Chapter 5

"You have to move your feet more – unless of course you want to be unbalanced and easily killed in battle!"

"Alternatively I could just throw the sword at your face!" Éponine shot back. There were three days until they left with the Fellowship on what would be an incredibly long journey, and she was already more than willing to kill the man known as Boromir. The past two days of training had been incredibly frustrating, with every word out of his mouth making her want to strangle him.

"Then you would be unarmed and make an easy target, and you would probably miss anyway," Boromir retorted.

"This is stupid! Why not just use guns and canons, like in the rebellion?" she snapped. Boromir raised an eyebrow, a look of pure confusion on his face.

"There are no guns in this world, Éponine, that would be impossible," Combeferre reminded her gently. "Perhaps she would be better suited to a bow?" he added as a suggestion.

"That just seems equally stupid," she muttered under her breath.

"If it means I don't have to put up with her bad attitude anymore, that's fine by me," Boromir huffed, turning his full attention to Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

"Come on then, 'Ponine, let's go see Legolas for some archery lessons," Combeferre said cheerfully.

Éponine groaned. "Why is all of this even necessary?"

"This world is heading for a much bigger war than the rebellion, and we're going on a long journey. It will be very dangerous. We need to be able to defend ourselves," he replied.

"I suppose you're right... But it's just so frustrating, and he is particularly annoying." Éponine shot a glare in Boromir's direction as they went to join the archery lesson.

"You'll manage. We all will," Combeferre replied gently. How he could be so calm all the time was beyond Éponine's understanding, and, if she were to be honest, it truly drove her crazy. Nevertheless, she followed him to where Legolas was attempting – and failing – to show Lesgles, also known as Bossuet, how to string a bow. Éponine was glad he had the nickname, his real name would forever have been confused in her head with that of the elf.

"If you're not careful, you're going to hit yourself in the eye," the pointy eared blonde was telling the clumsy bald man, his seemingly endless patience clearly beginning to wear thin.

"I'm trying," Bossuet replied, "I really am. I just have nothing but bad luck."

Éponine's frustration melted away and was replaced with sympathy for the man. She hadn't known him long, but she already knew what he said was true. Just the week before he had dropped a sword on his foot – mercifully only the hilt had hit him – and two days before he had done the same with an arrow, which he had escaped with barely a scratch, it had fallen as he'd attempted to fire it, and with no force behind the arrow it had been perfectly harmless. And those had only been his incidents with weapons, the poor man had experienced a bit of other misfortune in the past week and a half as well.

"Bossuet, why don't you go join Joly in learning about the herbs and remedies that can be used here instead?" Combeferre suggested, wincing as Legolas' prediction very nearly came true, the bow smacking Bossuet in the forehead.

"That sounds like a much better idea for me," Bossuet decided quickly, rubbing his head where he had just hit it with the bow.

"It really is," Combeferre told him.

"Yeah, you're really not suited to swords. Or bows. Or any weapon, probably," Éponine put in bluntly.

Bossuet turned bright red in response before hurrying off.

"You didn't have to be mean," Combeferre scolded.

"I wasn't mean. I was just honest," Éponine retorted. "How is honesty mean?"

"By being phrased rudely."

"Well I fail to see how I was rude."

"Will you both just settle down?" Legolas interrupted, looking slightly irked. "I assume you're here to learn archery?"

"Yes, we are," Combeferre replied quickly. "If you would be so kind as to continue teaching me, and to begin with Éponine."

"Of course," Legolas replied. "It's going to be a long and dangerous journey, you need to be able to defend yourselves."

"We know that, that's why we're here," Éponine replied dryly. Combeferre shot her a disapproving look in response to her sass. She merely rolled her eyes back at him. Legolas, meanwhile, had no response to her comment at all.

"Pick up a bow, then," he said simply. Éponine and Combeferre both complied with his request. "Combeferre, I know you know how to string a bow, as I've already taught you. Éponine, have you ever learned?"

"No," she replied. "But how hard can it be?" She proceeded to grab a bow string and attempt to string the bow, her fingers fumbling clumsily, with little success in accomplishing her task.

"Much harder than it looks, actually," Combeferre replied, watching her with a touch of amusement.

"Shut up bookworm!" she snapped, scowling at him and continuing to frantically try to succeed and failing.

