Updated: August 2022
Not Time to Worry Yet
:::
III III III
"Well, do you still feel sure about this?"
"No." Under different circumstances, Anne might have elaborated, but her teeth were chattering rather violently. It made speaking difficult, and 'no' seemed to offer the path of least resistance.
"Then how about you stop torturing yourself," Maeren drawled.
Anne thought she could almost hear the other woman roll her eyes, but resisted the faint urge to twist around and verify this. Even if she hadn't been naked, covered in goosebumps from head to toe, and standing up to her hips in the freezing cold current of the Greyflood, the slick, moss-covered stones and treacherously soft, silt-like mud beneath her feet made any attempt at movement precarious as it was.
Technically, it wasn't the Greyflood they were at, but rather one of its smaller, western tributaries that had its source in the South Downs, east of Bree, and ran almost parallel to the Greenway for several miles before reaching Tharbad. It even had its own proper name: the Greenrill – though for some reason, most people simply called the stream Greyflood anyway. Little did Anne care about any of this at the moment, as she was hunched over and swaying slightly in the slow current while trying to summon the willpower to submerge the rest of her body into the icy floods. Behind her, she could hear Maeren shift on the tree stump she had chosen as a seat.
Legolas had agreed to set up camp unusually early, so it was still late afternoon. The day had been so mild, with the sky a brilliant, cloudless azure, that it felt like the last, frantic gasps of summer. Since usually, by the time they would stop for the night, daylight was in short supply, Anne had decided that if she wanted a bath it was either now or never. The air was soft, sweet and slightly sharp with the hint of evening rolling in, but still pleasantly warmed by the sun, and right now heavy with the resiny scent of the pines that surrounded the Greenrill's moss-covered banks on either side.
Anne now took a few more cautious steps forward on numb, unsteady feet. "We didn't have a chance to wash properly in three days," she managed to grind out through trembling lips. "I'm dirty and sweaty and dusty and… and… greasy—"
"Sounds like quite an accomplishment, if you ask me."
"Well, I c-can't stand it anymore, I'm down to desperate m-measures—"
"You're a fool, is what you are," Maeren said with a snort. "You have already been sneezing and coughing since yesterday as it is. We're on the road! A quarter-mile off the road even, to be exact. No one cares how you smell."
"I care," Anne sniffed, before sinking into the water to her neck with a shuddering groan; it felt like needles made of ice were assaulting every inch of her body. Shivering and panting through her mouth, she raised her shaking, dripping hands from the water and took the opportunity to meticulously wash her hair and face – especially her nose. Soon her whole head felt numb as well.
Since their departure from Bree five days had passed, and the weather had been fickle, to say the least. On the first day, they had only just barely made it to Maeren and Hal's selected camping spot — a small fir copse with a pond fed by a clear rivulet, which under different circumstances would have been idyllic – before the rainstorm had hit full force.
Even though the copse had been relatively sheltered, Anne had been fairly dismayed at the prospect of having to spend the night outside, protected by nothing but the trees. Then she realised that they would be using tents this time around. To her immense relief, Maeren simply seemed to assume that Anne would be sharing hers. After that first, turbulent night, the following days had been flighty; short but sometimes heavy showers alternating with brief patches of sunlight during the day, and severe temperature drops accompanied by icy winds during the nights.
Then, this morning, Anne had crawled out of the tent with her nose running and her head pounding dully, only to find that the air had turned balmy, and instead of hoar frost, the grass and leaves were covered in dew, glistening in the light of the morning sun. By the time they had stopped for a midday break, the horses' coats were gleaming with sweat, and the male members of their small party had discarded as much of their clothing as decency allowed.
Anne had been riding on the cart with Maeren today, and therefore opted for one of her linen dresses, rather than the warm leggings and long tunics, but she had regretted this decision dearly. Aching all over, and feeling hot and uncomfortable underneath her two layers of stiff cotton and scratchy, suddenly much too warm linen, she had been desperately envious of the men. The stiff sleeves of her dress were so tight that she could not even roll them up. When, several hours later, they had stopped for the day, it had taken her enormous self-restraint not to simply peel off her garments then and there.
