Chapter Five:
2019 Third Age, Ivanneth (September). Lasgalen: Greenwood the Great.
"I still think your decision is unwise at best, highly dangerous at worst." Lord Elrond shot back at Thranduil as he reached for his wine glass. The Queen and Lady Celebrían shared a querulous glance but otherwise kept their peace; the ongoing debate far too amusing to interrupt.
"My decisions are nothing other than wise at all times Eärendilion; and whilst a guest in my halls I trust you to remember that."
"That is a load of tripe and you know it Oropherion!" Elrond replied, refusing to be daunted. "You know full well the risks. Your decision is fraught with disaster and as per usual you are too damn stubborn to admit it."
"Is that so?" Thranduil purred. The servant hovering at Lady Celebrían's shoulder refilled her glass with remarkable haste and fled the patio. If Lord Elrond was fool enough to bait the bear in his own den then perhaps the House Guard best be alerted lest blood be spilled.
Elrond edged forward in his chair, warming to the argument. "Of course; what could you have been thinking—allowing Anaríel to begin weapons training? What possible good could come from teaching a sheltered elleth like Anaríel to use bow and blade? Think of the risks. Has the elleth ever even been near a bow?"
The Queen cleared her throat covering the giggle that had inadvertently slipped. Celebrían eyed her curiously as Thranduil shot his wife a glare—there was a story here it would seem.
"I would think the benefits would be obvious but since you are blind with either folly or complacency I shall spell them out."
"Thranduil," the Queen purred laying a hand on the King's arm. "Forgive my husband's rash words Elrond. I assure you we discussed the matter most thoroughly from all angles. To be quite honest, the idea is more mine than anyone's. Once Anaríel expressed an interest in training—and she is only receiving lessons in bowmanship I might add—I began to see the wisdom of it.
"Change is coming. None of us can deny it. Dark rumors are in the air; the trees whisper of a growing shadow in the south; orcs multiply more than ever in the Hithaeglir. While it wrenches my heart to say it, I fear it may not be long ere we find ourselves besieged. Anaríel's mother was not mistaken in her fears. We all recognized Nimrodel's uncanny gift of foresight. Many dark things she predicted have sadly come true.
"My husband and I have held council with our Weapons Master and he confers. It would be wise for Anaríel, and any other elleth who is willing, to learn at least to defend themselves with a bow. We are by no means intending on sending them out as scouts with the ellon. Nor will we ever expect them to heed the call to arms should ever it come. But I tell you this, I will rest easier knowing Anaríel can handle a bow with some degree of skill."
"I hear you." Lady Celebrían agreed. "The Hithaeglir has become increasingly dangerous and our visits to my naneth and adar become fewer and farther between. I fear one day the mountain passes will become too perilous and we will find ourselves cut off. Ever often of late has my mind turned to Arwen. She has been after me the last month to let Elladan and Elrohir give her some rudimentary training."
Elrond sat up glancing sharply at his wife. "When were you planning on telling me this?"
Celebrían shrugged. "In good time after the twins had given me their opinion. Elrohir objects to the idea of letting Arwen train in hand to hand combat; nor do I feel it is necessary as an elleth's strength clearly would never stand up to an orc in a close fight. However, Elladan told me this morning he would be willing to work with Arwen on the basics."
"No daughter of mine shall ever raise a sword!" Elrond cried.
"I pray it never come to that meleth nín, but I too would rest easier knowing our daughter was at least familiar handling the business end of one."
"This is your fault Oropherion!" Elrond growled.
Thranduil burst out laughing, his warm, baritone rolling richly with mirth. Three shocked pairs of eyes turned to him while he thumped the arms of his chair wiping tears from his eyes.
"What? Does no one else see the humor in this? Come now Elrond; concede defeat for it is clear your Lady wife feels what may be good for this goose is good for her gander!"
"AIM-DRAW-RELEASE. Again. AIM-DRAW-RE--."
"Oh it is no use." Anaríel sighed with disgust as yet another arrow thudded into the dirt yards from the target.
"How can you say that?" Legolas replied gathering up the spent arrows littering the yard. "You have just begun training, I think we have only been at it what—a month?"
"It simply is not fair." Anaríel pouted, flexing her stiff fingers. "You make this look so easy. I have never seen anyone as fast and accurate as you."
"Practice Arí that is all it is. How many years have I been training?"
"I do not care. All I have to say is nothing that looks so effortless has any right to be so painful. I do not think there is a single muscle in my arms and back that is not on fire. Not too mention my poor fingers."