"Would you like some help?" he offered, stepping towards her.

"Don't you dare!" she retorted furiously.

Legolas, meanwhile, had to struggle not to laugh at the interaction. At first he had thought the skinny girl would be a nuisance with her sass, her stubbornness was quickly proving to be amusing.

"There, I got it!" Éponine held up her bow proudly, and Legolas took a deep breath.

"Almost. You were close, but that's too tight. The string will snap if you try to shoot anything," Legolas explained. "Here, let me show you how to do it properly."

Éponine opened her mouth to stop him, but quickly thought better of it and simply nodded. Realistically she knew she was going to have to accept his help. "Fine," she replied bitterly, handing him the bow and allowing him to show her how to string it properly. "I guess I'll have to let you help. And don't you dare say anything!" she added quickly with a glare at Combeferre.

"I wouldn't dream of it," the young medical student replied with a smile.

"Good!" Éponine proceeded to turn her attention to the elf, watching carefully as he strung the bow properly, doing her best to commit each action to memory. She was not going to make another mistake.

"I just don't understand any of this, Combeferre!" It was evening, and Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting outside in the gardens. Rather, Combeferre was sitting while Enjolras paced, frustration evident on his face.

"Understand what, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked, adjusting his glasses.

"All of this!" Enjolras gestured around them. "This place, what we're doing here- We died, 'Ferre. We shouldn't be here. We should be back in Paris, fighting for freedom! Or at least dead from trying!"

"You're right, we did die. But we don't get a say in what happens to us after death. We're here now, for better or for worse, and I'm sure there is a very good reason for us being here, even if we don't know it yet, or what that reason may be," Combeferre told his friend gently. "I promise you, we will figure this out somehow. But for now, it is best if we just accept that we are here for a reason and make the most of our situation."

"I don't want to accept it!" Enjolras retorted. "I want to go back. I need to go back."

"As I've just told you, we don't have a choice. There is no going back, mon ami."

"Not that we know of. There still could be."

"Well even if there is, we don't know it, as you just said." Combeferre did his best to be patient. "As much as there could be a way, there also very well could not be a way. So you're just going to have to be patient and accept our situation, Enjolras."

Enjolras sighed, running a hand through his hair. His friend was right and he knew it, he just hated admitting it. "This place is just- We don't belong here, 'Ferre."

"I know, Enjolras. And I know it's especially hard for you when you've given your entire life to freeing France, but we are here now and we have an opportunity to help the people here. Do you think you can at least try?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras nodded in response. "Of course. I can try. I am trying, believe me, I am. And I can do more than try."

"Good, because we'll be leaving in a few days and this will take all of our effort," Combeferre reminded him.

"This 'Mordor' that we're heading for... What do you know of it?" Enjolras asked. "You've done much more research than I have in the past several days."

"It's a dark place, the air is thick with ash and smoke from the volcano known as Mount Doom-"

"Mount Doom. Of course. What a clever idea for a name," Enjolras commented sarcastically.

"As I was saying, the air is thick with the ash and smoke from Mount Doom and from the factories used to forge the weapons used by the orcs."

"Orcs?"

"They apparently used to be elves, but they were twisted and corrupted through torture thousands of years ago, apparently. They are nothing like elves now. They are wicked and black-hearted, and supposedly hate everyone and everything. They work for Sauron."

"And Sauron?"

"A Maia, servant of Morgoth, an evil Vala. He forged the rings. Elrond told us about him when we first got here. He has no physical from currently, unless we count him being a giant fiery eye at the top of the tower of Barad-Dur in Mordor."

"Combeferre, you are a genius and I would be lost without you," Enjolras commented. "How long will it take us to get there?"

"Quite a while, especially considering that there will likely be a lot of danger on the road in the form of orcs, Nazgul, and possibly more," Combeferre replied. "And do try to be polite to Aragorn, he may be heir to a throne but he seems to be quite kind, and much better than France's king. Same with Legolas."

"Legolas?"

"He's an elven prince."

"You're saying that there are two members of royalty in this group?"

"Enjolras, please," Combeferre sighed. "This is nothing like France. Just take a deep breath and try to be patient with our situation."

"Fine, I'll try," Enjolras sighed. "Though these people do really need to try having a republic."

Combeferre sighed. There would clearly be no getting through to his friend on this topic.