In retrospect, she must have looked almost as terrible as she felt because Hal — with a sympathetic pat on her arm — had told her to go freshen up and not to worry about setting up the camp. Shortly after that, Legolas had taken two buckets from her, accompanied by the heart-warming advice to get some rest first, lest she collapse and spill all the drinking water. Therefore, now, Anne was crouched in the frigid, dark-green floods of the Greenrill, which turned out a lot more refreshing than she would have liked, and was fairly certain that the sensation in her extremities might never return.
"I could smell myself," she now bit out through trembling lips. "There was nothing for it."
"Well, judging from what I can smell right now, Hal and Dorry must be about done with roasting those rabbits," Maeren grumbled. "Yet I sit here like a sheepdog keeping guard because of this nonsense."
"I didn't ask you to keep guard," Anne listlessly felt the need to point out.
"No, but I do agree with his lordship in this matter. This way is safer, and who knows? I might expect the same courtesy someday. Should I ever be mad enough to brave a mountain stream at the end of September, that is. And when there was ground frost the night before, too."
"I didn't realise it was September already," Anne muttered while trying to rub herself down with a small cloth despite the hindrance of having lost nearly all sensation in her hands. "Besides, on our way to Bree, he never seemed to think it a problem for me to be on my own."
"Well, you came down the East-West Road, via the Misty's High Pass, didn't you?" Maeren said absently, possibly still thinking about supper. "A little less traffic up there, compared to the Greenway. You wouldn't want to be surprised by some unsuspecting travelling company while hopping about in the middle of a river, wearing nothing but your hair, would you?"
"Fine, I see your point, I suppose," Anne mumbled while trying to disentangle the knots in said hair. She silently pondered whether or not it had grown long enough already to cover her chest at least, should such a scenario as Maeren had described, ever arise.
"So either hurry up, or I shall go to supper and send Legolas to watch you instead," Maeren said impatiently. "Perhaps you will listen when he tells you that blue lips aren't all that desirable."
Anne grimaced at Maeren over her shoulder, but the latter's declaration held sufficient enough threat for her to capitulate. She gingerly turned around and, hugging herself, hobbled as fast as she could towards the bank, where she had deposited the large square of folded linen that served her as a towel. Maeren politely averted her eyes while bending down to reach for the clean clothes Anne had brought with her to the stream, consisting of leggings made of thick, coarse cotton, a sleeveless chemise, and a thigh-length, woollen tunic.
They were some of the well-worn, loose-fitting boy's clothes that Legolas had given her right before their departure from Eryn Lasgalen. Even though the wool of the tunic felt scratchy against her bare arms, and the leggings were becoming threadbare at the knees, they were still much more comfortable, practical, and easier to move in than the dresses she owned. Anne had decided that, unless Legolas made her, she would wear those as little as possible while travelling. Still shivering, she sat down on the mossy ground to pull her small, slightly battered boots back on. Maeren eyed her footwear sceptically.
"Those won't hold out for much longer, I wager. There are a few decent cobblers in Tharbad. You should make sure to buy another pair while we are there, it will take us at least two more weeks to get to Edoras."
Anne shook her head as she picked up the thin strip of leather she used as a hair tie. "I have no money. Or at least not enough, I think."
"You think?" Maeren sounded amused.
"I have a few coins that the landlord from the inn in Carrockton gave me, but I'm not sure what they're worth," Anne explained with a shrug.
Maeren shot her a dubious glance while rising to her feet and brushing off her long, brown skirt. "I see. Well, you can show them to me later. What do they look like? Silver, copper, brass?"
Anne frowned, trying to remember. She hadn't opened the small pouch with the coins in weeks. "One or two that look silvery, I think, and a few smaller, copper ones."
"The silver ones are pennies, you should be fine with one or two. Otherwise, the Elf will help you out, surely?"
