AuthorÂ’s Note: Abuse starts in this chapter, folks! If this bothers you TURN BACK NOW! Or if you are of morbid curiosity, ask and ye shall receive!

Disclaimer: Still not mine but my friend has had to create a clinic for our beloved characters to heal in because when I take them out to play they somehow get all bruised and banged up. * innocent look *

* Mirkwood is also Greenwood the Great before the darkness came then when Sauron took over part of the Wood it was renamed Mirkwood.

READ AND REVIEW PLEASE! More ramblings are in the first chapter!

Chapter Three: A Hard Lesson

Thranduil sighed wearily, rubbing his tired eyes as he poured over yet another pile of papers on his desk. Trouble from spiders in the northern provinces called for his attention and wolves on the southern borders constantly took lives and livestock. The evil in Dol Guldor was steadily growing and on top of that, he had a headache. He sighed again and set down his quill, glancing absently at his ink-stained hands. Perhaps, he would stop for the night. The work would still be there come the morrowÂ…

Gentle hands on his shoulders made him lift his face to his wife, who smiled and kissed him on the cheek, enfolding him in her slender arms.

“How do you fare, my lord?” she asked. The King sighed and sat back in his chair, waving at the papers in front of him.

“I would be better had I not so much work to do.” Anariel buried her face in her husband’s neck, smiling slightly as her long golden tresses slid over her shoulder and swung into his face. Thranduil batted them aside good-naturedly as he gazed out the arched window that looked east. The dark trees swayed beneath the windowsill and the fair moon was very bright tonight and lent more light than the sputtering candles on the desk.

“It is well that your brother has returned to the palace at last.” Anariel’s smooth brow creased even as she nodded.

“Have you yet spoken to him?” Thranduil shook his head.

“Not at length. But it is enough that he is here. You are happy are you not, meleth-nin (my love)?” Anariel smiled for her husband’s sake.

“Of course, hervenn-nin (my husband). How could I sorrow here? With my King, my son and, now, my brother beside me.” Thranduil smiled and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, kissing her on the cheek tenderly.

“I shall join you shortly, my love. I will finish and clean up.” He suppressed a yawn as he scowled at his ink stained hands. Anariel smiled soothingly and floated out of the room.

The Queen of Mirkwood walked the quiet halls of the palace on her way to her chambers. Her brow furrowed in deep thought. It had been a long time since she had last seen her brother- a difference of opinion many years ago had separated them- she had thought irrevocably. And yet, here he was. Why? She wondered. Why now? Four hundred years was a long time to be away from oneÂ’s family- even by elven standards. Questions chased themselves through her mind, endless and without answer. A growing doubt and unease gnawed at her mind. Her brother was not here without reason. She would have to find out what that reason was.

She looked up, knowing already what she would see. She had hoped to find him here and her sisterÂ’s intuition had told her truly.

Ainan stood at the end of the hall, gazing out of a vast window onto the dark tree-clad grounds below. Bathed in moonlight, he looked so innocent- like the child she had known in her youth. But, he was no child and she knew it well. Knowing that the swishing of her robes announced her, she walked up to her brother and stood beside him. He did not turn but the corners of his lips twitched up in a faint smile.

“I wondered if you would seek me out this night, sister,” he said quietly into the stillness. Anariel said nothing. She was not the Lady of Greenwood the Great with him. She was not Queen of the Silvan Elves- someone to be respected and obeyed. She was just his baby sister. Simply the sound of his voice- after so many years apart- sent shivers down her spine. Even now, he had power over her. As he had when she was young. But she quashed those fears. Here, she was Queen. In her home, he had no power.

“Why are you here?” she asked abruptly. Now, he turned to her and the white moonlight illuminated his pale face- throwing half of it into sinister shadow, bathing the other half in silver light.

“Why?” he echoed gently, almost mockingly. “Dear sister, am I not allowed to make amends to repair our broken family?” She looked up at him shrewdly.

“Make amends?” she rejoined. “Since when has the proud son of Araion ever deigned to apologize for anything?” Ainan smiled and chuckled quietly.

