DISCLAIMER: I do not own the fabulous works of the Lord of the Rings. If I did do you think I'd be writing this? Anything you recognize as Tolkien's or of Tamora Pierce (I highly recommend that you read her books!) is not mine. All I own is Vaitya.

Jousting Elf with a Sabre: Long time no talk! Lol. Cool! Thanks, I look into it. One problem, how do I do the author alert? Now I know what you're thinking. I'm a loser but whatever. You are on my favorite author sheet though. So I'll look into your written stories every once and a while and see if anything is new. That is if I don't figure out how to work the author alert thing. Hits computer Work you stupid machine! Thanks again!

Matrixelf: at first I thought you were mad that I didn't update. I was like- "Oh, my, god! What did I do wrong? Did I accidentally kill off a character?" No, it's cool. I've been busy with soccer and the like. I think that last chapter was a bit of a flop. It was really short! I'm trying to make them longer but I don't know if I'm doing so well at that. Well, thanks for reviewing!

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Chapter 9: My Knives

Prince? As in the Prince of Mirkwood, heir to the throne of the last elven kings in Middle Earth? Great not only have I made a fool of myself in front of some of the countless brilliant minds of the age I have insulted, numerous times I might add, a prince. Well I really do take the pie don't I. Don't think about it. Don't even-thinking about it, damn it.

Sense I am going on this quest I have asked Aragorn for some battle training. I'm a flop at archery and throwing daggers. Lightning, sure no problem that's easy. The lightning listens to me unlike my arm. I'm the same with a sword, as it makes me unbalanced. So he is trying to teach me the only real weapon left: knives.

You know at first the knives were very, very pretty. Of elven make they were practically weightless in my hands, just enough weight to realize you are holding them. Now I hate them. Not only do I officially suck I can't sign when I have them in my hands. If I'm in trouble there is no way for me to shout for help. With no way of communicating to the rest of the fellowship I do not have an advantage on the battlefield.

"That's it I give up!" I had thrown my knives on the ground in fury.

"You cannot give up. If you cannot defend yourself to some degree then how are you to survive?" Aragorn asked.

We had been practicing for some time now. We were both ready to call it a day.

"I still have my magic," my lips turned into a pout.

"And if that fails you where will you be?"

"Dead."

"Let's try it again," He is resisting the urge to roll his eyes, I can tell.

I know when I'm being difficult. It's a rarity but it does happen. Well, sometimes it's a rarity. I reluctantly retrieve my blades from the dirt, giving them a glare of dislike. We begin again.

Dust drifts around our ankles as we shuffle back and forth. Strider is going about a quarter of his regular attacking speed. I try to find the rhythm of the blades, struggling with the motions. After about 15 minutes we rest.

"You are getting better then you think. You no longer flinch when I strike," Aragorn said as I wiped my brow.

I say nothing, just giving him a glare that said clearly "yeah, right". As I refresh myself the prince, Elladan, and Elrohir walk into the arena.

"Estle do you always steal the pretty ladies away from us?" a twin said smiling at me.

I can feel a blush creep across my face.

"Now look Elladan you have made our fair company embarrassed." This obviously was from Elrohir.

"I have to go Aragorn. I will be here at 9 in the morning tomorrow as you asked," I wanted to get away quickly. They were making me nervous.

I curtsy and swiftly left the room. I looked back to see Legolas staring at me.