Chapter 3
Back in Imladris…
The enraged boy was having trouble leading his horse into the stable. The Black reared and shied away, wild-eyed. Legolas ran up and took the lead line from him. "Here, give him to me. You cannot handle a horse in your condition – you are upsetting him more than he already is." He spoke softly to the plunging horse, a murmuring of gentle nonsense, until the black hooves were again on the ground, and the ears, which had been flat back against the head, came forward again.
"Did you hear what they said! How could they – I will not let them take him! No! Not if I have to leave Imladris!"
"Hush, now." Legolas spoke almost as soothingly to Estel as to his horse. "No one is going to take him away. And you might have guessed they would have little good to say, at first."
"But, they said – they said he was of the Dark One! Just because he is black! To hear them tell it, his eyes glow red with evil and he will eat me as I sleep!"
"Yes, Erestor was a little over the top with that. Still, let me deal with your family. Right now we must get this one into a stall and quieted down and fed. He has never been in a stable before; it will be very strange to him."
Estel took a deep breath and let it out again. He sighed, "I am sorry, Legolas. I am sorry to you, too, little black." Little by little they coaxed the horse into his new home.
Later, in the library, an unusually stern Legolas spoke to Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor. "If you wanted to drive him from his home, you have gone about it the best way you possibly could."
"Legolas, no warrior of Imladris rides a black horse!"
"They would if Orcs were coming and there was nothing else to ride into battle! I did not look for such superstitions here. My own people are riddled with them and the Valar know I have tried to root it out of them."
Glorfindel spoke up, "Legolas is right. We do not like black horses here, but there is no rational reason behind it. What bothers me more is his size and slightness of build."
Legolas turned to him sharply, "Considering that Estel is two feet shorter than you and rides lighter than you, the fact that his horse is smaller than Asfaloth is really not a point of argument, Glorfindel!" The Balrog Slayer blinked.
Erestor took up the attack. "Estel has just turned 13 and will now begin going out on trade missions and other such journeys to learn more about his world. How will he keep up? And surely that little horse cannot last out a full days' march."
"He may surprise you. I think he may be from Harad and – "
"Now there is a point in his favor—a horse of the enemy!"
And so, on and on it went, into the night. Estel, fortunately, was sleeping in the stable to ensure his steed would settle in well, so he did not hear all the things said of his beloved 'little Black.'
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Legolas returned to the stable as the stars were dimming in the early morning sky. He did not shout or rage or frighten any horses, but a small muscle jumped in his cheek and his eyes were flint. Estel climbed sleepily from the nest of hay he had built in the Black's stall. "What happened? May I keep him or must I go?"
"You may keep him." The words were clipped.
"Is everything all right? What happened?"
"No, it is not. Your father and his counselors are the most – they are the – and Glorfindel! Who I thought we could count on – to think I thought my father was stubborn!"
"What happened?"
Legolas ground out, "You may keep him and ride him, here, in the valley. However, when you leave the valley, you must ride something more suitable."
"I will not." Estel's voice was calm. "I will ride no horse but the Black."
"I cannot discuss this any further right now. I am too angry to think what is best to do at the moment. Also, now that we are back I must go to the archery field, and you are to return to your lessons."
Estel put his hand on Legolas' arm and stroked it, trying to soothe him as his friend had so often done for him. "You go ahead to the field and try not to shoot Glorfindel."
Legolas snorted and Estel smiled. "Well, try as hard as you can. Ada always says that 'as hard as you can' is good enough."
At that Legolas actually laughed. "What will you be doing while I am trying to not shoot Glorfindel?"
"I will scrounge something to eat from the kitchen and then I will go to my lessons. We will meet at dinner and in the meantime we can try to think of a way to make them accept him."
So saying, the two parted, one to try to not shoot Glorfindel, and one to give his beautiful horse one last caress before running off to the house. But as Estel was bolting the stall shut, one of the stable elves came to feed Asfaloth. With the proprietary interest of a new owner, Estel watched as the grain was poured into the manger. "Is that how much he eats every day? It seems like a great deal."
"He is being prepared for the festival next week. He will need much energy to win the race, as Lord Glorfindel assuredly intends him to do."
Estel stood stock still, mouth open. It was as if a Vala had come down and personally told him what to do. He closed his mouth with a snap and ran from the stable to read the parchment pegged to the outside wall. He had paid little attention to the fact that the festival was coming up soon. Since Elrond, Legolas, and the twins never competed, he really had no one to root for (rooting for Glorfindel to win a horse race was like rooting for the sun to rise). Suddenly, though, he was very interested in the festival. If he could do well with the Black they would have to accept that he was as good as any horse in Imladris. He decided to skip his lessons. Everyone would expect him to be upset, and he had much to think about. He ran off to his favorite secluded spot for hiding or thinking.
The first thing he thought made him very uncomfortable and unhappy. He could not tell Legolas. There was no way around it. The elf was his friend, but he would never let Estel do something dangerous. Estel was young but no fool. He knew every single grown-up—including, sadly, Legolas—would think a 13 year-old human riding a horse (that he had only had for three weeks) in a race against adult elves would fall well within the category of 'dangerous'. It seemed to him to be a betrayal but Legolas would understand in the end. Maybe.
