By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

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Celeborn

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Buffy eyed the target. Despite visiting her grandparents, her brothers hadn’t allowed her to neglect her training. Archery and swordplay were still part of her daily routine. Archery occupied more time than it had before, however.

Galadriel sometimes watched, but it was Celeborn who had taken over her archery lessons. Much to her delight, he’d sent the twins scampering. Buffy had the distinct impression he’d enjoyed doing it, too- just like he enjoyed that he was the one teaching his granddaughter the proper way with a bow.

“Ease your grip, Anariel,” he said quietly. “And calm yourself. A swordsman may find strength in emotion, but an archer needs clarity, precision.”

He was the only person who called her Anariel. Somehow, it didn’t bother her as much coming from her grandfather. When most people used it, the name sounded like someone else. When Celeborn said it, the name danced on his tongue. He’d also taken the time to explain to her the relation between her name and the name he’d given her grandmother, Alatariel. She could live with having a name related to her grandmother’s. Particularly when it was said in the fond tone her grandfather reserved for her.

Archery had become a time of day when it was just the two of them. It was a soothing time, and she looked forward to it. Celeborn was only elf other than Galadriel who never pushed her to be anything other than what she was. She’d heard the disappointment of some of the galadhrim that she was not more like Arwen. Apparently Lothlorien had been expecting someone more proper and princessy.

She’d cured them of that on the patrol that had dealt with a group of yrch that had come down from the Hithaeglir. Her brothers had cleaned up on wagers that day- they hadn’t bothered to warn Haldir the Snooty or his brothers what their little sister could do.

Her grandfather had taken her archery in hand not long after that. He had been particularly incensed to discover that she preferred the sword or the knife because she lacked skill with a bow. Buffy had found it incredibly difficult to keep the poker face that was expected of the children of Elrond at the sight of her thousands-years-old grandfather as indignant as a teenager at the idea of his granddaughter not knowing her way around a bow.

She eased her grip as instructed and did her best to make herself relax. A soft snort told her grandfather was not impressed.

To her surprise, he slipped a blindfold over her eyes.

“How am I supposed to hit the target when I can’t see it!” she protested.

“You know I am smiling right now without seeing it,” he pointed out. “And you saw where the target was. I have not moved it, nor has it grown legs.”

“So just shoot where I think it is?” Buffy grumbled.

“No, shoot where you know it is,” Celeborn corrected. “You must trust yourself, Anariel. You have hit the target many times. You will hit it this time as well.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, aware that the whole ‘feeling’ thing elves had going would mean Celeborn knew she was doing it. She pictured the target in her mind. She hadn’t moved, and neither had it. She took a deep breath. Calm. Precise. She loosed her arrow.

A solid thwack! told her it had hit something- and pulling the length of cloth off her eyes, she discovered to her immense surprise that it was the target. Dead center, in fact.

“There was a lesson in there somewhere, wasn’t there?” she sighed.

“The lesson was to trust yourself. You do not lack ability, even if your brothers are quick to point out shortcomings. Yet each time you take aim, I see doubt. With a sword in hand, you are confidence incarnate. It should be the same with a bow.”

“It’s hard to be confident when you’ve got twin drill instructors constantly nitpicking,” Buffy muttered.

“Indeed,” Celeborn agreed. “Particularly when they seem not to remember that it took them several hundred years to develop their archery to a level they themselves would not now find fault with.”

Buffy looked up at him, smiling slightly. This was the other good part of having a grandfather- he reminded her that despite their reputations and their own egos, sometimes her brothers were full of it. And when they were around to hear it, he reminded them, too.

“Come, Anariel,” he said, ruffling her hair fondly. “Shall we see if your grandmother has succeeded in recreating this ice cream you are so fond of?”