Dedication: For Jessie Rae Baby. I've loved all your reviews and would have dedicated to you earlier, but I was waiting for this particular chapter. :)
IMPORTANT NOTE: I know in the past chapters the story talked about hand-to-hand combat, but I've edited that to sword combat seeing as there were a few complications had I left them unchanged. I'm sorry if I've disappointed anyone and hopefully you guys still enjoy this chapter!
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, Tauriel arose with the sun. Daylight filtered through the cool remnants of the night, and with the yellow radiance came heat. She stayed hidden in the sheets for a moment, watching the dust float through the morning air. She lay until murmurs began to grow outside of her door. Rivendell was stirring. Breathing in, she swept her blankets to the side and pulled her curtains open, squinting at the amount of light that blasted through the clear glass.
Past the window, she could see clouds lying lazily in the blue bed. It was a perfect day for training. Not like the few days past. Ever since Legolas had spoken with her at the dining room, she had stopped hesitating on improving her archery. She owed it to his trust, but more importantly, she owed it to herself.
She hesitated when her hands came in contact with the cool knob of her small balcony, but she opened the door anyway. The cold air seeped through her night gown and she shivered. The sun had not yet risen enough to battle the chill. Even the balustrades were cold. She gripped the cold steel then hoisted herself up to sit, her legs dangling. She looked out at the sight below her, undeterred to see the green grass hundreds of feet below. She was used to it.
She sat there for a few more minutes, stretching her arms. Then, remembering what she was going to do that day, she jumped from the banister lightly. Grinning, she made her way to her wardrobe and changed quickly to a set of training clothes.
On her way out, she pulled the sword that was lying on the table by her balcony door. It was of elven make, and although deemed to be lighter than the crafts of the other races, she struggled to secure it to her belt. She remembered guiltily how Legolas caved in to her requests. She hadn't meant to ignore him like she did, but his secrets made her feel so betrayed. Especially after she had confided in him of a past that haunted her so.
She would have confided with him anything he asked.
She stepped out of her room and murmured her greetings to the elves walking by the corridor outside.
She was aware, of course, of his duty to silence, but he should have known by now that she was one who would never have talked. She would have been able to help him, too. Ever since she heard of the arrow, she had been worried. The string of events was a complex puzzle that left all confounded. She couldn't imagine how it would have felt like to Legolas, the prince of Mirkwood. The burden was weighing on him, she could see it. And she had only wanted to help.
The dining room was empty when she walked in so she settled herself on one of the chairs and began eating her breakfast. He followed inside the room only a few minutes after she had began. He offered her nothing but a smile as he sat beside her. They did not talk throughout the whole duration of the meal, but it was a comfortable silence, and not like what they had to endure a few days ago. She shifted guiltily, but cast him a sideway glance. She had missed his company.
"Who provided you with a sword?" he asked when they had finally finished.
"Arwen, of course," she answered, eyeing his attire. He also had a sword with him, in addition to the two knives and the bow at his back. Sometimes she wondered how he could carry so much.
"May I?" he asked, stopping a moment to hold out his arm to her.
She nodded in consent as she pulled out the straight sword. Its hilt was gold but through the years, had lost its original shine. Legolas wielded it with ease, turning the blade here and there, as if looking for something. "This is from Ethellin," he noted.
She nodded. She had never been to the small Elven land and she knew it had been long abandoned, but she had heard the name. "What gave it away?" she asked, craning her neck to look over the weapon.
He smiled wistfully as he gave the sword back to her. "My mother visited them often, when she still lived. She said she loved being with the elves there, that it was a second home to her. Many found it strange. She was a queen, and Ethellin was a very small elf community. Their names could fit a single page of a book. But I think the liberty of finding a place where she could be free was what called her to it," he eyed the sword fondly. "She would often bring back weapons forged in their land."
She smiled unsurely. He had never spoken about his mother before, and Tauriel knew nothing about her but the fact that she had long died. She deposited the sword back to its container, before facing him again. "Have you ever visited there?"
He lowered his eyes before answering her. "She tried bringing me with her once, they had requested her presence for a gathering. I opted to stay," he looked the other way. "Days after they left, we received news that they were attacked on the way to Ethellin. Many died. My mother was one of them," he said.
