The Shadow (A Thranduil fic)

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SHADOW

CHAPTER FOUR

With wide eyes she watched him inspect each sword and then throw one to her. Did he mean for her to fight him? Of course, even if she wanted to, she couldn't beat the king. It wasn't that she was a bad swordsman, quite the opposite, centuries of living alone had made sure of that. No, she had to let him win, didn't she? But if she lost she would be humiliated still. But which was the lesser of two evils? There was nothing for it, she would have to just be humiliated and let him win. Which, is what she would have planned to do, had he not turned to face her and , as if reading her thoughts, casually comment.

"Oh, and by the way, do not feel as though you must downplay your abilities because I am king, I shall not be doing so because you are a lady" his cool eyes flickered towards her own, silently challenging her to rise up to the fight "trust me, I will notice."

As she stood up, sword in hand, Thranduil's smile grew wider and not even a worried looking Feredir , shaking his head silently pleading with her to back down, could dissuade her. It was her downfall really, her own competitive spirit that made it almost impossible to say no. But how had he known that she would call his bluff? It was as if with one look into her eyes, Thranduil knew everything about her. Everything he could use to manipulate her to his advantage. The arrogance of it all made her feel sick.

He motioned for her to come out of the cell and as she did so she tried her best to keep an empty face. She stood in the middle of the narrow corridor and looked at him directly, keeping her head high and her shoulders back. He frowned. Was she really so displeasing?

"Follow me, all of you" Thranduil made towards the stairs.

Perhaps he had changed his mind, she thought. Of course, even with her skill, he could most probably beat her. Though she was older than him, he was taller and, by the looks of it, stronger. If she was honest with herself, thought she would never show it, it might be a relief if the king decided to back down from the fight.

But she wouldn't be so lucky.

While she was lost in her own thoughts, blindly following him, she hadn't even noticed that they'd stepped into one of the large reception rooms where many elves sat. As they walked in all chatter stopped and the immediate silence pulled her out of her thoughts. All eyes turned to her and the king and she suddenly felt a wave of shame looking at all the beautifully kept ladies in their flowing dresses. If she'd stopped to really look around she might have even recognised some of the faces but there was no time for that, all too quickly the king had turned to face her, sword in hand, motioning for her to get ready.

With a deep breath she pulled her shoulders back and assumed a fighting stance, making sure not to lock her knees and holding the hilt outwards with both hands. The sword was thin and light but with a dangerously sharp point, this was good. Since Thranduil had a considerable advantage in the strength category, she needed all the help she could get. But, without the brute force of a heavier blade, she would have to compensate in agility and technique.

Eleanor tried to ignore the wide stares of all the elves that had now moved to the back wall of the room and focused on all that she had learnt the past years. As she studied him she witnessed the transformation from the haughty, arrogant elf she had seen earlier to a king. He stood tall and confident, his silver hair casting a valiant silhouette for his angular features. Gone was the smug expression he wore earlier, instead replaced with a face truly betraying no emotion. The only non-variable was his eyes, still unchanging, deep vast pools of grey challenging, no, begging her to make the first move.