I leap at the chance to see Gelya later the following day.  However, Thranduil has said that she will be unavailable until the evening due to 'personal matters', which I can only hope she divulges to me when we meet. I also can't help but wonder if Thranduil knows what they are.

In the meantime, Thranduil has been in and out of our chambers—yes, they are our chambers now—all morning, as he is constantly called to meet with advisors, answer inquiries, and deal with a very agitated prince, to name a few of his requirements.  Evidently, elves all across the kingdom have been affected by the recent conflict, and it is up to Thranduil to restore order.  He claims to only be returning to our chambers to receive more medicine for his wounds every so often, but he's healing awfully well; there's no point in him concealing the real reasons from me. 

Still feeling strangely rejuvenated after yesterday's cleansing in Samlîn, I thought it would be best if I remained away from the company of other elves until the post-battle chaos dies down.  Therefore the limited space and entertainment of our chambers wull have to suffice for now.  Although I yearn to read a good book, the mere memory of my last time in Thranduil's library is enough to make me sick to the stomach.  I cannot go in there alone—not yet.

'I'm done for today, meleth nín!' Thranduil announces proudly, as he strides through the door to the lounge to find me sat comfortably at the desk in the corner.  I look up from where I've been drawing ink patterns all over a piece of paper, on which I have somehow managed to capture the shapes of leaves and flowers in between the arrays of black swirls. Thranduil leans over my shoulder to admire it, though within seconds I feel his gaze leaving the artwork and resting on me. 'That is beautiful. I'm glad to see my ink has been put to good use.'

'I was only doodling,' I admit, grinning, 'but thank you. How was your last meeting?' I turn to Thranduil expectantly, fully prepared for him to roll his eyes and begin to vent his frustration, but instead, he smirks.

'My last meeting was with the weapons makers.  I requested to have some personal weapons made for you, and said I would tell them some designs tomorrow after you have tested a few different styles.'

'Weapons?  For me?' I say in disbelief, 'I assure you, I can just use some spares, I do not need my own—'

'A warrior can only fight to the best of their ability when their weapons are perfectly suited to them.'

'I think you're mistaken, I am no warrior—'

'Perhaps not yet,' Thranduil cuts across me, 'but you are able to defend yourself, as I saw yesterday.'

'You saw me?'

'I saw you displaying the makings of a great warrior.  You could be at the level of my best fighters one day,' he answers genuinely, then adding with a smirk, 'with no small amount of practice beforehand.'

'You don't understand,' I say morosely, 'I only feel alright now because I bathed in Samlîn.  Before that, I was in one of the worst states I've ever been in.  The battle terrified me.'

His smirk fading, Thranduil puts his hand on my shoulder gently.  'It is that terror that you need to turn into power.  It will come to you with time.  But what I can do is teach you the skill—how to apply that power.'

'I know you want to, but you cannot turn this into a warrior.' I gesture sadly to my elleth body.  'I know I'm tall, but I'm hardly strong or coordinated enough to fight properly.  Yesterday was just a one-off.'

'Just let me try,' he implores, 'I promise, if you don't like it after one practice with me, you don't have to do it again.'

'Alright,' I agree reluctantly, leaning into his touch as he runs his hand down the side of my face and neck, 'you can try your best to change my mind.'

***

We find the clouds have cleared when we make our way outside to a cool, early spring afternoon, which feels freshened after yesterday's rain. Besides gathering his own weapons, Thranduil stops off to pick up a set of medium-sized blades not too dissimilar to Tauriel's, two more long swords resembling his own, and a large bow complete with a quiver of arrows. I refrain from commenting on them, as none of them look particularly appealing nor easy to handle.

The best available clearing in the woodland smells rich with damp earth and wood, and the ground is peppered with flowers and shoots thriving from the water. As I notice the stains forming on the hem of my floor-length dress of pale periwinkle blue (and am just beginning to regret choosing to wear it), Thranduil lays the weapons down and clears his throat.

'What would you like to try first? I admit, I'm not as much of an archer as my son, but I could win with my eyes shut if I crossed blades with him.' He smiles almost sadly to himself, his eyes glazing over as if he's reminiscing about a time gone by—perhaps when Legolas was young, and Thranduil was teaching him to fight. Those would have been days of grief for Thranduil, days of visiting the statue to mourn, days of wishing he could see Ellerian again and make sure she was alright.

He then snaps himself out of his daydream, and looks me up and down, his eyes narrowing. 'If you say battle frightens you, the best way to distance yourself from the centre of the violence is to learn archery. That way, you can strike from a distance.'

'Are you sure you're best qualified to teach me archery?' I laugh, raising an eyebrow, 'should you not recruit your son instead?'

'I said I wasn't quite as skilled as him. I never said I had no skill at all.' With that, he takes up the bow, and in a split second has nocked an arrow and sent it soaring across the clearing before embedding itself firmly in a tree trunk.

