Author's Note:
Kindly note that I do NOT write slash of any kind. Hence, none of my stories should EVER be taken in that account or be remarked as such. Kindly respect this viewpoint. Thank you.
Taking up the suggestion of a reader Yuki Suou, who wanted to see a fiction of the sons of Elrond.
Imladris,
Third Age.
"I wonder which one of us is the harder teacher." Glorfindel mused. Legolas looked up to see him lounging peacefully by the window, long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles where his feet rested on the footstool. The golden-haired Elf had his hands interlaced behind his head, basking in the sunlight.
"You are wondering or you are musing on whether to test your thoughts?" Legolas asked dryly, returning to his book, flipping a page.
"Maybe I am leaning to the latter," there was a sliver of amusement in the Elf's voice. "After all, the twins have been insisting on joining the hunts for orcs for some time now."
"Are they?" that peaked his interest and he looked up, flipping the book closed and placing it on the table. They made it a point to meet now and then to discuss teaching the twins the art of war. While Glorfindel excelled tremendously in handling the different types of swords, shields, spears and the various fighting forms, Legolas excelled in archery, stealth and silent killing. Elrond had insisted his sons knew as much as they could of both, not wanting them to be underequipped. "Well now, they should indeed know what it will be like to fight in such a manner."
Silent laughter lit up Glorfindel's eyes. "Indeed they should." He said laughing. He lifted his legs off the footstool and placed them upon the floor. "Come. No doubt they would be waiting for us on the fields."
"Of course, and I intend to give them a complete idea as to what it will be like in fighting the enemy continuously."
"My, son of Thranduil, I never knew you to be so sadistic."
"I never knew you to be manipulative."
Laughing the two mentors left the room. Legolas being far younger than Glorfindel, could not hope to match him when it came to learning by experience, but he had witnessed the War against Sauron, and that placed him in high regard and he had a natural talent that came to handling bows. Glorfindel respected the younger Ellon, the same Legolas respected him for his unwavering bravery and the legend attached to his name.
They found the twins waiting them in the fields. Identical, and prone to dress in the same clothing and wear their hair in the same manner, the twins were hard to differentiate, except for the younger one Elladan, was said to have a keen eye, and Elrond was half-suspicious he had inherited his foresight. But the boy spoke nothing of it. The twins had taken after his father's style of growth that spoke of their mortal descent, growing slowly once like Elf-children and then in spurts after the Race of Men. It had troubled CelebrÃan and the rest much but Elrond was unfazed by it, calmly asking the seamstresses to ready new clothing with newer measurements.
"My brother and I gave our dear foster-fathers great pains, growing the same way." Elrond said, giving a dry smile and shaking his head. "It will pass once they reach majority."
So the two children, though they were in their eyes, were far mature in thought and possessed a strength that belied their smaller frames. It was then Elrond realized that they were ready to be taught in the art of war and insisted them to have instructors.
"Today we are going to do something different." Legolas announced. Outside the fields, he had befriended the twins. Inside the fields, he and Glorfindel were in charge. Glorfindel shot him a curious look and the twins looked surprised and a bit apprehensive at the same time. If Glorfindel had spoken, they could guess what they were up to. But Legolas was the one who was unpredictable. "First, we are going to start with some discipline instilling."
The twins were openly apprehensive now.
Nearly two hours later, Glorfindel and Legolas stood with their arms crossed, the sun three hours from noon as they watched the two young Elves struggle to hold a bucket full of water above their heads. Anytime their arms would falter, an alert soldier would rap their hands, forcing them to correct their position.
"Instilling discipline?" Glorfindel asked wryly. They took alternate days to take lead of the twins' training.
"You need to be disciplined to follow the leader's orders." Legolas replied primly. Finally he called out, "That is enough!"
The twins dropped the buckets with relieved sighs, before groaning from the pain shooting up their arms.
"You will not complain." Legolas ordered sternly. He nodded the soldier who had been watching the twins like a hawk. "Drill them through their forms."
The soldier nodded, rapping Elladan on his shoulder sharply with his wooden staff. "Move," he barked. "Go in your positions." He started to call out the forms and the twins kept with him, arms and back stiff. Slowly the soldier built up a pace, forcing the twins to struggle along. The twins were nearly forty years of age, only a decade from their majority. Soon, they will be allowed to join patrols.