"Here, give me." Legolas grinned, coming over and taking Anaríel's hands in his own, massaging the cramped digits. "I promise you it will get easier as you get stronger."
"Hmph," Anaríel's eyes drifted shut. "That feels nice. Do not stop—your penance for working me so hard."
Legolas continued working the cramps from the elleth's hands. Soon he found himself staring distractedly at the freckles dusting Anaríel's nose. He never realized quite how fetching freckles could be. His eyes dropped a bit lower and rested on the elleth's lips, odd how he had never really noticed them before. It was not until Elladan's attempted folly had he really looked at his foster sister. Now it seemed all he could do, and with every moment came a new discovery. For instance, at that very moment Anaríel's lips looked amazingly smooth and soft, the lower protruding ever so slightly in evidence of her discomfort. The tip of her tongue appeared at the corner of her mouth. Abruptly Legolas dropped her hands, stumbling back a step as if pushed.
"What?" Anaríel asked her eyes flying open in alarm.
"Nothing—ready for another go?"
Anaríel flexed her hands. "Very well, they feel much better, you have my thanks."
"Think nothing of it. Now concentrate. Focus on the target." Legolas recited the now all too familiar litany as he circled to stand behind her, sighting over her shoulder; his breath ever so lightly tickling her ear. "Envision the arrow hitting the center of the target. Ready? AIM-DRAW-RELEASE!"
The arrow twanged with an oddly discordant note. Anaríel gave a sharp cry and stumbled backward as the bowstring snapped, catching her in the temple.
Legolas cried out in dismay as he watched her go down as if in slow motion, her head hitting a protruding tree root. The Prince was at her side in an instant.
"Arí—Arí speak to me! By the Valar, this is my fault!" Legolas gently cradled the elleth's head in his lap as he pulled the hair from her temple. The bowstring had cut the tender skin when it snapped but it was a small wound and not bleeding too heavily. The blow from the tree root was another matter entirely and had him greatly concerned. Carefully he probed the back of Anaríel's skull and felt a knot forming.
"My fault—all my fault," the Prince whispered repeatedly as he gently rocked the small frame in his arms. "I should have seen it coming. I should have known something like this would happen. I should not be practicing with her unsupervised in the first place." He moaned, laying his cheek against the top of her head, wondering what to do.
Slowly Anaríel stirred. "How is it possible that the ground came up to hit me?" she moaned opening her eyes; Legolas' fear-filled face all she could see.
"It wasn't the ground but a tree root. Are you all right?"
"I—I think so. What happened?" Anaríel pushed against Legolas as she tried to sit up. Gently he raised her.
"Your bowstring snapped—I am so sorry!"
"Why are you sorry?" she hissed touching her temple. "I am the idiot who failed check to see if her bow was strung properly."
"You are no idiot! You are the bravest elleth I know."
Anaríel shot the ellon an odd look as she unsteadily levered herself to her feet.
Legolas quickly reached out steadying her. "Are you sure you are all right?"
"I think so. My pride is more wounded than anything else."
"Arí," the elleth glanced up; Legolas' hands rested on her shoulders and she had to tip her aching head back to meet his eyes. Amazing how tall he was getting. He was almost his adar's height yet still had a ways to go before reaching full maturity.
"Arí, I cannot tell you how sorry I am about this, it is all my fault. I should have noticed the string. I should have—anyway, I cannot practice with you anymore."
Anaríel's eyes grew wide, "why ever not?"
"Because I am still in training myself and you need a Master supervising you."
"Nonsense! You are better than anyone—everyone says so. Even Herdir Peng agrees.
"No Arí, this should never have happened. I made a promise to Adar—to make sure you came to no harm. I have failed him. More importantly, I have failed you."
"Do not be ridiculous! How many times has the very same thing happened to you? You were ever cuts and bruises all over when you started training. I cannot remember how many times you had to be patched up. Le'las hear me; you are the best teacher anyone could hope for. You did not fail anyone. I will be the first to tell Adar. You are not to blame for my own carelessness."
Legolas looked at her skeptically as the elleth's expression grew mutinous. "Very well," he finally conceded. "Let us find Lord Elrond. That cut needs looking at and I am sure you could do with a tisane for the headache you must be feeling."
elleth/ellyth (pl.): female elf
ellon/ellyn (pl.): male elf
Hithaeglir: Misty Mountains
adar: father
naneth: mother
meleth nín: my love
Herdir Peng: Bow Master