Tauriel tensed, and realized that she had stopped breathing. She hadn't known. If she had, she wouldn't have asked him. Hesitantly, she laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
He did not look at her, but she could see from the downturn of his lips that this was a matter still close to his heart. However, when he finally met her eyes, the look faded and he gave her a smile. Slowly, he laid his free hand on her arm, and she smiled back.
His fingers were cold, but her hand felt warm under his touch. His steady eyes held hers, and the intensity of his stare made her look away. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but only the chatter and bustle of the dining room met her ears. He pulled his hand away afterwards, and she immediately withdrew hers. The sudden absence of his touch seemed even colder than his skin. "We should go," he told her finally, after a moment of silence between them. He rose from his seat, and she knew he was back to the teacher that he was to her. "It's best if we finish early. You will need your rest later on."
She nodded and drank one last time from her goblet before standing up. He moved quickly—he was already walking towards the exit when she had secured all her items. Rushing, she pushed her chair hastily to the side and stumbled after him.
She stopped on the way out, feeling the weight of eyes on her. Turning back, she scanned the room until she finally saw the eyes that scrutinized her so. By the entrance at the other end of the room stood Kylis, and she was frowning at them. Upon her movement, Kylis turned her gaze on Tauriel and their gazes locked. She was used to the younger she-elf's stares and judgements on her, and in fact, ever since she had talked to Legolas about her past, she had not minded the way she was treated again. But something was different this time, it was not simply a matter of targeting Tauriel because of the shadows of her past. Now, there was hatred behind Kylis' gaze. And something else.
Tauriel frowned, confused by the sudden reaction of the she-elf. She stepped, tempted to inquire about the sudden antagonism directed towards her. But when she looked back at Legolas, he was already out of the door. When she glanced one last time at Kylis, her eyes were no longer on them, and she was smiling at the other elves as she made her way to the table.
Tauriel shook her head and hurried towards the door, making her mind up to talk to Kylis afterwards.
She struggled, but soon caught pace with Legolas. They walked side by side to the great entrance of the house, and he steered right towards the path that led to the training grounds. However, before he could walk further, she reached out and pulled him by the sleeves.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.
"I don't—well, could we train someplace else?" she asked.
He raised a brow. "You know of another area we could practice in?"
She nodded. "Very few go there, so I think we would be rewarded with more privacy than that we will find in the training grounds."
He inclined his head before walking back the few steps that gapped them. "Lead the way."
She nodded determinedly before walking towards the gardens at the back of the House. It was the herbarium, where he had first met her mother. They crossed rows of pots and hanging vines. They never looked more familiar to her than they did at the moment. She could name each and every one of them, recognizing their leaves, vines, and specific colors. At one point, Legolas requested they stop when he noticed a familiar dash of white flowers. The athelas had been transplanted straight to the earth, and already, they were flowering and spreading out, as if they had been planted there for a long time.
She led him to a small path hidden by more bushes and herbs. The trail was cluttered with leaves and sharp stones, no footsteps were on the fresh soft ground except the ones they left on their way. It was shaded by a dense group of trees, so that it reminded her of the forests beside Legolas' home.
"Only very few of us know about this path," she smiled when she caught his eyes. "Mother taught it to me when I was young. Where we're going, I could spend hours and hours alone, whether under the sun or the stars. I could listen and watch Imladris, invisible to anyone else," she said.
The light hit their eyes when at last they broke from the cover of the trees. Her eyes quickly adjusted, and she stepped out of the shade. They were standing on the top of one of the hills bordering Rivendell. It was a small grassy area, only as wide as twice her sleeping chambers, and at the other side of the path they had just emerged from, a cliff dropped down to a thick clump of green below—the gardens. From where they stood, they could see the whole of the hidden village in clear view, even clearer than what it looked from the road leading to the Misty Mountains.
Legolas smiled as he walked towards the sight, stopping only a few inches from the edge of the ravine. He peered down at the sharp fall, undeterred by the height. "I have long considered Rivendell beautiful, but it has never looked more majestic than it does now," he finally stepped away. "I have the comfort of knowing that at least you had the sight to accompany you when I could not."
Her heart warmed at the thought of his worry, and a sudden picture of them growing up together flashed in her mind. Her childhood would have been very different if she met him then. But she had met him later in her life, and though they had missed much, that was already more than enough for her. Before she could reply, he took out his sword, and pointed to a point at the center of the glade.