"When you are out with the soldiers," Legolas shouted over the brisk calls. "No one is going to care if you are tired, or cramped. You will move with the army or you are worthless." He continued, walking along the length of the field, watching carefully as the Elves moved. Whenever a form was not to Glorfindel's satisfaction, he would call out for them to do it again. Glorfindel refused to tell the sons of Elrond what was wrong with their forms, forcing them to do it again and again until they realized their mistakes. The two mentors' eyes met briefly and came to a mutual agreement. This was a test to see how far the twins would endure. Only then they could consider taking up a request to Elrond on this matter. And this test needed to be a hard one. They were the sons of Elrond, a royalty in their right, nobility in standing, and out in the Wild it will be a matter of life and death. The mentors themselves needed to know the twins could keep up.
When Glorfindel entered the field, gone was the brief smile and the joyful look in his eyes. The Warrior side of him had come, his face deadly and the swipes of his practice sword deadlier. The twins were facing one another and the Vanya as well. It turned into an intricate dance of footwork and swordplay. It was noontime and after sweat had flown freely and they were all bruised while Legolas watched did they break apart and decided to stop for some food and drink.
"Do not sit immediately." Legolas cautioned. If they did, their muscles would cramp suddenly and they will be in more pain than they could imagine. Instead the two mentors coaxed the twins into their seats and massaged their legs and back briefly while they ate before taking any refreshments themselves.
After noontime they returned to the fields, with Legolas asking the others tutors to leave the twins for the day.
"You are enjoying this." Glorfindel said.
"They wanted to take part in the hunts, fine, but I will not have two boys lollygagging behind the rest and being nothing but useless weights." Legolas said loudly, his voice carrying to the twins. If the sons of Elrond heard, they did not react to it, and if they had, they would still not reply. They learned long ago that if they shot back a remark at these two mentors, they would be in far more trouble than ever.
Legolas gestured at the two Elves as they stood in front of their targets before calling out the commands. He called out at a reasonable pace before becoming rapid to the point where accuracy began to suffer. He soon shifted them to another set of targets, which he had specially rigged for the day by some apprentices; moving targets, which crossed the fields at varying speeds at varying distances. Legolas' craft needed more delicacy than Glorfindel's, for he knew he could not push the twins too far. Unused to the strain the bows were putting on their arms for longer periods of time, their tendons would rip and the fibers of their muscles would tease apart if he was not too careful. The twins, strong and able as they were, were not used to this form of strain. Besides, the evening was coming quickly. Winter was close.
As the evening came, Legolas conjured up yet another form of test, one he knew the twins particularly detested. He pulled up small balls of metal, the jingling coming from inside them as even smaller balls rolled around within them. They were all cleverly painted, camouflaged against the colors of the sky. The twins regarded the balls with silent disgust but did not voice their misgivings. It was a good thing, for Legolas had planned to make the practice grow longer till the night if they had. Not archery no, but perhaps something else to keep their thoughts entertained for the next time they spoke against their mentors. Giving the balls to the soldiers who threw them in the air rapidly, the twins held up their bows and shoot just as rapidly, bows faltering just a little from exhaustion.
Finally, when the sun was beginning to set, Legolas had pity on them.
"We are done for today." In spite of drilling the discipline of keeping their faces schooled to nothing, he noticed the faint lines of relief appearing. He could not blame them. He had been hard on the two. Legolas mentally shook his head and held up the pouch before tossing it to them. "Here," he said. Elrohir caught it and opened it to reveal a pot closed off with a cork. "This is a salve specially used after intensive training. Mix a bit with your bathwater to ease your muscles and sooth your joints." He nodded at them both. "Dismissed. Now get out of my sight."
"You know," Glorfindel said softly. "When I planned to see how hard we were on the twins, I had not expected the day to turn out like this."
Legolas remained silent as they made their way up to the House. When they reached the steps and they ascended, Legolas finally spoke. "I lost my grandfather to a hasty charge that killed half of our army. Part of the reason was that they were not equipped to fight the enemy that had greater arms than we did. If they ever find themselves fighting the enemy alone, they should have discipline and stamina beside their skills to do so."
"I have decided you are a harder master than I!"
"Oh, as if that is ever possible! I saw the twins holding more bruises and walking with more difficulty on days that you lead!"
oOo
Orc Camp,
Third Age,
After the Sailing of Lady CelebrÃan.