"Perhaps. I don't know," Anne muttered, not feeling overly keen on this prospect.
She gathered up the dusty gown and shift, then she and Maeren headed off, wound their way around the tall pines and followed the narrow trail that would lead them back towards the camp.
"It might be a good idea to invest in some warmer clothes as well," Maeren said as they walked, before raising one hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. "Do you really not own any long stockings?" She sighed when Anne shook her head while shivering into the cloak she had wrapped herself in. "No wonder you are shivering and sniffling. I can lend you a pair or two. They don't sell well further south anyway."
"Thank you," Anne muttered, while narrowly avoiding stepping into an anthill. She glanced at the other woman, who was just stifling another yawn. "You didn't sleep well, last night?"
"Your constant coughing kept me awake," Maeren grumbled, though without any bite.
"I'm sorry," Anne said, trying to look contrite. "I don't know why it was so much worse during the night."
"I think, that's normal. Perhaps we can heat you up some spiced wine this evening."
They had reached the edge of the small clearing where their camp and the two tents were set up. The wagons had been moved in to stand in a row, to provide some additional shelter from the cold night winds. Hal was standing by the fire and carefully turning the rabbits for tonight's supper on their skewers, while Dorry and Legolas could be seen at the far end of the clearing, apparently inspecting something on the ground. The young Hobbit looked tiny next to the Elf, even though the latter one was crouched down.
Maeren indicated the two of them with a jerk of her head as she and Anne walked towards their tent. "Have you spoken to him?"
Anne shook her head. "He has other things on his mind."
They had reached the tent and Maeren held open the flap, glancing down at the shorter woman and gesturing for Anne to enter ahead of her. "Perhaps he would not mind a distraction. What is the worst that could happen?"
"I am not sure," Anne hedged while ducking inside and starting to deposit her discarded clothes in one of her bags. "He might say yes, and I could hurt myself, I suppose?"
"Don't be silly," said Maeren as she reached for her own cloak and wrapped it around herself. "He would hardly allow for you to be harmed. Well, it is your choice, but you might not get such an opportunity again. I will check after the horses, do not dally too long."
"I won't."
Maeren ducked out of the tent, and Anne stowed the bag with her dirty laundry in her pack. She paused and then dug her hand deeper into the pack until her fingers brushed over something hard. She let them linger on the worn edge of the small, leather-bound tome, feeling her stomach contract uncomfortably.
She had been nervous about even opening the journal again, about what she might find out, without clearly knowing why. What she had not anticipated was that, once they were travelling once more, there might not even be a chance of opening it, let alone read some of the entries – at least not in private. Anne did not really feel like answering curious, albeit innocent questions about it; not that she even would be able to, in all likelihood. Therefore, since their departure from Bree, she had not looked at the journal again – had not even removed it from her pack into which she had shoved it at the first opportunity.
She now huffed a resigned sigh and drew her hand from the pack before straightening up. As she turned towards the exit of the tent and then ducked outside, she tried to ignore the cowardly sense of relief she felt at the prolonged respite. Perhaps, once they had reached Tharbad. They would stay there for one night at least, and Maeren had mentioned something about an inn where she had some sort of agreement with the landlady and was allowed to stay free of charge. Maybe, provided she would have some hours to herself, she could then finally learn some of the secrets the diary might hold. If, indeed, there were any secrets to be learned, Anne thought wryly. For all she knew, the journal might contain nothing but boring accounts of day-to-day life, or lists of household chores.
Outside the tent, she first glanced towards the group of slender birches where the horses were tethered, and then over at the firepit; both Hal and Dorry were now bowed over the rabbits and puttering around with herbs and other seasonings, by the looks of it. Legolas was sitting by himself, a little apart from the Hobbits, on the remnants of a fallen tree and sharpening his knife. Anne steeled her resolve. Now was probably as good a timing as it could get.
All right. She could do this.
