Aragorn stood at the edge of the shooting range and watched, held captive by the sight in front of him.
Legolas was shooting, sending arrow after arrow thudding into the center of the target with careless skill. The elf was a study in grace and speed, movements almost a blur as he cocked, drew and fired over and over. His eyes were half-closed and distant-looking, belying the incredible concentration Aragorn knew he was bringing to bear.
Aragorn sighed, partly in admiration, partly in envy. He knew he was a good archer himself, knew he had the potential to be even better, but he would never be as good as Legolas.
Legolas wielded the bow like it was part of him, as comfortable with it as he was with his own limbs. In comparison, there were times that Aragorn felt a stranger in his own body, still not entirely used to the added inches of height he'd gained over the winter.
He knew that ease in his own skin would come with time, but that was just the point.
Time.
He had only a finite amount of it, where Legolas had an uncountable supply. What couldn't he master with endless years to do it in?
"Aragorn?"
He blinked, looking up to see Legolas walking towards him, with a tiny amused smile of his face, his bow causally held in one hand. "Are you going to take a turn?"
He looked down at the target with its tight grouping of arrows in the center. "There's no way I can do better than you," he finally replied.
"That isn't why we do this. The goal is to better yourself, not to better me -- or anyone else." Legolas' rebuke was sofft, full of affection and understanding.
"I know," Aragorn said with a sigh. "I know. It's just--"
"You want to be the best." The elf smiled and gestured at Aragorn's bow. "So show me your best today."
It was obvious that Legolas was not going to leave him alone until he gave in. With another sigh, he picked up his bow and stepped to the firing line.
Once there, his reluctance faded as he concentrated on finding his rhythm and focus, firing arrow after arrow at the target.
His movements were nowhere as fast or as smooth as Legolas', but they were quick and efficient, and while his arrows were not as tightly packed together as the elf's had been, they were all on the target and closer to the center than not.
Finally he lowered his bow and turned to find Legolas watching him intently, wearing an unreadable expression.
They stood like that for a long while, Aragorn unable to look away, caught by the intensity of the elf's gaze. Legolas was usually unassuming, a quiet and comforting presence, but at the moment Aragorn, held captive by intense dark eyes, was reminded that this was a personality that had the weight of millennia behind it. And at the moment all that weight was focused squarely at him.
Then Legolas smiled and Aragorn was able to breathe again. "Not bad, but may I show you something?"
"Of course," he responded automatically, still slightly dazed by Legolas' gaze.
"Please..." Legolas gestured at the line and Aragorn obligingly took his place at it again and raised his bow.
Then he caught his breath as Legolas pressed up against his back, arms coming around him, so the elf's hands were covering his own.
Legolas began guiding him through a slightly different way of drawing, his voice soft in Aragorn's ear. Soft as a seduction, and Aragorn was once again reminded that the elf had no doubt mastered many things other than archery.
He wondered if he would ever be so privileged to have Legolas show him certain of those skills, and suspected if he was, it would be as overwhelming an experience as the glimpse he caught of Legolas' long life.
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Chapter notes: Summary: Time gives many advantages.
