The Shadow Walker

29. Spar of Princes

It was a little while before sunset when I trotted down to the training arena, hoping and praying Elladan wouldn't be there. I sorely needed to practice, to work my muscles and begin processing the last twenty-four hours.

To my disgust, Elladan was there. Go figure.

But before I could leave, someone entered the opposite side of the arena. A blonde ellon with piercing blue eyes. Gone was his longbow, replaced with twin swords strapped to his back. Heads turned as he strode through the arena. Eru, he walked like he freaking owned the place! He walked directly to Elladan and stopped.

Elladan lowered his longbow, and a smile spread across his face. "Legolas, my friend! It has been many years since last we met."

"It has," Legolas replied, reluctantly embracing Elladan.

I slipped into a discreet cranny, where I could see and not be seen.

"Would you like to spar?" Elladan asked, a smile twisting his mouth. "I have been practicing. I might even beat you this time."

Legolas chuckled, but it was a chilling laugh. "Unlikely. But, if you would like to try, I'll not deny you the loss."

Elladan nodded, and while he put away his longbow, Legolas reached over his shoulders and drew his swords. Though they were of Elvish make, they weren't unlike mine.

"Erm..." Elladan cleared his throat. "Equal weapons?"

"If you have anything to match mine," Legolas replied idly, lazily swinging his swords and warming up. "I care not what weapon you choose. If you have a trained Oliphant, use that."

Elladan scowled, but I had to stifle a laugh. Cocky son of an elleth.

Elladan took two broadswords from the weapon rack, brandishing one in each hand. He was an imposing sight; tall, broad, dark-haired, holding two swords and looking rather irritated.

Legolas, however...while the immediate appearance wasn't as imposing, he had an unconcerned air about him that spoke volumes. Twirling one sword casually, he said, "First blood drawn, or first ellon down?"

Elladan eyed his opponent warily, almost...fearfully. "You choose."

"First ellon down, then," Legolas replied, examining one of his blades. Then, without warning, he attacked.

Elladan blocked in the nick of time. With a mighty push, he shoved Legolas away. Legolas struck again. Their swords clashed, the violent sound echoing through the arena. Sparks flew each time their blades met, a testimony to the strength behind the blows.

Their blades blurred with each engagement, and they both lost and regained ground with each passing minute. And while they appeared evenly matched, their styles were as different as night and day. Elladan was fast, but Legolas was faster. Legolas was strong, but Elladan was stronger.

It was like pitting a lion against a cheetah.

The battle continued, gaining ferocity. Minutes passed. Neither of them showed any intention of yielding. But as time wore on, their styles became increasingly pronounced. Elladan became more deliberate, more cautious. But Legolas became more reckless and animalistic. They were like earth and water. And while Elladan calmly absorbed most of Legolas's raw energy, it became apparent who the victor would be.

Legolas jumped in with a volley of fearless thrusts and swings, opening himself up multiple times, but never backing down. He kicked Elladan's feet out from under him, and the dark-haired ellon fell. Hard.

Legolas pounced. His knee pinned Elladan's chest to the ground, while one foot held one hand down. Elladan's other sword came up, and Legolas blocked. But too late. The blade sliced shallowly into Legolas's side. Legolas tossed one sword aside and grabbed Elladan's. He furiously wrenched the blade away, then he grabbed a fistful of Elladan's hair. Forced the ellon's head back, drawing his throat taut. Placing his blade at Elladan's throat, he snarled, "Yield."

"I yield," gasped Elladan. Legolas didn't move. "Please, my friend, I yield," Elladan cried. "Have mercy!"

Legolas took a deep breath, then slowly stood and backed away. Blood stained his torn tunic, and the scarlet stain was growing. He snagged his second sword from the floor, then sheathed them both. "Well fought," he muttered, then strode out of the arena.

Elladan slowly peeled himself off the floor. Eru, he looked bad. Blood trickled from multiple shallow wounds, and he was visibly trembling as he stood and collected his weapons. Then he left the arena as well—through the door at the opposite end.

I slipped out of my hiding place and began making my way back to my room. In one of the gardens, I caught a glimpse of Elrohir and Rusceth sitting on a bench, making out. My heart sank a little, loneliness trying to crawl into my heart. I pushed it away and jogged the rest of the way to my room.

The sun was setting when I reached my safe haven, but once there, there was no keeping the loneliness at bay. Had it only been last night when Elladan spat those horrible words at me? I squeezed my eyes shut, but the tears escaped anyway. Illùvatar dammit, I was so tired of hopping from one man to the next like stepping stones. But I was so miserable without a distraction.

But, who said the distraction had to be someone?

I brushed away my tears and pulled on my mask, then my hood. I unbuckled my sword belt and left it on my bed; this would strictly be a stealth mission. But my knife remained safely stowed in my sleeve. Just in case. That done, I left my room once more.

Let's see what chaos I can create tonight.