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No one saw much of Estel the rest of that week and the next. Everyone thought they knew why, so they did not compare reasons. Most thought that he was pouting, but since he was not running away or creating scenes at meals, they decided to leave him to himself, at least for a time. Legolas, busy at the archery field, simply thought Estel wanted to spend most of his time with his new horse. Legolas was closest to the truth.
The most important of the equestrian events was a ten mile race around the entire valley. Although, like any boy, Estel had moments of reverie where he and the Black won all honors and were acclaimed by men and elves, he was pragmatic enough to know just how unlikely that result was. He would be happy if they finished somewhere in the middle of the pack. He needed to show that the Black was as good as most; he did not need to be the best of all.
Every morning Estel left the house before the last stars left the sky. That way he could use the training ground with no one being the wiser. He rode the Black over the training jumps and obstacles that were set out at all times for the warriors and their horses. Every time he jumped, the front of the saddle hit him in the stomach. Oof! No wonder elves often go bareback! Other than that, he had no problems. He had learned to jump on his ponies and the Black seemed to jump naturally so they quickly moved on to higher and higher fences. His stomach was black and blue by the end of the week and he had to be careful that no one saw him in his bath or dressing.
When he was done on the training ground, he and the Black would gallop from one end of the valley to the other. The race would cover all sorts of terrain, so Estel was careful to ride the steep trails as well as the flatter ones. Fortunately, the Black had been living 'rough' and running over the harsh plains above Imladris so his legs and wind were already toughened.
One morning, when there had been a rain shower the night before, Estel made an incredible discovery. One end of the valley had a flat path where he could ride very fast that was lined with tall wildflowers and ferns. That momentous morning they were covered with thousands of crystalline drops of water. They soaked Estel's leggings and boots and so he drew his legs up to keep them clear. That meant he had to lean forward to keep his balance, and the Black, who had seemed to be running very fast indeed, speeded up even more. At the end of the track Estel looked back, thinking. He set the Black running down the way they had come and he pulled his feet up again. Now he was riding with his thighs nearly parallel to the ground, his feet half-way up his horse's sides, and leaning far forward over his neck. The Black ran even faster.
At the end of the workout, when the horse had been cared for, Estel took the sweaty tack out to the yard to clean it. He set the saddle on a stand and stepped back. The pommel and cantle rose steeply from the seat; such was the elven fashion. He rubbed his hand over his sore belly and had an idea. He ran for a knife and hatchet and carefully cut five inches from the pommel so that it did not stick up as far as it had done. There was hardly any pommel left at all. He hid the saddle in the straw of the Black's stall and waited impatiently for the next day.
The next morning Estel shortened his stirrups a little and tried the training ground exercises. He was amazed at how much easier it was to jump without the pommel hitting him anymore. He could go with the motion of the Black's jump more easily, and the little horse began to land farther out from the fences and take off from farther back. He soared like a bird. When they sprinted, Estel found that very short stirrups helped them to go much faster. He practiced the new position, learning how to hold his hands and move his body along with the Black's.
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Race day dawned clear and bright, with just a little nip in the air. The stable, even very early in the morning, was crowded with elves getting their horses ready. Manes were braided, coats were polished, and ribbons affixed to bridles and stirrups. Estel did as all the others, causing many joking comments.
"Going racing, are we? Of course, children do like to pretend!"
Carefully braiding long scarlet ribbons in the mane from ears to withers, and letting long streamers hang down, Estel growled under his breath but made no audible reply. Then came the moment Estel had been dreading.
"Estel! I have been looking for you. We need to find a good place to watch from -" Legolas came to a stop by the stall door and looked at his friend in consternation. "What are you doing? Do not tell me you are thinking of – no, not even you would-"
"I just wanted him to look nice today, like all the other horses. Is there something wrong with that?" But Estel could not meet the blond elf's eyes. He busied himself with brushing out the long tail. "You go on to the field. I will come as soon as I am finished. I think my brothers are home from patrol this morning. You should go look for them and find us all a good spot."
Legolas looked long and hard at the boy, until at last Estel straightened and met his eyes squarely. "Truly Legolas, I will not do anything foolish. I will join you, I promise."
Legolas frowned. "You promise me."
"Yes, I promise."
Legolas smiled and chucked him under the chin. "I will see you there, then. Come soon, the tarts you like so much will be gone as soon as Elladan and Elrohir get there!"
End Chapter 3
A/N This story is dedicated to the memory of Federico Caprilli. Caprilli was the originator of the "forward seat" in 1890. An Italian cavalry officer, he thought horses could run faster and jump higher if the rider's weight was off their backs and the rider's hands and arms would follow the motion of the head. At that time, people jumped with long stirrups, leaning backward over the top of the fence. The elven saddle used in the FotR movie gave me the idea for this story. The pommel is impossibly high. In the elves' defense, high pommels and cantles have been used by all cultures that engaged in hand-to-hand combat while on horseback. The first time a rider used what is now well-known as the "jockey seat" he beat the pants off the 'long stirrup' boys. Today, all jockeys ride the in the way Estel just discovered.