Anne sniffled one more time, resisting the temptation to wipe her nose on her sleeve, and then resolutely headed over to where the Elf was sitting. He did not look up as she drew closer, even though he must have noticed her approach. When Anne stopped in front of him and had just opened her mouth, Legolas finally raised his head. He let the whetstone sink and regarded her, gaze steely with irritation.
"Yes?"
Anne recoiled slightly, taken aback by the asperity in his tone. Perhaps now wasn't the best timing after all. "Nothing," she hastily said. "I was just passing by and... I thought I would, er, wish you a pleasant evening."
The Elf's large grey eyes narrowed, either in annoyance or puzzlement, but Anne was already turning around to head towards the fire. Then her eye was caught by Maeren, who was just sitting down next to Hal. The other woman raised her eyebrows questioningly and smirked. With an inward groan, Anne turned back around to face Legolas — he was still staring up at her.
"Yes?" he repeated pointedly.
"Er, well, the thing is… perhaps you noticed or heard about it already, but Maeren brought this old bow of her cousin's—"
"I heard not."
"No? Well, she did, and she said I may use it if I want to learn some…" Anne faltered under the Elf's unmoving, cool scrutiny and briefly wondered what on earth was the matter with him all of a sudden. But then, not giving herself time to back down again, she hurriedly rambled on, determined to just get it out and over with. "Anyway, I was thinking— or rather Maeren suggested that I should perhaps ask you to show me... because I know nothing about it, and you—" She gesticulated towards the Elf's long bow that was propped against the tree trunk next to him. "So, presumably you know a lot and that's why I thought that perhaps you could…"
Trailing off, Anne nervously cleared her throat. Legolas was frowning now, his expression something akin to vaguely appalled disbelief, as though she had suggested something indecent. "But, er, well, I know you have other things to worry about and it's really not important, so never mind. Thank you," she hastily finished, turned tail and fled towards the campfire, where she joined Maeren and the Hobbits.
The merchant snorted quietly as Anne drew near, before raising a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Anne hissed, while plopping down next to the other woman. "He is in a foul mood."
Maeren glanced in the direction of the Elf. "More so than usual, you mean? Well, I suppose we have the weather to blame for that."
Frowning, Anne looked up at the cloudless sky. "The weather? Why?"
Maeren nodded, but it was Hal who answered, smiling at Anne while expertly jointing the rabbits, and placing the pieces on tin plates.
"This sudden warmth at this time of the year heralds the coming of some unpleasant days. The old gammer is just waiting 'round the bend, as we say in Bree."
Anne shook her head, utterly at a loss. "The old who?"
Maeren laughed again, joined by Hal's bright chuckle this time. "'It is what we call the late summer storms," she explained, still chuckling. "With the air as still and stuffy as this, we shall have quite a bit of a tempest on our hands, and soon."
"Another storm?" Anne looked from one to the other, feeling dismayed. She had been hoping to get rid of her chill as soon as possible, not having added fuel to the fire by getting completely drenched again, with no means to properly warm up. "Like the day we left Bree?"
"Oh no," Hal offered with a cheerfulness that Anne found rather uncalled-for. "This one will be a proper one! They can last several days sometimes. Rivers overflowing, roofs being blown off—"
"My friend Golbrin said that it blew away one of their cows last year," Dorry chimed in, joining them at the fire with a lumpy bag in his hands.
"Don't worry," Maeren said in what she probably thought to be a reassuring tone, even while snickering at the alarmed expression on Anne's face. "We should be safely in Tharbad once the worst of it hits. However, it still will delay our journey onward, and the Elf won't like that."
"And what if we're not safely in Tharbad by the time it hits?" Anne demanded nervously, not really particularly caring about any delay.
"Hal says we will be. Hobbits have a good sense for these things."
When Anne looked at Hal, he tapped a finger to the side of his nose. "Sure enough, we can practically smell them coming," he said with a grin. "No worries, Miss Anne. I'm a bit of an expert if it comes to foretelling the weather. And besides, Legolas agrees with me."
