"Idiot," Thranduil mutters, and Tauriel winces as she feels him dab at her cheek.
"In my defense, it was not supposed to have done that."
"You should have known better than to try practicing without my knowledge."
"The bowstring would have snapped whether you had been there or not," Tauriel tries to argue, but Thranduil responds by loudly splashing more alcohol onto the cloth and pressing it firmly to her bleeding cheek. She hisses at the sting, trying to flinch away, but he simply catches a hand around the back of her head to prevent her from moving.
"Hold still."
"It burns!"
"Yes. Now hold still."
Tauriel makes a small, complaining noise in the back of her throat but does at he tells her. She can feel the lazy drip of blood down her jaw, as well as the ache where the string struck her across her cheek - a long mark that she is sure will turn into a bruise over the next few days. Reflexively the thought that she is lucky the string did not get her in the eye comes to her, but after a moment's consideration, she realizes how stupid a thought it is and dismisses it with a little snort.
"-can't let you out of my sight for two minutes," Thranduil is grouching, his movements sharp with irritation but still gentle as he wipes the blood from her face.
"Half an hour," she mutters rebelliously, and is rewarded with a sharp tug to one of the dangling locks of her hair. "Ow!"
"You should know better! How many times have I told you that you are not to go to the practice field alone?"
Tauriel chooses not to answer that question, instead reaching to prod at the numb spot on her cheek, testing how swollen it is. Thranduil catches her wrist and brings her hand firmly back to her lap.
"Do not touch it. It has only just stopped bleeding."
She huffs a breath in frustration, weaving her fingers together and trying not to fidget. Thranduil continues muttering to himself as he moves away from her to fiddle with something on the little end table at the edge of the room.
After a long moment Tauriel takes the opportunity to run her fingers lightly over her face, feeling for how bad the damage is.
She can feel where the skin is split, the crust of dried blood rough and crumbly along the length of it, and frowns a little as she traces her finger from just below her eye down to almost her jaw, following it.
The cut is a lot longer than she expected it to be.
Tauriel traces the split back to the top, trying to gauge how wide it is.
"Hands in your lap," Thranduil snaps, making her startle a bit in surprise, and she is quick to do as he says when she hears footsteps approach. "I don't need you splitting that cut open again," he scolds, and a second later she feels cool fingers against her face, tilting her head.
"I was being gentle," she argues, but lets it drop when he says her name warningly. She is already in enough trouble.
Thranduil spreads something pasty and cool across her cheek, carefully coating the wound, and Tauriel resists the urge to move.
"There. That should help it heal. So long as you leave it be, that is," he scolds lightly.
She mutters "yes My Lord" like she is humoring him.
Thranduil straightens with a sigh, and she feels his fingers brush her shoulder a second later, to guide her to her feet.
"My bow will need to be re-strung," she says as she stands, but Thranduil merely snorts.
"Not for a good long while, it won't. You are forbidden from using it for the next two weeks."
"Two weeks?" she cries before she can think better of it, whirling to face where his voice had come from.
"If not longer."
"That's not fair!"
"What did I tell you when I agreed to let you learn to fight again? Do you remember the deal we made?" Thranduil asks calmly.
Tauriel bites her lip at that, letting her head hang. She doesn't move as she listens to the king gather up her bow and quiver from the floor behind her.
"I will hold on to this," he informs her a moment later, tone gentle but firm. "Go back to your room, and try to sleep for a while. I will check your wound again later."
"Yes, my Lord," she mutters, forcing herself not to slink from the room.
She feels like a scolded child.
In the background she can hear him set her bow down on one of the shelves, and makes note of it as she walks away.
Tauriel never learns.
That is something that Thranduil is coming to accept as he sits on his throne for the fifth day in a row "reading" as he watches her poke about the throne room.
She is clever, and very thorough, but she never learns.
Thranduil watches her run her fingers along the underside of the table and tries not to smirk. She has been looking for her bow for the past few days when she thinks he is not paying attention.
She has certainly been clever about it, he's noticed. The day after he'd taken it she had offered to clean the place up a bit (which was rather ridiculous because she could not see to dust or arrange books in order) and had spent the rest of the afternoon working over the shelves with a rag, her hands wandering into every nook and cranny where an unstrung bow might be hidden.
The following day she'd made a few laps of the room over the course of the afternoon, subtly tracing her fingers over things when she thought he was not looking.
In the days after that she'd become less subtle as her frustration and confusion got the better of her, searching for her bow.
He plans to give it back to her, of course, once she's learned some semblance of a lesson about sneaking off to practice on her own, but until then he is keeping it safely out of her reach.
"You're not going to find it," he calls to her at length, and Tauriel jumps a bit in surprise.
"Find what?" she asks immediately, blinking up at him.
"Your bow."
Her innocent look fades into a scowl, and she lets out a huff of breath as she crosses her arms over her chest.
"Who says that's what I'm looking for?"
"Have you lost anything else recently?" he counters, and she sticks her tongue out at him.
Thranduil bites back a smile at her pout.
"I have hidden it well out of your reach, and somewhere that you would not think to look. Don't waste your time searching for it."
Tauriel scowls a little in frustration, moving to sit at his side.
He reaches a hand out to smooth her hair back as she settles herself comfortably beside him, and Tauriel lets out a huff of breath.
"I will find it, sooner or later," she mutters rebelliously.
Thranduil strokes her hair again, brushing it away from the closing wound on her cheek.
"Whatever you would like to think, little one."
With a smile, Thranduil tilts his head back to look up at the top of his throne, where Tauriel's bow is balanced between two of the twisting branches just above his head.
"Whatever you would like to think."
Author's Note: I totally know what day of the week it is. Totally.
(Was at a convention and lost track of time tbh...)