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Imladris, summer, Third Age 2576
How they ended up wandering past the archery lawn Laurelandë couldn’t say, except that all of a sudden Arwen snatched her hand and was towing her through the oak trees with some word about a Ranger cadet who was insanely good-looking…
He was alright. Kind of scruffy. In Lorien the ladies were accustomed to sit on the edge of the field and giggle behind their hands while the Wardens had their practice at the marks, and Arwen had thought it the height of stupidity, but then again none of those pale-haired Silvan marchmen had ever drawn her eye.
They sat under a tree to watch, anyway. Wasn’t often the Rangers were here in any number but sometimes they came in the fairer weather to extend their training, or to study, or… something. Laurelandë had never paid much attention.
She was paying attention now, though, because Elrohir was with them. They must have been drilling with those new horn bows Taraven had been all worked up about—her father had said they had a harder pull than yew, and your form had to be impeccable. Elrohir was kicking a lot of feet wider and straightening a lot of shoulders and he whacked one kid across the hip with the fletched end of an arrow because he kept popping it out of line like his knee wanted to collapse.
Their Dúnedain sergeant verbally abused them and insulted their mothers and called into question their general manliness.
Arwen murmured, “I think he picked that one up from your dad.”
“You sorry sods! There’re broidering maidens in this apple-blossomed valley that can put six arrows in the butt faster than you lot!”
From across the lawn Laurelandë saw Elrohir cast them a glance and then look away grinning.
Arwen said darkly, “He better not get any bright ideas. I’m not going to be today’s object lesson.”
The bright idea seemed to have already been got. He turned and crooked a finger at them.
Arwen rejoined with an impolite gesture.
He was fifty yards away but clear as if he stood right in front of them she saw him grin again and this time his beckoning finger was just for her. His eyes bright and unblinking.
She wrinkled her nose.
Arwen said, “Whatever you do, don’t miss.”
When she came alongside Elrohir he planted a hand on the top of her head and said, giving her little emphasizing shakes as he spoke, “This is Laurelandë. Laurelandë is fivestone lighter than the scrawniest of you lot. Laurelandë has lost every wrestling match she’s ever found herself in. Laurelandë is puny. And Laurelandë will still be able to bend one of these ten-weight recurve suckers and drill a bolt straight through that dummy without a lick of practice. Anyone want to hazard a guess why?”
It seemed none of them wanted to. Elrohir hazarded for them. “Because she doesn’t stick her butt out like a foppish high-heeled dandy, that’s why. Because she paid attention when we all told her that good form beats brute strength any day. She’s never had one of these in her hand but you lot are going to watch her with one now, and you’re going to pay attention.”
Laurelandë looked up at him askance and said, “This is going to look really bad for you if I botch this up, you know.”
“You’re not going to. I’m here to keep you from making a fool out of us both.”
“I’m so very assured, thank you for that.”
He dropped the quiver-strap over her head and pushed the bow into her hand and spun her by the shoulders so she faced the straw target seventy-five yards away. The Rangers far enough behind they would not hear if she spoke softly.
She said, laying an arrow to the string, “That’s really far.”
“Hush and concentrate.”
“I thought you said back there in Moria I only fumbled around with one of these.”
He stood behind and nudged her feet a little wider. “The draw weight will ease once you get it past the tension-point, but don’t waste time aiming or you’ll start to shake.”
“I sort of thought aiming was the whole idea.”
“Hitting the target is the whole idea.”
“Aren’t those the exact same thing?”
He jabbed her in the shoulder blade until she squared up. “Are you out of practice or something? You’re supposed to be showing these kids a correct stance.”
It was out her mouth before she could even think better, “Well, fix it then, if it’s so incorrect.”
A beat of silence. She almost looked over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t left.
He hadn’t. His hands clamped her hips and with a quick twist he straightened her and slid his palm across the top of her backside and tucked her under herself and bent her front knee with the toe of his boot and then said, softly, “Whenever you’re ready, pal.”
She raised the bow and drew to her mouth and tried to exhale the way she was supposed to but found her breath was quite gone, though the memory of his on the back of her neck was not. Her arrow kicked up a tuft of straw from the high edge of the dummy and then skidded hissing off into the brush.
Behind her one of the cadets whistled and a nervous little snicker ran down the line. Their sergeant told them to shut up. Elrohir said, not so close behind her now, “Ah, well, not bad for a first shot with a new bow.”
She felt her face heat up. She huffed hard through her nose and nocked another arrow and stood square and correctly and eased her breath out as her fingers on the bowstring straightened. She punched that second shot straight through the blue dot in the center of the bale.
Over her shoulder, Elrohir started to laugh.
Arwen said with a narrow eye as they hiked back up the hill through the oak trees, “I think you enjoyed that a little too much.”
Laurelandë drew herself up. “I’ve worked hard to get good at that, Arwen.”
“Good at getting him to put his hand on your—”
“Ooh, look, strawberries!”