Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Unwilling

Three hundred years ago...

Narylfiel's world spun and split into two throbbing halves. Her fingers brushed the top of the neatly trimmed lawn of the sparring ring as she tried to steady herself. Spitting out another mouthful of blood, she stood up, wiped her lower lip. "Again," she said, steel in her voice.

Legolas tightened the tie holding his hair back as he appraised her. "Widen your stance," he corrected her. "If your opponent is larger, then use that to your advantage, Narylfiel. You're smaller, but you can move faster."

Narylfiel prodded a tender spot on her jawline she was sure would leave a bruise later when movement outside the ring caught her eye. Thranduil stood in the shade watching, his eyes inscrutable.

Then she slid her eyes back toward Legolas who stood there coolly waiting.

"I'm ready," she said and cracked her knuckles. "Let's go."

.  -  .  -  .  

Whatever the absent king and queen of the Woodland Realm might have hoped, their absence and subsequent return to the feast did not go unnoticed. The king's guards flanked the couple the second they stepped into the main hall, and Elfir brooked no delay in filling Thranduil's ear with the details of their discovery—two empty wine barrels in the set of four brought up from Dale from King Bard.

The dwarves had been notified of this latest development. Even now, Thranduil could easily discern the shiny helmed tops of their heads circling about the room. Dwarves had no subtlety. None.

"Two barrels," Narylfiel repeated. "So it seems Wilem has help. Perhaps someone he knew from Dale?"

"Perhaps," Thranduil echoed quietly. His gaze slid to Narylfiel, whom only moments ago he had held in his arms, warm and pliant, laughing at something he said. Now she was tense beside him, pale in the gloom of the stone hall, despite the dwarves' festive lanterns.

The Elvenking motioned for his guards to draw near, and he kept Narylfiel firmly by his side. "I want you to find this menace and end him, do you hear me?"

Elfir nodded just once. "Yes, your majesty."

"I will stay with the queen, and we will conduct a search of our own."

"But your majesty, you are not armed."

"I am always armed," Thranduil replied evenly.

"As am I," added Narylfiel.

The king's mouth thinned into an unhappy line, and his guards, knowing better than to say anything else, dispersed, each heading off in a different direction.

Thranduil watched them go and then turned toward his wife. "Really, Narylfiel?" he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up in faint amusement. "Because based on the events of only a few moments ago, I happen to know exactly what's under that lovely dress of yours, and it isn't a hunting knife."

Narylfiel matched his expression. "It's called a pocket, Thranduil."

"Hmm," he answered noncommittally, "I feel like I should march you straight up to our room and keep you there for the rest of the night...for safe-keeping, of course."

"That is one option," Narylfiel hedged, "but I rather like the idea of staying down here and catching Wilem."

Thranduil, of course, agreed, despite his reluctance to have his beloved near harm's way. The pair of them settled at the head table, and rejoined the conversation there, but both elves kept their sharp elven eyes on the busy floor of the hall, where couples weaved in and out between tables to dance and mingle and share in good conversation.