They listened quietly to the orcs who fought over the Man-flesh they had conquered from a group of bandits that had been scouring through the Wild. Waves of contempt flickered through them as they heard their guttural cries and disgust. There were nearly forty-five orcs in the camp, a number that impressive against the two Elves, but burning in rage and lust for revenge as they were, it would not be a problem.
They went up slightly, and it was Elrohir who noticed the open barrel of water at the outer edge of the camp. He gestured at it towards his brother and then the campfire and nodded. Elladan nodded back. The two Elves made their way to the barrel of water, ladling out a bucketful and noticing that the orcs were far too greedy for meat than to make sure they were safe. Likely they thought they had no adversaries anymore in the area. What a terribly devious thought. They moved swiftly to the campfire, reckless of the case that they could now be seen. Sure enough, some of the orcs who could not reach the corpses saw them and howled out a warning. But by then Elladan had already grabbed three rough sticks of burning wood, throwing them in succession at different tents. Elrohir doused the fire, making sure it would not be available against them. the tents burst into flames and burned down, extinguishing just as quickly when the fires lost their fuel and the two Elves brought up their weapons, their bows first. They shot down quickly, the hands holding their bows grappling their arrows and their hands merely moving from that supply of arrows than reaching back to their quivers and wasting more time. They down at least seven to eight orcs each before they neared them. placing away their bows and taking up their swords they went back to back, protecting each other and making sure no blade went past their guard. It was not enough, for Elladan heard Elrohir give a soft hiss but paid no intention to it, feeling the strong comforting presence of his back pressed against his own and he knew whatever the wound, it was not an immediate fatal one. When they downed the last orc, they were both breathing heavily, chests heaving and their hearts beating wildly.
"You are hurt." It was not a question. Elladan frowned and added, "Come, you need me tend to that wound."
He did not argue, knowing the practicality of it and they went to a nearby burnt frame of a tent, seating outside to have some support for Elrohir to lean back against. Elladan shifted the torn fabric away and studied the wound. It was a long gash in his thigh, not too deep but deep enough to cut muscle. Elrohir could feel and use his lower leg, so it was not going to be a problem. Elladan pulled out the bag of medical supplies they kept replenished with them.
"I think Glorfindel and Legolas' relentless training has come of use after all." Elladan remarked.
"They would have had my head if they saw this wound." Elrohir retorted.
"Aye, there is that. This will sting and hurt." Elladan poured the fortified wine over the wound, causing Elrohir to hiss sharply. Then he readied his needle on a flame at the end of a branch he pulled from the fireplace, threading it and then proceeding to stitch his wound. Elladan was not much of a healer as Elrohir was but they had a mutual understanding never to treat their own wounds, for fear of underestimating a wound.
"At least the blades were not poisoned." Elladan's words broke through the haze of concentration Elrohir had conjured up to think of anything other than the needle going through his flesh.
"Small forms of mercies," Elrohir muttered, beads of sweat appearing. He would be limping for a while.
"Almost done," Elladan soothed, pressing a steadying hand on the knee of his wounded leg, keeping it from lurching up unintentionally as he worked. "I do not think they would have wanted this for us."
"I know." Elrohir said, leaning back but not resting his back on the burnt frame of the tent but
"They would be proud though." Elladan said. "If it had just been the orcs and nothing else involved."
"They would indeed."
Author's Note:
Has my writing changed? It just seems different somehow.
I am WAY behind replying to reviews but let me telling you I love each and every one of you guys when you review. Thank you so much!
If you have any suggestions, feel free to drop them and I will see if I could squeeze in a plotline for it.
Concept:
Yes, the subject of Legolas being older than the children of Elrond always seem to rise up somehow so let me explain.
Legolas saying that the forest of Fangorn was so old that he almost felt young again intrigued me. Searching Fangorn forest, I found out it had appeared sometime in the First Age in a form of a larger forest but over time it diminished and formed only the part of the forest which is Fangorn forest. Note the word 'almost young', which kind of suggested that he felt young but not quite. So I considering the idea that he was really old but Fangorn forest was definitely older. With regards to his personality, I would not call light-heartedness to be the sign of youth, since the sons of Elrond were grim and yet Glorfindel was regarded to be joyous and he is far older.
*swings trollfic at the author*
Ok, ok, I am going. Sheesh. :P
P.S. This story is much longer than the ones before it. Who knows? I might starting 9K one-shots. -.-
*Gets thrown out*
Ah, I am going! I am going! I will kick me out meself!
Who do you want to see next? :)