"Look what he and I found," Dorry told them excitedly. He reached into the bag and pulled out several apples that looked slightly worse for wear. "They're late harvest-ones of course, and most of them are only suited to be made into sauce, but a few still look decent enough." He held out one of the apples to Anne.
"An apple is good for the health," the young Hobbit said jauntily when Anne reluctantly took the blotchy piece of fruit from him. "It's been nibbled at a bit, I know, but Lord Legolas said to give it to you anyway."
"He did, huh," Anne muttered, turning the apple in her hand and eyeing the unappetising wormholes. "How… how thoughtful of him."
"That's what I thought too!" Dorry nodded his head fervently, his eyes wide and an expression of guileless adoration on his young face. "I have never met one of them fair folk people, and I admit, I was a bit timid of him at first, not sure how to speak with someone so kingly a person if you know what I mean. But he's really not all that different from us normal and simple folk, is he? Not acting like some high lord at all, even though it would be surely in his right if I'm not very much mistaken. And how kind of him to say to give you the apple, don't you think, Miss Anne?"
"Yes, very kind," Anne retorted, rather more waspishly than intended. In her defence, her head was really aching quite a bit by now. "Truly, such graciousness, I feel warm all over."
"Perhaps you are developing a fever?" came the softly drawled suggestion from behind Anne, making her flinch and drop the apple into her lap.
"Ah, Lord Legolas," Dorry said blithely, "we were just speaking of you."
"Yes, so I gathered," said Legolas while sitting down so close to Anne that his arm was pressed against hers. "Cease with the 'lord' already, Dorry."
Anne stubbornly withstood the urge to inch away from him. She was fairly certain this was merely the Elf's retaliation for her snotty remark, but when he then reached out and made to touch her forehead, she grimaced and dodged his hand.
"I'm fine," she said defensively while swallowing down on a cough, and pushing his hand away. "No fever."
"Are you sure?" Hal chipped in while handing around the plates with the rabbit meat. "You do look a bit palish and chilled, I have to say."
"Yes, I'm sure," Anne said firmly as she took her plate from the Hobbit with a strained smile.
Legolas mercifully stopped his perfunctory attempt to feel her brow. "If you are certain — thank you Hal — that nothing ails you—"
"I am. Quite certain," Anne lied stoutly. She ignored the contradicting gratefulness for the warmth of his body next to her while trying to sniffle as surreptitiously as possible. "Never been better."
"Good." The Elf leaned around her to address Maeren. "That thing is in working order? Limbs, string, grip?"
Maeren glanced up from her own plate, looking faintly surprised, but then smiled thinly. "Of course. Aside from the string, it needs a new one."
"All right then," Legolas rose to his feet with his plate in hand. "Is it still on your cart?"
"Yes, on the left side, wrapped in cloth."
Anne, who had been blankly following their exchange, started when the Elf lightly nudged her with his leg. When she looked up at him, Legolas indicated her plate with a nod.
"Hurry up with that, and then dress into something with tighter sleeves. We have about two hours of daylight left."
Anne stared after him as he then strode off in the direction of the carts, taking his supper with him. "What?" she said to no one in particular.
Maeren smirked at her. "It would seem that it's time for lesson number one."
:::
A little over an hour later Anne wished herself desperately into her tent, preferably with several blankets to pull over her head to hide from the outside world, in particular from present company. She ached everywhere, her nose was running, and she wasn't sure for how much longer she would be able to refrain from screaming – or perhaps crying, both options were entirely within the bounds of possibility. Crying might offer the advantage of gaining some sympathy from her current tormentor. She doubted it though, to be honest.
They had returned to the stream, at a section where the bank was much steeper. Part of the slope had broken away, forming a sheer drop with an almost vertical, sandy surface. There, Legolas had drawn a circle into the soft earth, which Anne was barely able to distinguish amongst roots and sparsely growing weeds, but this had soon turned out to be the least of her problems.
"Again."
"Can we not take a—"
"No."