I find myself smirking slightly at this. 'Teach me, then. Your demonstration was... adequate.'

'Adequate?' Thranduil exclaims in mock horror, stifling laughter, 'come over here. I'll make you into an adequate archer yet.'

Resisting the urge to turn away from the bow in his outstretched hand, I imitate his stance, which is already beginning to feel unnatural.

'You're going to try and hit the mark on that tree.' Thranduil gestures to a birch a few metres away, which has a cross carved across the trunk.  It already has Thranduil's arrow protruding neatly from the exact centre.

I nock the first arrow with great care, Thranduil's hands leading mine as he notices how unsure I am.  'Thranduil...' I find myself mumbling while he helps me shift myself, the bow and the arrow into the right position.

'Draw it back...' he whispers, guiding my hand up towards my face, 'feel it against your skin.  Look along the arrow...' he runs his fingers across the smooth wood of the arrow and points to its head, 'now aim for the mark.'

The seconds slow down as I aim; I can hear Thranduil whispering 'breathe' into my ear, and consequently my breaths become long and deep. The next words he utters against my cheek seem to burn my veins and reverberate through my body...

...'Let go.'

I release it. There's a whoosh, then silence, then a hard crunch, as the arrow meets the bark of the tree and sinks into it a few inches above Thranduil's.

'That was good for a first try,' he grins, before adding hopefully, 'would you like to carry on?'

He seems almost ecstatic when I nod. Thranduil then guides me to nock and shoot, nock and shoot, each time getting closer and closer to his own arrow in the centre. Soon enough, I know the routine by heart and no longer require his guidance, and at last I send the final arrow in the quiver piercing right through Thranduil's to penetrate the bark at the very centre of the cross.

'You're a natural at this!' Thranduil smiles in satisfaction, 'please, keep going. You don't have to, but it would be a waste of talent if you stopped.'

Blushing at his compliments, I collect the arrows and proceed to release an even better set of shots than the last, whilst feeling the technique becoming almost second nature to me. I end up making several meet the mark in the middle, to my surprise. He soon offers me a sword, and I accept it, too elated to turn down his offer. After he finishes instructing me, I begin to swerve faster and dodge his blows—get to know the patterns in his movements. Of course, Thranduil continues to dominate despite having to make it easy for me, but I'm not trying to beat him—I'm trying to learn.

We spar for a while, my skill and confidence growing with each passing second. I change blades frequently, adapting to their different shapes and weights, and testing each way to strike with them. I soon discover that I find the longer swords easier to handle—much to Thranduil's delight, as he seems to have swayed me to use his style of weapon rather than Tauriel's. In fact, somewhat mimicking his movements when using two swords at once appears to be working; I take what he does, then I manipulate it to suit my size. Being smaller than him can actually be used to my advantage.

I hate to admit to Thranduil that I enjoyed this afternoon. However, when I do, he doesn't laugh or gloat. He only takes me in his arms and holds me against him, leaving soft kisses on the top of my head.

'You're already wonderful, meleth nín,' he murmurs, running his fingers gently through my hair.

'Wait!' I cry suddenly, 'I forgot! I still need to meet Gelya!'

Thranduil immediately releases me from his warmth and shooes me away. 'Go, go now, before you forget again!' he laughs.

Waving him goodbye over my shoulder, I set off at the fastest walk I can manage in the direction of Gelya's house. I soon find her hurrying down the ornate patterned steps towards me, her chestnut hair glowing almost orange in the early evening sun. Although she seems relieved to see me, I can detect something in her eyes today that I've never seen there before.

'Elena!' she squeals as she embraces me, 'Elena, thank the Valar you're alright! I've been so worried about you! You have to tell me everything!'

We let go of each other at last. 'I will, I will! But first, you have to tell me what's wrong. I won't tell you a single thing until I know.' I fold my arms across my chest, determined to find out what has affected my best friend so badly that I can actually see it in her eyes.

Gelya sighs, looking more despondent than I have ever seen her. 'Alright. My parents think that just because my sister Nairelin—who is fifty years younger than me—is married, I should be married too. I quote my mother in that I must "spend lots of time socialising with the nice sort of ellons". That's what the personal matters were, in case you were wondering. I am expected to fall in love with an ellon, but I just don't know who I like.'

'This calls for a sit down and some good wine,' I smirk, earning myself one in return from Gelya, whose melancholy look immediately vanishes, 'and I in fact have very easy access to the best of the best.'

'Wait, does that mean...' Her warm brown eyes widen as she struggles for words. 'You and the King...'

'Yes. Thranduil and I,' I beam, watching my best friend vainly attempt to contain her excitement. I have never felt prouder to associate my name with his, and saying it fills me with immeasurable amounts of joy.

'Tell me everything!' she exclaims—far too loudly, considering we're outside. 'What happened with you and him? And the orcs? And everything?'

'It's rather a long story, actually. Come to our rooms. We'll discuss it in there.'

***