With the simple gesture, she knew that their training for the day had begun. Hesitantly, she pulled the weapon hanging by her waist. The weight pulled her arm down, and it took an effort to hold the sword out. She attempted to stay her hands, but he did not miss her struggle.
He sighed, watching her arms quiver from the weight of the steel. "Both hands," he instructed, circling her.
She pursed her lips, but gripped the hilt with both hands. She stood there standing, while he spent a tremendous part of their time merely commenting on everything—from the distance of her feet to how she held her head.
"Holding a sword is different from the bow," he told her, still completing his circle around her. "With a sword—the enemy is closer. He can stretch out his hand and with that take your life. Everything is crucial."
He spoke more after that, and she listened to every detail that he told her. It was tiring, she had to admit, but this was a session that she requested and forced on herself. The least she could have done was remember the details that served as basis for everything else that she was going to learn. Finally, when her hands were finally shaking from exhaustion he told her to finally strike. At first she had thought they would actually start their duel, but instead she was told to continuously strike at the empty air before her.
She had to complete so many swings, sideward, straight, cross, before he finally nodded in approval and positioned himself opposite her. Never breaking her gaze, he pulled out his sword. Without as much effort as her, he held it before himself in a sideways position. "Begin," he instructed, and she took at deep breath when she finally lunged at him. He did not falter, even with both her hands behind every attack. Her right foot was forward, and she pushed her weight at the weapon. Still, he did not move back, and with what seemed like no effort, pushed her back.
Tauriel stumbled, but managed to remain upright by stepping her foot behind her. She struggled to stand upright again, and before she could even focus on her stance, Legolas charged. It looked like he did not put any power behind but their swords clang with a loud noise at the impact, so much that she was sure it echoed throughout the whole village. Then he withdrew his sword momentarily, giving her a moment to catch her balance. When he lunged the second time, she was more prepared. Their swords slid against each other and Tauriel took another chance to jab at him, but he deflected all of her efforts too easily.
When he finally locked her strike, he swerved his blade as he moved to the side, catching her off balance and at the same time pulling the blade from her hands. With swift feet, Legolas caught her now freed hand and spun her. The next thing she knew was that she could feel his chest at her back, rising and falling with each breath he took. He held his sword in front of him, the cold blade touching her neck. She saw that her own sword lay a few yards away. There was no escape. "It's not so easy, is it?" he whispered, his breath warm on her ears.
Her breathing caught at the proximity of their bodies, but her attention was stolen by the shift of the sword by her neck. She glared, hoping he would see her discomfort. Seemingly so, he pulled his sword away and released her arm. She stumbled forward and the turned to face him. The chill of the blade stuck to her skin and she pulled her hand up, surprised when she saw there was no blood on her skin.
When she turned her gaze on his face, she saw that he was eyeing her worriedly. "We should rest," he said.
She shook her head stubbornly. "One more," she told him.
He gave her a pointed look, before gesturing to her quivering hands. "We have spent most of the morning. If we continue now, without any respite, I will have to carry you back."
She rolled her eyes at him, but bowed her head in consent when she realized that even her legs were trembling from tiredness. Before she could even make a move, he picked her sword for her, and led the way to a group of wooden benches beside the trail they had emerged from. When they were seated, she rubbed her hands together unconsciously, trying to remove the burning heat that had attached to her fingers.
"How are they?" he asked.
"What?" she asked, confused. When she looked up, he was frowning as he appraised her.
"Your hands," he said, and without any prior warning reached out and took her hands in his larger ones. He had done this many times before, especially since they had arrived in Rivendell, but there was a gentleness now that was not there before, and he frowned as he examined them. They were red and raw, with cuts all over.
"It's just the weight," she defended, bewildered by his actions.
"We shouldn't have duelled yet," he scowled deeper, grazing her palms with his thumb.
"No," she replied, pulling her hand away viciously, "I knew—we both knew—what training meant, and I intend to make the most of our time. I have no plans of withdrawing simply because of cuts on my hands. I've weathered worse, mellon."
He frowned at her, before reaching for a jug attached to his belt. "It is about time you took better care of yourself."
"I do!" she said stubbornly,
He smiled at her obstinacy. He brought out a cloth from his pocket and wet it with the water from the jug. "Only when I tell you to," he told her, before holding out her hand before him. "This might hurt a bit," he warned, before pressing the cold cloth to the scratches on her hand.
