Thunk. Thunk.
Thunk. Thunk.
Thunk. Clatter.
"Damnit!"
Thranduil raises a brow, sending a sidelong glance at Tauriel as she violently shakes an arm, a long lock of hair tangled between her fingers, her bracer, and her bow string. A few more seconds of her flailing does not get the hair free, and Thranduil sets his bow aside with a sigh.
"Hold still," he murmurs, teasing the knots out with his fingers as Tauriel growls her general annoyance and tries not to fidget. Her other hand is down at her side, twitching slightly with the urge to clench. They have been at this for a few hours now, and her patience is worn thin.
Once he has freed her, Thranduil scoops her hair back in a hasty braid, tucking the end into her belt to keep it out of the way, and returns to his post a few feet off to the side.
"Ready? Again."
He draws his bow, watching Tauriel do the same in his peripherals. Her stance is a little off, too closed in with uncertainty, but he can work on that later. He releases his arrow, watching it sail across the practice field to sink deep into the center of a straw target.
Thunk.
Tauriel, hearing the sound of his shot striking, judges the distance and lets her arrow fly.
Thunk.
On the edge of the target, but getting better.
"Good," he murmurs as she lets out a huff of breath. "How many shots do you have left?"
He can see easily enough from here, of course. She has half a quiver left, and fifteen shots is more than sufficient to crowd the targets, but the total is not the point of his question. He wants her to practice.
Tauriel skims her hand over the arrows, her fingers dipping to trail through the fletching and divide the ends into groups as she takes count in one smooth motion.
"Fifteen."
"Three more shots and then we will clear the targets."
He takes aim at the target to the left and shoots, Tauriel following his lead.
Thunk. Thunk.
This time her shot is closer to the center, a bit to the left, but he does not tell her that. He had tried telling her where her arrow struck early on, but if she knew where she needed to correct she would try to compensate instead of simply letting the sound guide her, and her next shot wouldn't even be close. He had been watching her progress silently for the past hour, offering no corrections or even indication of how close she hits (aside from the shots she misses, which she can hear hit the stones of the wall) and has noticed an improvement. It is slight, and will take some practice to better hone, but he has hope.
He sends an arrow into the target on the far right for her, watching her almost hit the center with a little smile, and then he switches back to a far left target, just to throw her. Tauriel nearly misses this shot, but it hits the rim of the target and stays, so he counts it as a success. Orcs are very broad, after all.
He sets his bow aside with a murmured "well done", and Tauriel hesitates for a second before following suit with a bow of her head to acknowledge his praise.
He makes quick work of retrieving the arrows, separating out hers to give back to her, and drops them into her quiver as he walks past.
"My Lord?" she asks, shifting her weight and tilting her head slightly as she listens to him walk away.
"Farther back, Tauriel. We're going to shoot from a hundred yards now."
Her lips tug down at the corners in a frown and she makes no motion to follow him.
"Why can't we continue to shoot from here?"
He raises a brow, exasperation threatening to turn his mood.
"Tauriel, we have been increasing the distance all morning. What difference does another twenty yards make?"
"Everything starts to get fuzzy about that far out," she argues, waving a hand in the direction of the targets. "Why can't I practice at a distance where I can actually hit?"
"You plan on waiting for the orcs to position themselves where it is convenient for you to shoot them?" he asks a bit dryly. Tauriel shoots him a glare, groping for her bow.
"No, of course not! But can I not simply wait until they are closer to shoot them, if I need to?"
"You cannot fight them if they are close," he snaps, not even wishing to entertain the thought. "They will kill you."
"That's what I have a knife for," she replies, giving up on the bow and drawing one of the practice daggers he'd given her, her tone as irritated as his.
Thranduil growls in annoyance as he stalks over to her side and Tauriel draws herself up defensively.
"And what if one of them tries to take your weapon?" he asks, grabbing hold of her wrist to confiscate her practice blade. "What will you do then?"
Tauriel takes him by surprise, latching onto his wrist and twisting her upper body. Her feet stay firmly planted, however, so the action tugs him off balance, over her hip. From there it is only a small move for her to throw him, and he tumbles into the dirt a few paces away, the air knocked from his lungs.
Tauriel is standing tall and proud when he looks up at her, twirling the wooden blade in a hand. "I will deal with them like that," she replies sharply, striding toward him.
And then her foot catches on a dip in the ground.
It is almost as if he watches in slow motion, how one of her steps stumbles into the other and her face shifts from triumph to surprise, her arms flailing in the air as she pinwheels them to stay upright. This does nothing, however, and she sprawls forward gracelessly, landing across his stomach.
The breath is crushed from his lungs in a sharp huff as she falls on top of him, and he stays on the ground for a moment, his hands groping for her shoulders as he stares at the sky and tries to catch his breath. Tauriel mutters a curse, her forehead pressed to the dirt.
The absurdity of the situation makes him smile, coaxing a snicker from him that bounces Tauriel as she groans and tries to prop herself up. She falls back against him, knocking the breath from his lungs again, and he feels her giggle as his undignified 'oof'. The feeling of her laughter transfers from her trembling body to his, and he finds himself chuckling as well.
They are both lost after that, laughter catching him up and dragging her right along with him as they lie there in the dirt, helpless and weak with their mirth. After a time she starts to cough, the dust they stirred up sticking in her throat, and he rolls her off to the side so that he can sit up and catch his breath.
"I do not believe that crushing the orcs to death will be a valid option for you, Tauriel. You may want to re-think your strategy," he teases.
Tauriel drags herself to her feet, dusting haphazardly at her tunic as he stands up beside her.
"I'll tell Feren that I threw you like a trainee," she threatens with a smirk, and he cannot help the wicked grin that spreads across his face as he ducks in close and grabs her around the middle.
Tauriel squeaks in surprise as he hefts her over a shoulder.
"Perhaps I shall drop you in the river. You're all dusty, I'm sure a bath would do you good."
"D-don't you dare!"
"I thought you were going to go bragging to Feren," he teases, walking back toward the door that leads inside. "You wouldn't want to track dirt all through the palace. Unless, of course, you have re-thought your decision?"
"Fine, fine, all right" she sighs, and he stops walking with a smirk. He sets her back on her feet, holding her for a moment to be sure that she is steady, and she shoots him a troublemaking grin. "I won't tell Feren that his king got beaten in a sparring match by a blind elf who has yet to turn a thousand."
"I might go drop you in the river anyway," he grouses. Her smile widens.
"You'll have to catch me first," Tauriel challenges, whirling in a blaze of hair to run, but he grabs her back into his arms before she can get far.
"You're about to escape into a set of closed doors, dear one," he chuckles, and she flushes red.
"Right."
"Come," he says, offering an arm. "You can gloat over a warm meal. I am famished."
"Won't Míriel yell at us if we track dust into the kitchens?"
"Yell at her King?" he asks in mock surprise. "No, dear child. You are the only one mad enough to do that."
Tauriel tries to keep the guilty smile from her lips but ultimately fails, and Thranduil loops his arm through hers before leading her inside.
(Tauriel never lets him hear the end of it when Míriel does, in fact, yell at him for tracking dirt into her kitchens.)