Building Ithilien [Legolas] LOTR

Of Bows and Arrows

The next morning came with the freshness of an early rain. Lothlorien shone in the eastern sun, and Legolas abandoned his nicely furnished quarters for a stroll along the forest floor where he could admire the fauna. He eventually approached the archery range.

From the looks of the area, this location must be where Eledhel planned on having the archery contest.  Surveying the area, Legolas observed more than 20 targets, some set low in carts that could be moved and repositioned. Certainly a little practice never hurt, so Legolas picked up a spare bow and some arrows that a careless elf left sitting on a stone table near the range. Any advantage in the tournament would be welcome. Legolas fit an arrow to the bow, which was a little smaller than he preferred, and let the arrow fly. Thwack! The arrow hit the target, although not as perfectly in the bulls' eye as Legolas preferred.

He really needed to return to his talan for his own bow, the very same bow that the Lady Galadriel presented to him less than a year ago. Since then, Legolas' bow had become judge and executioner in battle, felling beast and orc alike. As he picked up another arrow and sent it flying through the trees to a distant target, Legolas thought how much had changed. Here he practiced his marksmanship in the Golden Wood while only months ago he had lived on an edge as sharp as the twin blades of his long white knives. Memories of the War brought him both pleasure and pain.

His eyes clouded over as he thought of the grim moments when they had stood before the Black Gate, Morannon, with Gandalf when it seemed that all hope had failed them and the little ones had been lost to Sauron's cruelty. Legolas tightened his fingers over the little bow and took a deep breath. Frodo and Sam were in the Shire now, he reminded himself, out of harm's way. Yet they would never be the hobbits they had been before the war. None of the Fellowship could truly reclaim their old lives. They had all been changed irrevocably. He notched another arrow, focused his eyes on the farthest target, and pulled the string taut. Whoosh! The arrow found its home in the center of the target. Legolas smiled to himself. He would make a good enough showing in this tournament. Mirkwood need not be ashamed of its Prince.

He set off in the direction of the targets to collect his arrows, singing blithely of Orome, the Great Hunter. Upon his return, two more elves had arrived at the range, Eledhel and his sister. Legolas stopped singing. He could only think of the unpleasantries from the night before. He wrinkled his nose a little and then shook his head. No, he was determined to be pleasant to her for Eledhel's sake.

"Good morning to you both," he greeted them politely. "My lady, I fear we have not been properly introduced. It was much remiss of me, and I beg your pardon." He bowed before her. "I am Legolas of Mirkwood."

Her eyes darted over to Eledhel for an instant and then back to Legolas. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. I am Miredhel," she said primly and curtsied.

"What brings you here so early, Eledhel? Thinking of practicing? You'll need to hone those skills before you step in line with me and Haldir," Legolas teased.

"No, friend, we were here earlier this morning. My sister and I were enjoying a little sibling rivalry...but she left her bow." Eledhel frowned at her. "A good warrior never leaves his weapons laying around."

"Then it is a good thing, brother, that I am no warrior," she replied, her eyes scanning the lawn of the practice field. "I do not see it, Eledhel. Where could it have gone?" A hint of panic rose in her voice.

Eledhel smirked. "Oh, do not worry, sister. One of the wardens must have picked it up. We shall check in the field house."

"I believe this must be yours, Lady Mireldhel," Legolas brought the bow from behind his back and studied it closely. "A bow of cunning worksmanship, my Lady; yet it is not of the Lorien style."