The Hobbit / LOTR -oneshots

Artist 2 - Aragorn

Warnings: none, I think?
Word count: 1040
Other: Beta-read by my roommate
Requested: by FilmbookNerd

You and Aragorn spend time together and try your best to learn the things the other enjoys.

You had never been good at sword fighting. It had always been hard for you, and that was the biggest reason you had swayed away from it for so long, settling for painting and playing the violin instead. But as Aragorn asked you if he could teach you a few things, just because it would make him feel better to know that you knew even a few maneuvers with a sword, you had agreed. You had been hesitant at first, but as he promised you could train the first half of the day and do whatever you liked for the second you had agreed.

You grew to regret your decision soon, as Aragorn didn't believe in training swords. You tried to lift the sword Aragorn had gotten for you, but you could barely lift it, it was so heavy. After you almost knocked yourself out with it as you swung it, he fetched you a long dagger instead, deeming it was safer for everyone, but mostly for you. It worked much better for you weight-wise, and it was easier to carry around in your everyday life with ease. But the problem was that as it was much shorter than a sword, you had to be much more aggressive with your defense. You aren't an aggressive person, so getting used to the fighting style took you even more getting used to than you had thought, as most of the moves, even the defensive ones, bordered offense.

The sounds of your training were echoing around the kingdom, but there was rarely anything more than a sound of metal hitting metal. Aragorn sighed as he lowered his sword, letting it hang limply by his side.
"You'll have to lift it higher to parry my strike with a sword, and you'll have to find a way to move the force of the strike away from your wrist. You will drop the dagger every time otherwise." You picked the dagger up from the sand again, cleaning the handle with a quick brush of your hand before you wrapped your hand around it again.
"I'm trying, but you're not making it easy." You muttered to yourself, making sure that he could not hear you, but he did.
"Your enemies won't take it easy on you." You rolled your eyes, gesturing around wildly.
"What enemies, Aragorn? I barely leave Rivendell and I doubt anyone will attack me here." You lifted your dagger up just as his sword came down, and this time, you didn't drop it. A stunned but pleased smile spread to your lips when you realized you had actually been able to block one of his strikes without dropping your dagger.
"Very good." Aragorn was a little stingy with the praises, but that just meant he really meant the ones he said.

- -

Teaching Aragorn how to paint was interesting. You had taught him everything there is to know about different techniques and brushes, and how they leave a different trace and texture on the canvas. He seemed to soak everything in like a sponge, listening intently as you educated him, makings sure to leave room for questions. All and all, it went rather well. It was rather different what he was used to, but he seemed to enjoy it.

There was just one problem. Even if the man could write poems with ease, making the words he spilled on the pages of books flow like silk through your fingers. Somehow, the artistry disappeared when he got a paintbrush and palette thrust into his hands and stood in front of an easel. It wasn't from a lack of trying, he just seemed lost and had no idea what to paint.
"It doesn't matter. Just pick something and paint." You had almost finished your bottom layer on yours, the view of what was spreading in front of you now, the sun rising high in the sky above Rivendell, everything bathed in light. Aragorn just sighed deeply and continued to stare at the empty canvas.

Aragorn lifted the brush but set it down again, shaking his head.
"How do you pick the topics of your poems?" You asked the next day, starting the next layer on your painting, the white buildings of Rivendell slowly taking their shape with every brush of paint you applied.
"I don't know, they just ... appear." He explained, giving you a look.
"Then make one appear for your painting as well. I've taught you everything I know about paints, but I cannot help you with this one. The subject of your art has to come from inside. You'll know when you've found it." You trailed off when you realized he was no longer listening, but tracing gentle colors onto the canvas with a focused look in his eye.

Surprisingly, Aragorn finished his work before you did, stepping away with a hum, tapping a spot on the canvas one last time before setting it down, taking a step back to admire his work. Your eyes settle onto the artwork, and your heart feels like it stops inside your chest. It's absolutely stunning. The painting is of you, standing next to your easel with a paintbrush in hand, just as you had been moments prior. But there is something in it, something you can't quite grasp. Your painted self seems to be bathed in eternal light, and you turn to him, tears brimming in your eyes. You cannot imagine that he spent so much time perfecting it.
"You told me to paint what is in my heart." You flushed deep red at his statement, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

I am not the most knowledgeable person when it comes to painting, mostly because I can't draw to save my life, so I apologize for the mistakes I have made.
(I do know that oil paint does not dry that fast but luckily this is fanfiction and there are elves so I can simply say that 'it is elven magic paint' and call it a day.)

Part 182.