Archery Practice
Date: Friday, May 26 @ 09:58:52 CEST
Topic: Habits

Summary: An archerís thoughts as he returns to the practice range.

Rating: K

The leather wrapped wood in his hand was both familiar as an old friend and strange as if he had never felt it before. It had been more than two months since he had held a bow, and so much had changed in those months! He was no longer a ranger. He no longer had to depend on his skills with sword and bow to survive, and in fact had to have a guard with him when he walked outside the citadel. His beloved city was no longer in immediate danger. There was no reason that he had to be here.

Faramir grinned ruefully as he rolled his shoulders to loosen them. How his brother would laugh if he could see him now, on the practice range when he did not have to be. When he was a boy he had protested whenever he was forced to practice, preferring his studies and books. Then over time it had become a habit, and once he was made a ranger he finally began to appreciate what his instructors had told him so often; the more the skills were practiced, the more intuitive they became, they better they would serve you when lives were on the line.

Of course he knew that even though the Dark Lord had fallen there would still be more fighting before peace would truly come to Gondor. There were still orcs in Ithilien, and likely Southrons and other men who had answered Sauronís call as well. He could trust his rangers, and the men of the White Company, but he did not wish to become soft as some lords on the council were. He wished to be able to lead his men if needed, and to defend his wife when she came. And their children, should they be so blessed by the Valar.

He smiled as a image formed in his mind, of someday coming here with his son and teaching himÖ

He gave himself a mental shake and reminded himself to focus. If he indulged in daydreams he would never finish here, and there were still many reports to be completed and given to Aragorn for his review before the council meeting.

He pulled a bow from the quiver that he had stuck in the ground at his feet and took his stance, starting with his left side to the target. He nocked the arrow, extended his left arm, pulled the string back, sighted the target and released, all in one fluid motion. He winced slightly at the pull in his shoulder, where muscles still healed after he was pierced by an arrow in the war, but determinedly selected another arrow from the quiver.

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