Tauriel bit back a whimper, but when he pulled the cloth away, the sting immediately faded. "That's not true," she claimed. "I'm always careful."
He hummed, his brow raised all the same. "When I leave, you'll have to be. I will not be here to remind you anymore."
When he released her hand, she saw that the blood had dried. "You talk as if I won't be seeing you again," she said, her lips downturned.
He took her other hand and again wet the cloth he held. "Maybe. I have extended my stay here for far too long. It's only a matter of time before I have to go."
"But you'll visit, won't you?" she clenched her healed fist.
"I shall try," he said, smiling sadly. Without a warning this time, he wiped her other hand with the cloth.
She cried out in surprise, but she was silenced when he tightened his hold on her hand. When she looked at him, he was staring at her intently, his brows furrowing. "Promise me you won't do anything rash. These are dangerous times and no one can tell who can get hurt."
"I won't," she scowled at him, and she tried to pull her hand away.
He held on to it, however, and did not remove his gaze from her. "Promise me."
She pulled again, but he did not yield. The tightness of his grip was reminiscent of the pain that was there before he wiped it off. She protested but he did not listen.
"Promise," he insisted.
She sighed then, but not out of frustration. But her heart warmed at the concern he was showing her. But it was unfounded and he did not want him pondering too much on trivial things when he was already burned with other matters. She challenged his gaze, and did not speak for what seemed like minutes. But when it looked like he really would not yield, she sighed in surrender. "I promise."
He released his hold. "Good," a smile played at his lips while he returned the jug into his belt.
"The water. Was it from the river?" she asked, when the jug was secured. She was unsure of what had just happened and felt like the sudden silence deserved to be broken by something—anything.
He, however, looked unaffected. He hummed at her comment. "I have heard of how it cleans wounds and infections, ever since we retrieved the athelas, I have kept a supply of it in my disposal."
"Mother always used it to clean my wounds," she agreed, before rising up again. She dusted her pants and flexed her arms. "I'm ready now." The short rest replaced all her spent energy and she was eager to learn more. Besides, she did not want the day to end yet.
"And here you go making promises," he shook his head. "Not yet. Your wounds are merely numbed. Pick the sword again and y—," he stopped, his attention snapping to the trees beside them.
Tauriel heard it also. There was a commotion from the path that led to their location. She had not heard that sound for years. As she had told him, very few visited their current site. But what made it all the more perplexing was that the footsteps approaching them were quick and hurried. There was urgency in their gait.
When the elf finally emerged from the cover of the trees, he looked dishevelled, and when he spoke his words were full of breath as if he had been running to reach them.
"Prince Legolas, Lady Tauriel," he said in greeting, and they both bowed back. "Lord Elrond calls for you at this moment. He requests you make haste."
Legolas tensed. His expression did not change, but she could hear the tone of worry in his voice. "Has something happened?"
The elf nodded. "A horse has arrived from Lorien," he glanced at them both before speaking again. "Your kin ask that you meet them in the Old Ford in a fortnight. I'm afraid you're visit has finally come to an end, my prince."
Legolas stood so suddenly that the sword leaning on the bench fell with a thump to the grass. For a while, there was no movement from him, and time passed as he stayed there watching the elf. Finally, he spoke, "I understand," he bent to pick the fallen sword and walked briskly to the path. She expected him to at least say goodbye, but with his back to her, he simply called out, "I'm afraid we have to finish early, Tauriel. I will see you tonight at the dining hall."
"Ah," The elf reacted before she could reply. "He also requests for Lady Tauriel's presence. The Lord Elrond has to discuss something with her." With this, Legolas finally glanced quickly at her direction, his forehead creased. But almost as quickly looked away and continued down the path.
"Of course," Tauriel replied, as the elf followed after him. Tauriel stared at their backs, but Legolas did not look back. Finally, she pursued after them with measured footsteps, wondering about the heavy weight on her chest.
END OF CHAPTER
A/N: I don't even know where to begin, but I'm so so so sorry for the two month delay. Gasp. I can't believe it's been so long and I just really hope you haven't given up on this. What happened? One word: university. Class is back and I have been so busy with more than my studies. But hey, this is my longest chapter yet!
Thank you, anyway, to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and insisted on my updates. It is because of you guys that this chapter is finally up.
Expect the new chapter to be up in less time than this one took. There are a few things in the plot I'm still fixing.
Please review?
Hugs,
Vee