Anne sniffled miserably, wiped her damp brow with her sleeve, and glanced at Legolas. The Elf was standing next to her with the attentive but casual bearing of a commander watching over his troops. His stance relaxed, muscular folded across his chest, he was wearing an expression Anne could only think of as 'practised unimpressedness' while looking comfortable and thoroughly unperturbed by the stifling, humid air.
He could be truly detestable.
"My arms hurt," she ventured to object.
"Good. That means there is some progress at least," he said pitilessly. Then he nodded towards the small pile of half-finished arrows to their feet. "It will be dark soon, you may rest once we are finished. Go on."
Suppressing a groan, as well as the urge to massage her sore shoulders and back, Anne awkwardly shifted Maeren's bow in her smarting hand, and bent down to pick up another one of the thin, straight wooden shafts. "Would they not fly better if they had those feather things on them?" she asked distractedly.
Legolas shook his head. "I would not waste fletched arrows on such lessons, not this early on. This is about your form, not accuracy."
"But aren't they at least supposed to have pointy ends?"
"Do you honestly expect me to give you something with pointy ends? Now quit stalling. Which part is the nock?"
Caught by surprise, Anne blinked at him. "The, er—"
"Concentrate," came the sharp reprimand. Truth be told, the Elf had taken the time to patiently explain to her all the parts and names, but Anne still felt she was getting the short end of the stick here.
"I'm trying to, but it's just that…" She took a deep breath and slowly turned her head to scowl at Maeren, Hal and Dorry, who were sitting on a fallen tree trunk, several yards to their left. Both Hobbits were puffing away merrily on their pipes, Maeren was munching an apple, and all three of them were following the happenings as avidly as spectators at a tournament.
"Do you really have nothing else to do?" Anne demanded morosely.
Maeren swallowed a mouthful of apple before giving her a sweet smile. "Not right now we don't, no."
Anne glared at her. Not least because she would have liked to glare at Legolas instead, but did not dare to.
"Ah, but we have barely been here for ten minutes," Hal now pointed out. "And I must say — you do look very smart and keen, what with that bow and gear, Miss Anne. Very huntsman-like, if you will," he added in an encouraging tone. Dorry was earnestly nodding his assent.
"Thank you," Anne mumbled wearily. Her 'gear' consisted of one bracer on her left arm, which Legolas had insisted on.
"It should make no difference who is watching you," the Elf was now telling her sternly. "If you are serious about this, you must learn to concentrate. No matter what is happening around you."
"Our old Master Hayward — our sums- and letters teacher — would always threaten to make us stand with our britches down in front of the whole class when we didn't concentrate," Dorry supplied helpfully. "He never really made anyone do it, though."
"Don't go giving our Master Elf any ideas," Maeren chided her friend, although her rebuke might have been more convincing had she not been chortling at the same time.
Legolas sighed and, after a glance at Anne's panicking expression, unfolded his arms while turning to face the small group, placing his hands on his hips. "Do you mind taking your shenanigans elsewhere," he asked coolly. "This will be a waste of my time otherwise."
Still chuckling, Maeren raised her hands in mock surrender and got to her feet. "Come one, lads. We shall leave them in peace."
"Oh, so when he asks you to leave, then you listen," Anne mumbled, as the Hobbits climbed off the trunk as well and all three of them filed out of the impromptu training ground.
Glancing back over her shoulder, Maeren shrugged. "Well, he is bigger than you."
"It's a shame though," said Dorry, who looked genuinely disappointed. "I would hate to miss out on you showing off some neat, little marksmanship tricks, Miss Anne."
"I doubt there is any danger of that happening," came Legolas' withering assessment.
Anne had been thinking along the same lines as the Elf, but that did not stop her from experiencing the strong desire to kick him in the shin.
"Please try not to have her in tears by the end of it," Maeren called to Legolas by way of goodbye. He did not deign to reply.
Anne grimaced, sniffled, and then felt a little sorry for herself since nobody else seemed inclined to do it. Once their companions had climbed up the bank a little further down the stream and disappeared from view, Legolas turned towards her with an ominous gleam in his eyes. Anne drew up her shoulders in apprehension, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and warily returned his gaze.
