Passersby ➵ ONC 2021

➵ arrows for spears

It is not at all like the kudu have not noticed an elf watching their every move.

They know more than their deerlike heads let on. It is common knowledge to them that Legolas is making an attempt to figure them out. But they do not mind. He does not bother them. It is the native elves that have in the past, with their loud noises and yelling commands and bells and frightening techniques. But this elf is new, they know, from far away. They know this because they know everything there is to understand, which is perhaps why they're such a muse to the creature that sits above the ravine and looks down on them night after night when he is supposed to be inside.

Each night, he has followed their tracks farther and farther into the forest, following closer behind every time he does. They do not care. They know he will not harm them. They feel his gentle soul. They see it reflected off his shoulders in waves like the sheets of golden-white hair it is coated by.

The kudu are not the only ones noticing the elf's absence from his quarters at night. It has now become somewhat of common knowledge that he has been studying them when the moon rises. The warrior elves have begun to notice his being missing.

They practice throwing spears in a training field, hitting targets of tightly-pulled animal skin tied between trees. Legolas is unfamiliar with such a form of weaponry, his spears barely grazing the dried flesh each time they're thrown.

"Focus, Legolas," Elu says sturdily next to him. "Our warriors Nediion and Farriel have already outperformed your efforts. This is not common for you."

Legolas throws another spear again, this one hitting the lower corner of the skin but nowhere near the center. "My thoughts are elsewhere."

Elu nods. "Yes," he replies. "You are clearly too focused on slithering out to see the curly stags to learn how to spear one."

Legolas flashes him a slightly alarmed look in response; a rare cut away from his typical subtle and stoic expressions.

Elu grabs a spear of his own, looking ahead at the animal skin with an unaffected focus. "I have seen you leaving. I have watched your paths."

Legolas pauses, halting his practice as Elu demonstrates. "I suppose I am in trouble, then," he assumes, oddly amused, the corner of his mouth pulled upward. Elu throws the spear in a graceful path, his whole body seeming to move with it. The point hits the very center of the tarp, splitting it halfway through.

"No," he replies. "No trouble you haven't survived before. Just as long as Nînthel never catches wind."

"As you are her second-in-command," Legolas says as they walk to retrieve the long weapons from the hides, "wouldn't it be more decent for you to support her regulations? To scold me relentlessly for jumping the fence?"

"Even if I tried," Elu replies, "my flames could never scald the skin as much as the wrath of Nînthel. If she found out, you'd be incinerated by her anger alone."

Legolas poises a spear again. He aims higher and to the right, throwing it with as much fluidity as he can manage, remembering the dancelike figure Elu had possessed. This immediately improves it in whole, the impact splitting the skin a hand or so off from Elu's middle tear.

"You are so unfamiliar with this method," Elu remarks, noticing how deeply uncomfortable the shorter elf looks holding such a hefty instrument.

"Across the sea," he says, "the elves — my elves — are taught how to shoot arrows and fight with swords. I've never touched a spear this long if not to shoot it."

"Arrows!" Elu replies in piqued interest, although it's skeptical. "But those are nothing against all the monsters you claim to have taken down. Such thick skin cannot be fazed by little wooden pegs."

"You assume they are made of wood because that is what your kind have used," Legolas replies. "Of course wood is ineffective; that's why we use metals for as much of the arrow as is manageable."

"Metal," Elu thinks aloud as he throws another of Legolas' spears, barely supervising the other elves in the field as he focuses on the idea of metallum-tipped arrows. And then, with a tip of his head, he adds, "Perhaps you should retrieve your bow and show us."

A childlike look of excitement shows itself on Legolas' expression, as if his bow and quiver are long lost family he's been missing for years. Elu, nearly charmed by this, gives a nod in the direction of a small enclosure.

"We've been keeping your belongings in there," he says as Legolas runs to retrieve them. "I believe it is time you had them back."

The weight of the bow in his hand as he grabs it feels like sunlight and sweet cream. His swords give the most familiarly comforting weight on his side that he can remember of even fathom. He returns to the shooting range with an arrow at the ready, and shoots with such accuracy that he doesn't hit any skin at all, but rather shoots right through the hole that Elu has already torn.

"Hm," Elu hums at the performance. "Well done, foreigner. Perhaps we can learn from your weapons."

He holds out his hand, and Legolas drops an arrow into it. Elu examines it with deep intrigue, holding it in the crook of his elbow as the hand of his other arm traces over the material.

"And these are effective?" he asks. Legolas gives a smirk, grabbing the arrow back and connecting it to the string of his bow.

"Like a fence for kudu," he replies, and he shoots again, the arrow running through precisely the same spot.

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