History Lessons
Bored out of his mind, Arahael struggled to recount the history of the Noldorin kings. They were all dead, after all; what was the point? He’d much rather be outside, training with his new sword or perhaps riding, but unfortunately he was stuck with Erestor all morning. Curse history! And the next class, diplomacy, was even worse. He decided to try to liven things up a bit.
‘And then there was this king, this hair guy…’
’I beg your pardon?’ For once, Erestor looked thoroughly confused.
Encouraged, Arahael elaborated, ’You know, the one with the loud hair.’
’Loud hair?’
’Yes, Fingon! Means ’Hair Shout’, doesn’t it?
In the silence that followed, Arahael watched Erestor with great interest; never had he seen his teacher with his mouth agape like this. The boy sat back and waited for the eruption to happen, a look of innocence plastered on his face like a shield.
A ray of sun peeked curiously through the window, highlighting the strange tableau, and broke the teacher out of his trancelike state. His mouth shut with a resounding snap. With blazing eyes and bright red spots on his high cheekbones, Erestor, Exile of Aman, former Advisor to the High King, now Chief Counsellor of Imladris, descended on his blasphemous pupil.
The ensuing dressing-down went over in the history of Imladris as the most thorough tongue-lashing ever given. By the end of it, Arahael was cowering in his chair and had renounced all ideas of making jokes on dead kings’ expense. An awestruck audience hovered at a safe distance; even at normal volume, Erestor’s well-trained voice carried far, but the volume he achieved this day had brought Elves rushing to the scene from all corners of the house (and a few from the gardens).
Elrond finally managed to calm the seething Erestor down enough to drag him to the infirmary. Worrying about his friend’s state, particularly his facial colour and the throbbing vein in his right temple, Elrond persuaded him to accept first a sedative and then—a while later—a thorough examination.
When Elrond referred to the incident in later days, he claimed that Erestor’s blood pressure must have set a record, for never in his life had he seen an Elf so red in the face.
To the satisfaction of all parties involved, it was decided that for the time being, young Arahael had received sufficient education in diplomacy and the history of Middle-earth. His morning lessons were replaced with an extended physical training programme. After a few weeks of running up and down steep slopes for hours on end, running from the stream to the stables with full water buckets, and running to do every warrior’s tiniest bidding at top speed, Arahael had not only become amazingly fit, he had also developed a wonderful feeling for diplomacy, a skill that stood him in good stead ever after.
***
Author’s Notes:
Arahael was the second Chieftain of the Dúnedain after the fall of Arnor. I picked him randomly for this uncanonical silliness.