This chapter is dedicated to my little green pills-- the only reason I am even remotely lucid.  Thanks to my beta, Daisyprincess! 

 Chapter Six- Choose Your Weapon

The noon sun was high above the assemblage standing in the courtyard at the base of the white staircase.  Far beyond them lay a refuge of trees-- part of the extensive gardens surrounding the palace-- and hardly an eye in the group was trained elsewhere.

“The object of this exercise is to test not only your shooting ability, but also your ability to focus on multiple factors at once.  Targets will be placed randomly along the trail, some in the open, others hidden in bushes and trees.” 

Imrahil paused for a moment to make sure that everyone was following along.  Then, from his elevated position on the staircase, he continued. 

“You each have distinctively tagged arrows, which will be tallied after the event is over.  You will set off individually, thirty seconds apart from one another.  Your object is to hit as many targets as you can, with as much accuracy as possible, while maintaining a steady gait on your horse, neither slowing down nor stopping at any time.  The horses have been given their orders, and our scout will report any deviations.” 

Imrahil paused again to give a warning look to the assembled contestants. 

“The winner of the event will be determined based on the number of arrows that find targets, and the accuracy of each hit.  The winner will receive nothing but honor and gloating rights…”

“Ahem…” Lothiriel cleared her throat conspicuously, smiling in an all too innocent way as she leaned towards her father.  “May I suggest a small amendment to our competition?”

Imrahil had seen that smile enough times before to know that he should be careful with his answer.  “And what would that ‘amendment’ be, my dear?”

His daughter turned her sly gaze directly to Legolas, who went from looking somewhat bored to quite defensive in an alarmingly short amount of time.  “Perhaps we could include the throwing of daggers or short spears at the targets, so as not to give any *certain someone’s* an unfair advantage.”

After an initial pause, incredulous laughter broke out among the group of competitors.

“And how exactly are we to be expected to throw a spear with our bows drawn?”  Olihre guffawed, turning to Eomer for support. 

It was soon obvious, however, whom Lothiriel had had in mind when she proposed the amendment.  Eomer already had several short spears attached to the back of his chest guard, and was smiling confidently. 

“Oh, I see…”  Olihre drawled in an accusing tone.

Aragorn also seemed to think this was all too convenient.  “Hmmm…” he began facetiously, “Legolas has his arrows, Eomer has his spears-- perhaps I should throw Athelas, Gaviwyr should throw Xanthe, and Olihre should throw his horse.  To each his own, eh?”

Lothiriel didn’t look amused, though everyone else in the clearing, the stoic elves included, were engaged in riotous laughter.  Gimli, who because of his distaste for horses, would be acting as a scout rather than joining the competition, was shaking so hard that Aragorn was sure he would fall apart at the seams quite soon.  Eomer, though trying valiantly to look as incensed as Lothiriel, was having a difficult time keeping a straight face, and having Olihre grasping his shoulder whilst in the midst of painful looking spasms didn’t appear to be helping.

“Oh, fine then!  I was merely making a suggestion.  Legolas will smash you all in a bow competition!”  Lothiriel scowled at Aragorn before giving a look of reprimand to Eomer.

Olihre was standing straight now, his face still flushed, and his grin still wide.  “No, wait, I think she has a very good idea!  Maybe we can’t shoot a bow and throw a spear at the same time, but we can certainly do one or the other.  I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to choose our weapons.”

Looking at Olihre gratefully, Eomer nodded enthusiastically.  “Surely!  After all, in battle, as long as you hit the enemy effectively, does it really matter what you use as a weapon?”

Legolas looked like he wanted to refute, but instead settled on rolling his eyes and staying silent.  Aragorn just shrugged his shoulders and looked at Arwen, who shook her head and raised her hands in a gesture of abstinence.  Gimli grunted apathetically while Imrahil sighed resignedly. 

Lothiriel cocked an eyebrow at Gaviwyr, who was the only one withholding his opinion.  “Have you anything to add?”

Gaviwyr surveyed the group, assessing their skills with several different types of weapons.  He finally let his gaze come to rest upon Olihre before turning back to the lady.  “I think it is a marvelous idea.”         

Olihre groaned.  He wasn’t sure that he wanted Gaviwyr anywhere near him with even a spoon, let alone a sharp metal weapon, but he also didn’t want to miss out on the impromptu competition that Prince Imrahil and his daughter had organized earlier that morning.  

When a consensus seemed to have been reached, the contestants-- Olihre, Gaviwyr, Legolas, Aragorn and Eomer-- lined up on the front steps of the palace entry, while Aragorn’s men brought out stores of weapons.  These weapons were mulled through by the contestants, each picking out the ones that they fancied and affixing distinctive tags to them. 

“Any weapon then?” Aragorn whispered to Imrahil, as he watched Olihre toying with a large curved sword.

“ANY WEAPON!” Lothiriel declared boldly from behind him.  “To your horses, My Lords!”

Olihre unconsciously looked toward Gaviwyr, who aside from him, was the only other contestant who was not the lord or ruler of some land.  He found Gaviwyr returning his gaze sympathetically, but only for a moment before schooling his expression into one of hostile indifference.

