from the plains. The ones that took you."
Estel's face went rigid and hard. "Legolas...don't."
"Yes. Do not turn your anger on me. Turn it on these orcs. The ones that held you down while you screamed. The ones that took down your comrades. The ones that killed your father. Remember how they laughed? Remember their cold hands as they dragged you through the night?"
"Don't do this, Legolas, you know not what you do."
Legolas's face was cold and still. "I know that you can avenge your father, if you will quit whining and joking and listen to me. Believe my words. Those marks are what I say they are. So take them down!!"
Estel's hand flew to his back, sending the arrows right and accurate. His markmanship was effortless. His bowstring sang. Five arrows flew from his bow, and five arrows stuck out from the trunks he had aimed at.
When he lowered his bow, there was silence in the woods. Even the birdsong had ceased. The earth and trees seemed to tremble.
"Legolas....Why did you do that?"
"So that your aim would be straight and your heart would be true."
"...It was cruel."
"It worked, didn't it?" Legolas walked around him and up to the trees, inspecting the arrows before ripping them from the thick bark. "I do not want you to be like Elladan and Elrohir. They hunt and they kill and they do it well, but it's a game to them."
There was the slightest trace of bitterness in the elf's voice. "They treat everything like a game, and it's dangerous. I do not want you to be like them. They kill orcs for sport, but they don't understand the danger of it. You've seen orcs for what they really are. That's why I did it. Never treat killing as a sport, Estel...no matter how dark and evil the things you hunt."
He looked back at Estel, who was regarding him with a cool, angry gaze. He smiled a little, tossing one of the arrows to the boy, who caught it deftly.
"That one was off the mark a little. The rest of the orcs fell. That one lived for a few seconds more, just long enough to cleave your skull in two and leave your blood and brains on the grass. Do it again, and cleaner this time." He walked over and handed all the arrows back to the boy, looking down into his face. "Do them all again."
"Sometimes I hate you, Legolas."
Legolas smiled. "No you don't."
Estel tried to maintain his furious expression a few moments longer, then smiled back grudgingly, fighting back the urge to laugh. "Ai. Maybe not." He slung the bow over his shoulder, then looked up at Legolas. "Legolas...I know, you don't have a lot of time these days, but...I'm big enough now to carry one of the training swords from the armory. Would you-"
"Teach you?" Legolas did not like where these questions were going. He was fine with teaching the boy how to use a bow; every elf learned it, male or female, as a means of defense. But a sword...if you were close enough to your enemy to use a sword, you were close enough to be killed. He tried to tell himself that to teach the boy this thing would be no different than anything else he had taught. It didn't matter that Estel was already a good rider, and a promising archer, and a deadly quiet, patient hunter. He knew from what he had already taught Estel that he could teach him this too, and he knew the boy would succeed at it. But he knew he shouldn't encourage the boy now, for Estel's own sake. Elrond was protective of him, and with good reason. He could be reckless when challenged. He had become a fiery-tempered young man by necessity. He would never run away from a dare.
"....Very well," he said, finally, looking down at Estel. Their eyes locked for a few long seconds, and Estel dropped his first, as was proper.
"Thanks, Legolas."
Legolas began to walk away, back towards the Great Hall. "I wouldn't thank me just yet, Estel. You only thought archery was hard. Swordplay will be worse. You can thank me when you can put that obnoxious Yarra to shame with it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Review, people!
PS - Yeah, I'm a quick updater when I'm inspired, but it'll probably be a little slower during the week than during the weekend, because real life interferes with my writing time. So don't get used to like, two updates every day, just 'cause I can afford to do that on the weekend. *laughs* Alrighty?
Lessons with Legolas
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Estel, for Elbereth, open both of your eyes! You do not want to be half-blind when you shoot a bow!"
Estel pulled the bow back further, straining the elvish hairstring as he aimed. "Legolas, Andune could take out an orc's eye from a mile-high dive, and he is half-blind."
"If mortals had aim as good as a hawk's eyes, they could afford to use only one. Do as I tell you."
It was his first time to draw from the custom quiver that Legolas had brought him, as his thirteenth birthday present. Legolas would not let him use arrows from the beginning. There was no need; the prince of Mirkwood had been using a bow for centuries before Estel was ever born. He could correct the boy just by watching him aim at a target and let loose the bowstring.
Estel learned fast; the boy learned fast not only in weaponry, but in everything there was to learn for him at Rivendell. From his brothers, he learned to hunt, to gut and clean kills (not his own, not yet, but the kills of Elladan and Elrohir), to bless them and thank the woods for yielding them, then thank the creature for giving its life to them, to use every bit of a kill, meat, hide bone, and sinew, so that the creature's life would never have been in vain. He learned to find his way in the woods, to fish in quiet streams and pools, to know directions by the stars, to track and to walk the way the elves walked, without breaking twigs or crushing leaves, so that the ground was giving and silent beneath his feet. From Elrond learned the history and the language of the elves, and the manners of court.
He was drawn to hunting. He could sit in a tree for hours and hours with a strange patience that was not childlike in the least, through a day and night, waiting for something to come along. When it did come, he would slowly draw up the training bow Legolas had given him, draw...and let go of the empty string. He would not kill in practice. Ever.
Legolas was also his teacher, when he could make a visit to Imladris, which he did as often as he was able, as he had promised so many years before. But the lesson that Legolas would have him learn was darker than any of the ones his brothers or Elrond cared to teach him. Legolas only wanted one thing from him; it was the skill that was most important to the elf: how to shoot a bow, and how to hit what you aimed at every time. How to kill with one blow, not deer or rabbits, or wild boar, but yrch. Orcs, the bane of the dark forests of Mirkwood.
