Here's Chapter Three! I guess I'd better start developing the latter part of the plot, eh? LOL :D Enjoy!

Chapter Three

Alix Evanston was reviewing her notes.

Though the few seats between us were still empty as I slipped into the room, she never raised her head to acknowledge me. I was one of the very few guys at Linden High School who was even capable of appreciating her for who she really was and treating her like a lady, as she so richly deserved. Even more, I'd been overflowing with crush ever since eighth grade. But no, history was still more important. Why? Why? WHY?

Oh. We had a test today. Maybe that was it.

Oops.

Mr. Edwards waited patiently for us to settle before he passed out the tests. His stance was that of a typical business-like teacher: we were only wasting our time, not his. It took a couple kids some moments to realize this before they quit gossiping, shut up, and sat down quietly. Then Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar, swung his hammer and let the papers be distributed at the hand of the teacher.

I squinted the smallest bit—not because my eyes were going bad, but in defiance of the challenge ahead—and readied my mind. How would Aragorn have steeled himself to face the Nazgûl? The Urûk-hai? The Mouth of Sauron? How would Arwen have kept herself calm as the wraiths accepted her challenge and started across the river of Imladris to claim Frodo?

As you can probably tell, I vastly prefer Peter Jackson's version of the flight to the ford sequence over Tolkien's original version with Glorfindel. Instead of sticking another random character into one scene of the entire saga, it gives Alix Evanston—er, Arwen—a starring role, not to mention more importance to the actual story.

A few at a time, tests were completed and bubble-filled answer slips laid beside them. When the last desk had been stripped naked of its burden, Edwards casually took a seat on the edge of his desk and surveyed the class. "A king and his sword…" he began, leading the transition into our next topic of medieval history.

"A man's blade was his life. I happen to be most fortunate." Edwards stood and took two long, graceful strides to the closet behind his desk. "This particular artifact has been in my family for years." In the space of a heartbeat, he un-sheathed a massive sword from inside.

A collective gasp burst from the room. No one had ever expected this. Being such a fine academic institute, LHS has a very explicit no-weapons policy, and here Mr. Edwards kept a freaking sword in his closet.

Mr. Edwards tilted the blade to and fro in his hand as he rattled off a list of things that, while we may have had no clue that they meant or what they even were, sounded like very good things to have in a sword. The seemingly delicate edge scintillated alluringly, dangerously, under the fluorescents; the poor thin classroom lighting was just enough to show the intricate markings etched artfully into the blade. And that blade seemed to be about ten feet long.

Oh, my God. For one heart-stopping second, I could have sworn that Edwards had managed to nab a copy of Anduríl from the Lord of the Rings props department.

"There are but few who can wield a sword such as this. Do I have any volunteers?"

Crickets struck up an interlude somewhere in a corner of the silence.

Edwards stopped next to Collin Torino's desk. "Mr. Torino? Go on, give it a try."

Collin straightened from his slouch, pulled up his jeans one measly half-inch over his red plaid boxers as if it would help anything, and placed one pencil-calloused hand over the long hilt.

I gulped. That hilt looked identical to the one in the movies. It had a small fan-shaped detail on the very end and the exact same leather wrapping.

Collin pulled the sword slowly out of its scabbard, muscles flexing even along his back. I could see them through his t-shirt. The tip of the blade whispered free and immediately clattered to the floor, echoing with a ghastly commotion to rival old Ms. Winston's chalkboard carvings in biology class. I sympathized deeply with the poor teacher underneath Edwards's room.

Collin flushed scarlet and slunk down in his seat as Edwards slid the blade back in its sheath.

"Someone else?" he pressed. "Ladies, I assure you my intentions are not sexist. A volunteer? Perhaps one of you could give the gentlemen a run for their fortune."

Money, I thought. The colloquialism is 'run for one's money.' Although 'run for one's fortune' sounds way cooler. I wanted so badly to turn around and read the expression on Alix Evanston's face, to see if maybe she was working up the courage to accept Edward's gentle challenge. Given Arwen's sword was far smaller and much lighter weight, a slender Elven blade and one made for a woman at that, but still maybe she could…

"Mr. Charleston."

Mike Charleston was a football and lacrosse player, as his well-conditioned bulk of muscle proclaimed. He seemed to swagger as he stood, preparing to show all the wusses who was lord.

Again the same thing happened. The weight of the sword nearly brought him to his knees, and he jumped back just in time to keep his Nike Airwalks from being decimated by only God knew how many deadly pounds of sharpened hair-edged steel.

No one could even lift the sword. Much to my adoring pride, Alix Evanston did give it a try, but she couldn't even pull it halfway out. Edwards gave her a smile that said he was very impressed, explaining to the class—in the most non-sexist way possible— that the blade was not even crafted for a woman's hands.

I kept a low profile, secretly salivating to lay my hands on a supposed replica of Tolkien's Anduríl, Flame of the West, the Blade Which Was Broken. Aragorn's sword. The Sword of Kings. But most of me could sense all too well the threat of inevitable embarrassment which had plagued even the most popular guys in my class.

"Mr. Mortensen?"

Crap.

I looked up very reluctantly and met Edwards's gaze. He had retreated to the area near his desk, but he held the hilt toward me, encouraging me with his eyes.

"Edrian."

Edwards was giving me no choice. I stood slowly and made my way to the front of the room. Thank God I'd picked today to grab a blue Hollister crewneck before school. I may have been about to be humiliated in front of the entire class, not to mention Alix Evanston, but at least I would look good doing so.

As I wrapped my fingers around the hilt, some kid bellowed Rocky-style in the back of the room, as per jock tradition. "Yo, Adrian!"

It's Edrian, I snarled. With an E. As in Egg. As in Edmund. As in—I allowed myself to think for just one moment—as in Estel. Suddenly enflamed with energy from his comment, I reminded myself of the supreme length of the sword and pulled its hilt with all my strength.

With a silvery metallic hiss, the blade slid out of its scabbard, as smooth as anybody's dream Mercedes, and balanced itself perfectly in my hand.