The Witch's Destiny || Thranduil

Chapter VIII

King Thranduil was not joking when he said he would make sure Violet had decent swordsmanship before she left Mirkwood. By dawn the next morning, he approached her chambers with two guards in tow, knocking on her door to wake her up. Instead of his usual finery, he wore a forest green tunic and brown leggings. Brown boots were clad on his feet, extending up his long legs before ending right above his knees. The back of the boots ended below his knee to allow better movement. He had even braided his long, silky hair to keep it out of his face. A sheathed sword hung at his side in a scabbard and he grabbed hers before she could.

Violet dressed herself similarly, wearing the reddish-brown tunic and leggings that Elrond had given her, as well as the boots Gandalf had before she had even stepped foot in Middle-Earth. Her red hair was done in a French braid, as tight as she could make it.

Nearing mid-day, she still hadn't touched a sword. No, all she had done was send failed punches his way and gotten dirt in her hair.

"I swear," she said, panting out her words in tiredness, "I do know self-defense. It was required in the training for my job."

"They did not do well teaching you," he replied, raising one eyebrow and doing that look where he seems to see through her soul. She threw another punch his way, and he side stepped her, watching as she fell to the ground. The dirt flew up around her in a cloud of dust. 

"It's not my fault I don't have six-thousand years of experience!"

"Six-thousand four-hundred, give or take a few years."

She glared at him, but he only seemed to find it funny, lacing his fingers together behind his back. Looking at the two was like looking at polar opposites. Violet was covered in dirt from head to toe, an irritated look on her face, and hunched over, like a cat ready to pounce. The Elven-king had a relaxed, open posture, though his eyes would constantly dart around to check for danger. He would laugh openly, smile openly, only for it to disappear if someone came to him with business.

"Oh how silly of me! I beg your forgiveness, my lord."

"Forgiveness granted," he said. She glared harder at him, whilst he only chuckled. Huffing, she finally pushed herself off the ground.

"My hair isn't even the same color it was when we started!" she exclaimed. King Thranduil looked at her head, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"I was going to ask you when you found time to change the color," he said, raising an elegant eyebrow. She glared at him again. "You know, if you keep doing that, your eyes will get stuck."

"Good!" she said, "Then maybe you'll finally learn what the glare means."

"Oh, I know what it means. I just don't care," he said. "Take a break for your mid-day meal. This will be one of few breaks you get, so use it wisely."

She pushed herself off of the ground, dusting off what dirt she could. Staring into the distance, she asked, "Would you mind if I tried a spell? I want to see if I can communicate with my brother."

"Of course," he said, "May I watch?"

"Of course," she repeated, "Expecto Patronum!" From the tip of her dark wand burst a badger, looking at her in anticipation. "Go to Harry Potter and tell him these words: 'I'm alright. I love you'."

Obediently, the patronus ran off behind her, shooting past King Thranduil. His mouth was dropped open, but a smile was beginning to form there. His eyes were full of curiosity and wonder, and his eyebrows were raised high. He looked back to her.

"What was that?" he asked.

"That, my lord, is called a patronus. It defends against dementors, can act as a guide, or send a verbal message to anybody. Though, whether they can send one back via patronus depends on whether they're a wizard or not."