“Remember, you may not pause or backtrack.” Imrahil raised his arm high above his head.  “When I touch your horse, you may go.” 

Aragorn’s horse was the first in the line of competitors, and when Imrahil rested his hand on the horse’s flanks, Aragorn nudged it into action, urging it forward and guiding it at a steady speed towards the stretch of trees.  He had decided to use his bow, and his first target received a well-placed arrow right off.  As he rode farther into the grove of trees, he could hear another horse springing into action at the starting line. 

That’ll be Legolas, he thought dismissively, forcing himself to focus on the targets.  The crimson-painted wooden discs were hidden both in ground covering shrubs and in tall trees.  Some could be seen from yards away, while others were not visible until you were parallel to them. 

As Aragorn rode, he struggled against the urge to slow his horse down.  The brisk pace that the horse was setting made it difficult to aim carefully before shooting.  He also fought the urge to turn around and see how close his fellow competitors were.  His ears told him that at least two other horses were already engaged, and that one, Legolas’s horse, was just entering the wooded grove. 

Aragorn raised his arm to shoot at a target high up in a beech tree, only to find a foreign arrow whizzing directly over his head and into the target above him.  Throwing strategy to the wind, he turned quickly to find Legolas still far behind him, but already eyeing targets far beyond Aragorn’s steed.

He can’t possibly have caught up!

*          *          *

Legolas grinned as he watched Aragorn turn in his saddle to seek him out, all the while missing two valuable targets as his horse flew by.  Legolas had only just entered the wood, and had yet to hit any targets near him, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to scare Aragorn by hitting the target far down the trail, above the King’s head. 

That should startle him a bit!

Soon, the Prince could hear Eomer’s horse galloping towards the trees, and he quickly took in his surroundings, noting several targets almost simultaneously.  With several fluid movements, he eliminated the targets, inwardly hoping that Eomer wouldn’t try the same stunt that he himself had just pulled on Aragorn.  As much as he admired Eomer, he wasn’t sure that he wanted the human to be aiming any spears above his head, no matter how confident Imrahil’s daughter was in the King of the Mark’s abilities.

*          *          *

Eomer felt he had something to prove.  As much as he hated the pressure, he also knew that due to the show he and Lothiriel had put on earlier, and because of the change in rules, allowing him to use his spears, he was expected to do well.  As he watched Legolas far ahead of him, taking down target after target almost effortlessly, he began to wish that he had stuck to arrows, the effort in pulling the string back being far less than launching a short spear with all your might.  His pride however, would not allow him to hesitate.  Pulling the first of a dozen short spears from his back, Eomer began his campaign.

*          *          *

Olihre wished that he had gone either first or last.  Last, because he didn’t want Gaviwyr behind him with a weapon, and first, because then his strategy would have been more effective.  As he galloped towards the grove of trees, he made ready the pile of knives balanced in his lap.  Coming upon the first target, a crimson disk set high up in the branch of an oak tree, Olihre threw his knife, blade first.  The knife lodged itself in the wooden disk at an odd angle, the tip sticking into an outer ring, while the handle protruded across the very center of the target, effectively blocking any other weapon from hitting dead center. 

This strategy was a gamble in several different ways, and the young human knew it.  He could try aiming for the center, hoping for a true hit, but due to his inexperience, his chances were slim.  Rather, he thought his chances of winning to be better if he debilitated his competition.  Unfortunately, his fellow competitors had already had their turns, except for Gaviwyr, whom Olihre was afraid would take his strategy personally. 

Often he would find and arrow or two already embedded in the target, along with the occasional short spear.  So far the hits all seemed to be accurate, though Olihre tried not to allow himself to be distracted by it.

Knife after knife found their targets, until Olihre was sure that the course must be nearly over.  When he had only two knives left, he chanced a glance behind him, not seeing or hearing Gaviwyr.  Just as his last knife found its target, Olihre heard a loud groan of frustration coming from some ways behind him.  Making his way quickly into the clearing at the other side of the grove, Olihre drew his horse up along side of Aragorn, Eomer, and Legolas’s, noting that the looks on their faces were amused, if not somewhat cautionary. 

Legolas raised a skeptical eyebrow.  “Do you really think it wise to anger Gaviwyr more than you already have?” 

Apparently they had heard Gaviwyr’s exclamations as well.

“This is a competition, Your Highness, what do you expect me to do?”  Olihre didn’t like the condescending look on the elf’s face.

“You could start by playing fair and not sabotaging the course.”  Aragorn was trying to look stern, but a certain playful light was apparent in his eyes.

“Easy for you to say, you two have been trained with arrows since you were babes.  I am a swordsman, as is Eomer.  Targets high up in trees are hardly our strong suit.”  Olihre paused to assess his audience.  “Give me a sword and I’ll show you a fair fight any day!”  Despite his defensive banter, Olihre was not upset by the heckling that he was receiving.  Frankly, he felt honored to be in the presence of such distinguished warriors.

Eomer looked fleetingly at Aragorn before breaking into a rolling laughter.  “I’m just glad he didn’t go first!  For one so young, he certainly has his wits about him!”