“All right. I deserve that.”

“And more besides,” Anariel said grimly. “You broke our family, Ainan.”

“You sound like our mother,” he said coldly. “Estelio nin. (Trust me).” He kissed her gently on the cheek and turned away.

“Ainan!” The elf turned a patient smile on his sister. “I will be watching you,” she said firmly. The Queen cocked an eye sternly at her older brother. His grin broadened.

“Of course, mell muinthel (dear sister).”

~*~

“Again! Keep your knees and elbows bent! Bent, I said!”

“Iston! (I know!)” Legolas ground between clenched teeth as he did as he was told.

The sun beat down on the playing field and the warriors gathered on it: fourteen in all- students most of them and their teacher who stood off to one side, watching the battling youths with a careful eye. It was easy to lose control in the heat of competition and the teacher was there to instruct as well as control and make sure that no one accidentally lost a finger to an over eager fledgling swordsman. They were using true steel for the first time and the metal rang in the still air as the two fought.

Since the disaster of the Last Alliance in which so many of their kin had been slaughtered for no reason, including their King, it had been decreed that every young elf would be trained from childhood to wield bow and blade with skill and dexterity in the face of battle.

There were few enough battle-trained warriors as it was that were not already out defending the borders. Many of the teachers here were young by elven standards- some nearly the age of their students. However, the teachers were as friends and mentors to the young elves that eagerly came to them to learn the ways of battle and the sword.

Sweat streamed down the brows of the two opponents, causing their pale hair to stick to the backs of their necks. The flurry of the exchange of blows rang a sharp staccato into the cool air. Legolas swept his sword in low, aiming for his opponentÂ’s knees, ready to check his attack if the other elf was not quick enough. But the young elf managed to leap over the blade and thrust forward with her own.

Legolas brought his sword up but the otherÂ’s blade scraped against his side, screeching against the mail he wore. Of course, the young elves were well-equipped with leather armor and a coat of chain mail apiece in case any of the blades went awry. But that did not mean the blow did not hurt.

The young prince’s blue eyes fixed on the woman’s across from him. Nárvenien was older than Legolas by several centuries with a shocking length of fiery red hair uncommon to elves. There were rumors that her father was human. She denied them vehemently and her demeanor was as fiery as her hair.

She bared her teeth at Legolas and swung her sword in a slashing scythe towards his face. Leaping back swiftly, the golden-haired elf managed to block the blow and dance nimbly out of the way of the blade before it sliced his eye out.

“Careful Nárvenien! Target area is below the neck thank you,” The young lieutenant who commanded them, Kirar, admonished lightly, his green eyes fixed upon the dueling pair.

Their breathing ragged, the two young elves wove back and forth in the afternoon heat. Legolas lunged forward and the red-haired struck it aside viciously. Nárvenien had never quite liked Legolas. She thought he was spoiled and privileged because he was the King’s son. Legolas had once nearly jumped her when she had said that her father had insulted his father.

Nárvenien thrust at Legolas again and the prince saw his opening. He caught the cross guard of his blade under hers and wrenched upwards, sending her blade spinning from her grasp. It landed with a thump several feet away.

“All right, enough!” Kirar called out loudly as he retrieved the flung blade from the grass and handed it back to its student. Nárvenien looked furious as she sheathed her blade with a snap. The two pupils bowed stiffly to each other before stepping in beside their comrades.

“Nárvenien, excellent work! Watch your backswing- you want to hit your opponent, not your face… or your opponent’s for that matter. Legolas, elbows bent. You don’t want those muscles to seize up because you’ve kept them locked up during combat.”

“Yes, sir,” the two students chimed. Kirar nodded in satisfaction.

“We are finished for the day. Refresh yourselves, we’re running tomorrow.”

The young elves broke their lines and gathered up their things. Rinniad and Lóthmir joined Legolas as he removed his heavy chain mail and slipped into his silken blue undershirt and suede tunic.

“At this rate, Legolas, you’ll outmatch Lóthmir yet,” Rinniad laughed.

“Legolas!” Kirar beckoned the young prince back to him. His two friends bid him farewell and walked off towards the palace.

