Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Deadly

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First Age in Menegroth:

Thranduil sat cross-legged on the stool while his mother worked the tangles from his freshly washed hair. He scowled before he remembered his mother could see his reflection in the mirror.

She laughed at him softly, pulling the comb gently through his shoulder length hair. "Oh, Thranduil!" she chided. "Do not pout. Your father and I both feel this decision is for the best."

He folded his arms across his chest and slumped a little before craning his neck to look back at his naneth. "But why, mother? All the other ellons my age are beginning their weapons training this year!"

She wrapped her arms around him, smiled at their reflection together in the mirror. She was one of the Queen's attendants in court, but Thranduil secretly thought her lovelier than Melian herself.

"Your father wants you to have another year to grow, that is all, Thranduil, and I would not have you leave my side just yet," she told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Thranduil sighed. He knew he was smaller than some of his friends, but that did not mean he could not whip any one of them in a fight.

But he could not argue with his mother, and he certainly would not argue anything with his father, so Thranduil merely nodded his agreement and then wriggled his way out of his mother's arms. He hopped off the stool and picked up his small practice sword. Stopping at the doorway, he looked back at his naneth.

"One of these days, mother! I will be the deadliest swordfighter in Middle Earth-just you wait and see!" he declared and gave his sword a dazzling swoop through the air.
. . . . . . . . .

November, 3018 (Third Age):

Narylfiel woke from the most delicious dream to Thranduil's voice in her ear, insistent. "Narylfiel, wake up. There's something out there."

She straightened, then blinked. There was no moon. The forest and woods were dark, and the fire had burned out long ago.

"Orcs?" she asked under her breath. Whatever it was did not sound loud enough to be orcs or wargs.

"Too quiet. Men, perhaps- men up to no good," Thranduil said and slowly shifted, easing his arm out from behind her shoulders. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she watched as he noiselessly drew a long dagger from the inside of his boot.

Her eyes widened at the lethal curve to the blade in her king's hand. "What are we going to do?" she asked quietly, drawing her own knife.

"I am going to go ascertain the intent of the person crossing these woods in the middle of the night," Thranduil told her. "You will stay here and be quiet."

"I don't think we should split up," she said, reaching for his arm.

His eyes gleamed dangerously as he stood up. "Then come with me, if you can keep up."

She grinned. "I know I can."

He pulled her to her feet and pressed a kiss to her hand before releasing it. "They're getting closer. Let's move."

With Thranduil leading the way, they quietly slipped into the dark copse of trees, just a small wood, really, on the shores of the Long Lake, nothing to compare to the Greenwood. Wood elves, of course, can move among the trees as easily as shadows and just as silently, and the Elvenking, among his many other abilities, was a hunter, and a deadly one at that. Soon he and Narylfiel had stolen up behind a pair of men, dark clothed, who, as Thranduil had suggested, did seem as though they were up to mischief.