“Try not to encourage him, my indulgent Horse Master!” Legolas laughed as he slapped Olihre forcefully on the back. 

“Ah, here he comes,” Aragorn announced as all eyes turned towards the path leading out of the trees.

Gaviwyr rode out at a brisk pace, several short spears still in his hand.  Alarms began to sound in Olihre’s head when he saw the Captain raise his spear-arm while guiding his horse directly at Olihre.  Looking quickly at his comrades, he was shocked to see that they were smiling and looking altogether unconcerned.  Fighting the urge to run and scream like a little girl, Olihre planted his feet on the ground, and braced himself for the attack that was coming his way.

Olihre’s horse took a tentative step back as Gaviwyr pulled back on his own horses’ reigns, causing it to rear up on its hind legs.  When the horse was on all fours again, Gaviwyr drew back the arm that he had fitted with a spear and then launched it with all of his might at the sapling growing behind Olihre’s horse.

“Brilliant strategy,” he said quietly, without any type of inflection or emotion.  “Though it has no practical application that I can think of.”

Though there were a few in the group who were hoping for a showdown, most breathed a sigh of relief at the truce that seemed to have been initiated by Gaviwyr with that statement.

Olihre swallowed hard.  “Thank you, though I admit, I hadn’t planned it.  I was rather desperate, I think.”

“Believe me,” Gaviwyr said in a calm voice, “I know the feeling.”

*          *          *

Back in the courtyard, some minutes later, a winner was announced.

“Despite the change in procedure, Legolas has still managed to beat you all.”  Imrahil tried to hide a knowing smirk.  “Aragorn and Eomer have tied for second place, while Olihre only barely bested Gaviwyr.”  Imrahil shook his head in mock-disbelief, while narrowing his eyes at Olihre, who was glancing sheepishly at Gaviwyr. 

“Well done, all of you!” Gimli rumbled in an authoritative voice, positioning himself importantly between Imrahil and the contestants.  “I found it very enlightening to watch your different strategies.”  Shifting his gaze to Legolas, the dwarf chuckled.  “Your personalities were also clearly expressed in this competition.”

Legolas turned to Aragorn with a look of sheer innocence on his face, raising his shoulders slightly in a gesture of naivety.  Aragorn in turn narrowed his eyes and allowed a dangerous smile to creep onto his face.

Olihre and Gaviwyr both seemed to think that this was a good time to excuse themselves to get ready for luncheon.  As they reached the massive double doors leading into the palace, Olihre turned to Gaviwyr.  “Do you suppose that my sister would allow me to take my meal in her room?”

Gaviwyr knew that Xanthe was still brooding, but he also knew that until a reconciliation occurred, undue strain would be abundant.  “I’ll ask her.  Why don’t you go to your room and get ready-- I’ll let you know one way or another.”

Olihre bobbed his head resolutely and set off for his chambers, silently praying that his sister would relieve him from his guilt soon.   

*          *          *

A knock at his door awoke Olihre from the short nap that he had been indulging in.  “Just a moment,” he called, attempting to straighten his clothing while smoothing down his disobedient hair. 

It was soon apparent though, that his visitor didn’t want to wait, for seconds later the door was pushed open to reveal a still pale but much healthier looking Xanthe. 

Olihre couldn’t have been more unprepared.  “Xan,” he began in a nearly breaking voice, “what are you doing here?”

Xanthe narrowed her eyes and skewed her face into a scowl as she walked meaningfully towards her brother.  When she was merely inches away from him she stopped, raising her hand in the air and letting it fly, right past Olihre’s face and to the back of his ponytail, which she pulled towards her and began brushing furiously. 

Olihre looked both frightened and confused.  “Wh…uh…,” he stammered, unable to decide precisely what he wanted to say.

“Someone needs to help you with your hair…” Xanthe explained sarcastically, turning Olihre’s face back towards hers so that she could look at him squarely.  Seeing the trepidation hidden in his dark green eyes, she smiled softly.  “That, and I missed you, dear brother.”

Olihre hesitated, still wary of his sister whom he knew could be quite evil when she wanted.  He didn’t have much time to contemplate however, before he was pulled into a hug that nearly broke his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Xanthe mumbled into his tunic.

Olihre couldn’t bear that.  “Only be sorry that you have a brother daft enough to do the stupid things that I do.”  Pulling her away from him, he looked at her pleadingly.  “Forgive me?”

“Of course,” Xanthe sniffed, half sobbing and half laughing.  Olihre felt a wave of elation wash over him as he pulled her back into an enormous hug. 

“We are expected to join the others for luncheon,” Xanthe said as she wiped the tears out of her eyes.

“Let’s go then,” Olihre chuckled, taking his sister’s hand and leading her into the hallway.  He had only progressed a few steps however, when he felt Xanthe’s hand slip out of his before flying back and leveling a mighty blow at his chest.

“What was that for?” Olihre howled, rubbing the throbbing section of collarbone that she had nearly decimated.

“That’s for what you did to my fiancé this morning!”

“Xan, it was just a comp-- did you say fiancé?”