It was customary for the prince as royalty to train longer and harder than the other students in preparation for the rigors of war and hardships of ruling a kingdom. It was the same with his other studies- culture, language, history. Legolas found it tiresome but necessary. He shrugged out of his leather armor and laced up the hard leather vambraces on his forearms. Then he bent and lifted his bow from where it lay on the grass. He strung it quickly and slung his quiver over his shoulder. Kirar waited patiently for him. Well, mostly.

“Make haste, young prince! We haven’t all day! At this rate the sun will set before we reach the practice grounds.” Legolas smiled slightly- his teacher was only a thousand or so years older than the prince himself but sometimes he behaved like some of the oldest elves in Mirkwood.

“Come now, Kirar!” he chided playfully. “You fuss more than my mother!” The young lieutenant smiled slightly but the smirk left his face quickly and his eyes narrowed as he lifted a slender hand to shield his keen eyes from the glare of the sun as he saw a figure striding purposefully towards them. Then Legolas remembered.

“Oh, I’d forgotten. Vedhir-nin, (my uncle), is going to teach me today, Kirar, if you don’t mind?” Legolas said slowly as Ainan approached them. The lieutenant of the guard looked faintly puzzled but acquiesced with a nod.

“Be iest lin, ernil-nin, (As you wish, my prince),” he answered smoothly with a bow to both Legolas and Ainan. He turned and departed but his brow was furrowed. A slight frown marred Legolas’ own smooth brow as he watched his teacher walk back towards the palace. He hoped Kirar wasn’t terribly disappointed. He only wanted to practice with his uncle because Ainan had offered. He would go to his teacher afterwards and apologize.

“Shall we?” Ainan’s voice broke through his thoughts and Legolas nodded, his excitement mounting again.

“Let’s keep these little outings just between us, all right?” Ainan smiled confidentially as they walked across the green lawn of the archery field, grey in the dusk. Legolas nodded but frowned a little, perplexed.

“Why?” Ainan flicked a bit of imaginary dust off his tunic.

“I was a bit of a wastrel in my intemperate youth as your mother may or may not have told you,” he said lightly. “I do not know if she or your father would approve of my teaching you.”

“Oh.” Ainan waved a hand carelessly.

“But that matters not.” He stopped suddenly, an eyebrow raised questioningly. Legolas did so as well, nearly tripping at the abrupt halt. “You wouldn’t want me to stop simply because they said no, would you? You don’t want them to order you around like a child, do you?” Legolas shook his head firmly, feeling rebellious as he remembered his lecture of yesterday.

“No.”

“Are you entirely certain?” Legolas nodded firmly.

“Yes, Vedhir. I would like you to teach me.” Ainan clapped his hands together.

“Excellent!”

The walk to the archer range from the dueling ground was a short one. It was a broad expanse of lawn surmounted by trees. The targets were shaped like straw figures- a mimic of the hideous bodies of orcs, Legolas supposed. He and his friends had had endless fun shooting at them and pretending they were out on patrol with the other warriors bravely defending their home. From here, the straw targets looked small indeed.

Ainan stood quietly by as Legolas strung his first arrow. His eyes narrowed as he sighed down the wooden shaft. He released it and the string twanged satisfactorily as the arrow thumped solidly into the target.

“Wonderful!” Ainan exclaimed. Beaming with pride at the praise, Legolas drew another arrow to the string. He pulled the string back so that it rested against his chin beneath his eye for an instant before releasing it. This one fell a little short a few inches from the target.

Legolas jumped back, shocked and hurt as AinanÂ’s open hand met his cheek with an audible crack. Gingerly, the young elf touched his face in bewilderment, tears of pain welling in his eyes. His uncle had never hit him before. AinanÂ’s cool, impassive look never wavered.

“You missed,” he said calmly. “Try again.” Fumbling for an arrow, the prince shakily drew one to the string, aimed at the target and fired. He was so flustered by the sudden stinging in his cheek that he missed the center by a good several feet. Another blow sent him staggering.