"You have had your respite and we are alone," the Elf observed with a sardonic twitch of one eyebrow. "May I expect you to focus now?" When she hastily nodded, he indicated the arrow she was still holding. "Then once more — nock." He watched as Anne, fumbling slightly, fitted the arrow onto the string. "You are getting faster. Revise your stance and then draw."
Anne bit back the angry remark that everyone would ultimately get faster at something if they repeated it often enough, turned towards the bank and raised her borrowed bow.
"Stop, stop, stop."
Perplexed, Anne glanced at Legolas, who was shaking his head. "What? Why?"
He had interrupted her before, usually because she was aiming too high, or her elbow was too low, or she hadn't bent the bow far enough. For a moment Anne puzzled over what she could have done wrong when she had not even drawn yet – then she realised that she had not checked her stance. And sure enough…
"Where are your feet?"
"Down there?" she grumbled, knowing he was right but unable to quell the childish impulse. Perhaps she really did have a fever.
The Elf's eyes narrowed. Before Anne had time to regret her brief twinge of belligerence, he had moved right in front of her, pushed one of his legs between hers, and used the inside of his boot to shove her feet further apart. Ignoring her appalled squeak, he stepped back again and then started walking in a small circle around her.
"Proceed," he ordered. "Draw and hold."
Only barely resisting the temptation to twist around in order to keep him in her line of sight, Anne obeyed. She raised the bow and drew back the string until her fingers touched the corner of her mouth, the way Legolas had shown her. He was standing behind her now, which made her feel somewhat edgy.
"Use your back more."
"I am," Anne protested.
Long, strong fingers closed around her bicep. "This is your back?"
"No," she grumbled. Her arm began to shake from the strain of holding the fully-drawn bow, and the added pressure on her muscles by the Elf's hand. She felt him release her upper arm and then place his hand lightly between her shoulder blades, fingers spread. Anne shuddered.
"This—" he pressed more firmly against her back, "—is where the work should be happening. Yet you are letting your arm do the brunt of it."
Gritting her teeth and suppressing the need to cough, Anne attempted her best to follow Legolas' instruction, tense her back, and take some of the tension off her arm and shoulder. Her skin felt achy and overly sensitive, and it was all she could do not to squirm away from his touch. She found herself idly wondering how quickly he would react if she were to shift her target from the bank to him; she owed him one after all. However, considering that, if she pointed an arrow at him, odds were that he would force her to eat it, she banished the tempting thought. After a moment, she felt his hand fall away from her.
"Better," he granted. "Now take your aim — remember, lower than your target — then slowly breathe out, and release."
Grateful to be allowed to relieve her screaming muscles, Anne did as she was told. Her aim had not improved. She had, to some extent at least, figured out the height she needed to point the arrow in order for it to not fly over the top of the bank – which had happened several times in the beginning, much to Legolas' annoyance. However, her missiles had a tendency to veer too far to the right, no matter how carefully she aimed. As frustrating as it was, at least Legolas did not comment on her apparent inability to shoot straight; perhaps he just didn't expect her to.
Sighing and letting the bow sink, Anne now watched him tug several arrow shafts from the soft soil of the rough vicinity of her target surface, and then walk back towards her. She braced herself for hearing the word she had come to dread during the last hour. At least, the Elf did not make her wait long.
"Again."
:::
III III III
AN: My sincerest thanks to everyone reading the story, and especially those who take the time to write me comments with their thoughts on it; they're the most motivating thing!
To Guest, who spent a lot of time reading instead of sleeping: You honour me, thank you! I hope you could catch up on it.
To Guest/Not so random girl at all/Ryu-Kay, since I couldn't reply to you either: Thank you so much, it's wonderful to see you back as well, and I truly appreciate it.
And last but not least, a huge thank you to Ruiniel for beta'ing – have a big, squishy, fluffy, anti-stress-thank-you-cushion!