The others had taught him too, but it was only Legolas who forced him to learn. Elladan and Elrohir let him follow them around, and he picked up what he learned from them by watching and helping. Elrond answered his questions, whenever he had them. But Legolas was always asking them, always pushing Estel, trying to figure out if he had really learned what he was being told. He came and went out of his way to teach the boy. Sometimes he seemed hard to please, and other times he seemed impossible. But to Estel, he proved to be the best guide of them all.
"Okay, Estel," Legolas said, coming up behind the boy and correcting his aim, placing his hands over Estel's. He leaned his head in next to the boy's, leaning down so that they were cheek to jowl, his elvish eyes clear and sharp as he looked down the line of the bow. "If your quiver is even a little uncomfortable, or low on your back, tell me now and I'll fix it. We didn't come here to chase misguided arrows because your pull was off."
Estel let out a growl of frustration and rolled his eyes, looking back at the elf with an indignant scowl. "Legolas, what would you do if I didn't tell you that the quiver was low? What if I missed every mark on those tree trunks? Cuff me up the head like a child?"
Legolas grinned. He could no longer consider Estel a child. He was the same boy that the elf had brought to Rivendell all those years ago, and he was different at the same time. There was a confidence in his expression, a broadness across his shoulders. He was a shadow of the man he was to become. "You're not a tot to be slapped and struck in correction, and I won't treat you like one."
"So what if I miss?"
Legolas's voice was tranquil and completely sure of Estel's ability. "You won't miss."
"But what if I do?" There was a flicker of uncertainty in the boy's voice that Legolas didn't like.
"You'll do it again. And again. And again. Until you get it right, or the light fails us, or you faint from exhaustion. Or all our arrows are lost. One of the above, or all of them."
Estel groaned good-naturedly. His arm was already aching with the thought of it. He tested his quiver again. It was slung across his back, and was much simpler than the quivers of Legolas or his brothers or any of the other elves, but it served its purpose, simple or not. Estel had had to stand still for many days and pull arrows from it over and over while Legolas watched, until it had been fitted to perfection.
"Those aren't just marks, Estel."
Estel snorted proud laughter, lowering his bow. "They're not?"
Legolas did not return the smile, or the laughter. His face was silent. "They're not. They're the yrch from the plains. The ones that took you."
Estel's face went rigid and hard. "Legolas...don't."
"Yes. Do not turn your anger on me. Turn it on these orcs. The ones that held you down while you screamed. The ones that took down your comrades. The ones that killed your father. Remember how they laughed? Remember their cold hands as they dragged you through the night?"
"Don't do this, Legolas, you know not what you do."
Legolas's face was cold and still. "I know that you can avenge your father, if you will quit whining and joking and listen to me. Believe my words. Those marks are what I say they are. So take them down!!"
Estel's hand flew to his back, sending the arrows right and accurate. His markmanship was effortless. His bowstring sang. Five arrows flew from his bow, and five arrows stuck out from the trunks he had aimed at.
When he lowered his bow, there was silence in the woods. Even the birdsong had ceased. The earth and trees seemed to tremble.
"Legolas....Why did you do that?"
"So that your aim would be straight and your heart would be true."
"...It was cruel."
"It worked, didn't it?" Legolas walked around him and up to the trees, inspecting the arrows before ripping them from the thick bark. "I do not want you to be like Elladan and Elrohir. They hunt and they kill and they do it well, but it's a game to them."
There was the slightest trace of bitterness in the elf's voice. "They treat everything like a game, and it's dangerous. I do not want you to be like them. They kill orcs for sport, but they don't understand the danger of it. You've seen orcs for what they really are. That's why I did it. Never treat killing as a sport, Estel...no matter how dark and evil the things you hunt."
He looked back at Estel, who was regarding him with a cool, angry gaze. He smiled a little, tossing one of the arrows to the boy, who caught it deftly.
"That one was off the mark a little. The rest of the orcs fell. That one lived for a few seconds more, just long enough to cleave your skull in two and leave your blood and brains on the grass. Do it again, and cleaner this time." He walked over and handed all the arrows back to the boy, looking down into his face. "Do them all again."
"Sometimes I hate you, Legolas."
Legolas smiled. "No you don't."
Estel tried to maintain his furious expression a few moments longer, then smiled back grudgingly, fighting back the urge to laugh. "Ai. Maybe not." He slung the bow over his shoulder, then looked up at Legolas. "Legolas...I know, you don't have a lot of time these days, but...I'm big enough now to carry one of the training swords from the armory. Would you-"
"Teach you?" Legolas did not like where these questions were going. He was fine with teaching the boy how to use a bow; every elf learned it, male or female, as a means of defense. But a sword...if you were close enough to your enemy to use a sword, you were close enough to be killed. He tried to tell himself that to teach the boy this thing would be no different than anything else he had taught. It didn't matter that Estel was already a good rider, and a promising archer, and a deadly quiet, patient hunter. He knew from what he had already taught Estel that he could teach him this too, and he knew the boy would succeed at it. But he knew he shouldn't encourage the boy now, for Estel's own sake. Elrond was protective of him, and with good reason. He could be reckless when challenged. He had become a fiery-tempered young man by necessity. He would never run away from a dare.
"....Very well," he said, finally, looking down at Estel. Their eyes locked for a few long seconds, and Estel dropped his first, as was proper.
"Thanks, Legolas."
Legolas began to walk away, back towards the Great Hall. "I wouldn't thank me just yet, Estel. You only thought archery was hard. Swordplay will be worse. You can thank me when you can put that obnoxious Yarra to shame with it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Review, people!