Ainan cuffed the younger elf under the chin, hard enough to hurt but not enough to break his jaw. A little pain was what this pampered prince needed. Tears of humiliation began to roll down the young elfÂ’s cheeks and his pained gaze looked up into his uncleÂ’s blazing eyes, confused and lost, silently pleading for him to stop- asking him why? And Ainan seized his nephew by the shoulders and shook him until his teeth rattled. Legolas could not help a half-choked cry that forced itself out of his throat.

“No dhínen (Be silent)” his uncle hissed. He clutched the young prince’s chin in a suddenly clawlike hand, his feral eyes burning in his pinched face. “Sobbing is for the weak! You are not weak! You are a prince! You must make your father proud,” he hissed, smiling down at the terrified child. “You cannot afford to miss shots like that in battle where one mistake can mean the difference between life and death.”

Legolas nodded numbly, his eyes like saucers. He picked up his bow with trembling hands.

“Try again.”

By the end of the next hour, LegolasÂ’ face was red and burning. His ears rang and he was close to tears but he dared not let them fall. He had missed the mark twenty-seven times because he had been so shaken. It was not until two hours later when he had hit the center of the target thirty times in a row, that Ainan finally pronounced himself satisfied.

“Why, Vedhir?” Legolas asked as they walked back towards the palace. It was so dark now that he could scarcely see his uncle’s face and the fair moon did not dance in the dark sky this night. Ainan sighed as if the child’s question were completely preposterous.

“Legolas, you must understand. By missing those shots, you may one day, in battle, cost your or someone else’s life. You cannot miss shots like that. Pain is an excellent way to learn that lesson. It is our teacher- it helps us to grow and learn from our mistakes. When you first took up your bow,” he continued smoothly. “You were sore were you not? Your arms ached? Your fingers?” Legolas nodded slowly, beginning to see the connection. That made sense.

“Do not shrink from pain,” Ainan ended finally, laying a comforting hand on the prince’s shoulder. He inspected the prince’s rather ruddy face. “You will heal. You wish me to continue instructing you, do you not?” Legolas nodded again, rubbing his tender cheek and carefully trying to keep the flood of tears from erupting. Ainan smiled slightly and patted his shoulder gently. Legolas flinched but did not dare pull away.

“You are excused for the night, tôrion. I shall see you soon, I expect.” Another nod and then Legolas was off, racing away as fast and as far as he could. He knew something about that entire encounter had been very wrong and the tears he had held back for so long flowed down his cheeks and stung his eyes until he could scarcely see where he was going. The chill autumn wind froze the teardrops to his cheeks as he ran. As he reached the palace, he slowed and caught his breath, wiping at his eyes, determined to show no weakness before any he might encounter. Almost immediately, a voice hailed him as he passed through the gate.

“Legolas, are you all right?” Lóthmir asked, frowning slightly at his friend’s rather disheveled appearance. “We were getting worried. You are long overdue from your lesson. Your father was wondering where you had run off to. Where did you go?” He fell into step beside the prince as Legolas walked to his room to change out of his leathers. Not wanting to seem a child before his friend, Legolas shrugged offhandedly.

“I was practicing archery with my uncle. We lost track of the time.” Which was true, he thought, his insides squirming uncomfortably. It still sounded like lying to him. His friend nodded, satisfied.

“Well, come on! Join us in the Great Hall! Dinner is long cold but the maids will fix something up for you, I’m sure.” Legolas nodded as his friend waved to him and left his side. The prince turned down a smaller corridor, his face still burned but it was nearly overwhelmed by the throbbing in his arms and fingers.

Feeling exhausted in every bone of his body, Legolas wanted nothing more than a hot bath and his soft bed but Lóthmir would miss him- questions would be asked- and as much as he was confused by Ainan’s actions this night, he felt that there was nothing to worry about. His uncle was right- pain was inherent when training for battle. He was being childish and would work harder from now on.

Legolas sighed as he washed his face clean of tears in the basin in his room. He looked up into the glass before him. His cheeks were still warm and red as he scowled at his reflection and willed himself not to be a child about this any longer. Straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin, the prince turned and walked determinedly out of his room.