Character: Thorongil and Rohirrim
Source: Pre-Ring War
Disclaimer: Tolkien created all the world out of his imaginings, Kortirion mused a little.
The instructor’s eyes felt like two gimlets boring into the back of his head. The Dúnadan inhaled deeply, blowing the breath out hard as he flexed his fingers around the lance. He pressed his knees hard to his mount’s flanks and shot forward, gathering pace.
…remember the drill… keep the eye focussed, the hands easy… weight forward in the stirrups, stand and – thrust!
He missed... again.
The éored hooted with good-natured laughter, amidst calls to ‘plant a tree out there, or better yet, a barn door… ‘ The drill-master rolled his eyes.
“Next!” he yelled, to no one in particular.
“Hold!” shouted Thorongil.
He raced back, snarling, threw his lance, point down, hard into the packed sand of the course, leaving it quivering in his wake. He vaulted from his mount, gathered up a bow and bounded back into the saddle, turning the skittish horse with his knees, whispering something in a language they couldn’t understand.
The horse whinnied, leapt away, thundering down towards the pegs. Thorongil pulled the bow, loosed one arrow, two, three… each hit home, splintering wood.
The Rohirrim were momentarily silent before bursting into cheers. The drill-master’s jaw dropped,
“That lad has sand!” he finally muttered.