Draco and Legolas

The Fight

Draco was more than nervous, he figured that perhaps he had taken it for granted when it came to the idea of him actually fighting. He had his magic, of course he did, but he did not really want to use it...he felt as though that would be kind of cheating. not to mention that he had seemingly forgotten one large point...he was fighting an Elf, and if that Elf was anything similar to Legolas, the other would be incredibly well trained while Draco was...well he most certainly was not anywhere close to well trained, and it was unfair, but there was nothing that he could do about it. He was about to step onto the platform, and he was utterly petrified to do so, but he refused to allow his emotions to control him. 

He could not allow such a thing. One, his father would be horrified and he doubted that such a thing would go well with Thranduil, who seemed to be so similar to his father in certain ways that it was somewhat frightening, and yet so different that it made Draco's head spin with shock and fear. More than that, he felt this utter need to prove himself to Thranduil. Though why, he was not certain. The other, for all the similarities, was not his father, and so this random desire to please and prove himself was rather odd. 

So, he watched as they got ready, the other side, the Elf that he was to fight was waiting, and Draco was forcing himself to calm down. He was nervous, of course he was, and he had a good reason to be, but he was not about to let his nerves get the best of him. He was a Slytherin, he would never allow such things. Legolas, who had been watching Draco carefully, walked up to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"I am sure that you will do fine, Father does not expect for you to beat him," He said softly under his breath, calming Draco down quite a bit. 

"While that may be true, I am not exactly one who likes loosing either. I am at a rather large disadvantage, and I find it annoying." Draco admitted, his voice equally as soft as the Princes. Legolas smiled down at him. 

"I understand the feeling. Just...do what feels right. You may not have much training, if any at all, but use what you have." He said with a small smile, handing Draco the daggers which Draco had used before in his fight with Boromir. He breathed in sharply.

"My Lord," Legolas shushed him, turning him around and gave him a gentle push at his shoulders, shoving him onto the raised dias, which was where he would be fighting. In front of the King, and the prince. 

Draco took a few steadying breaths, telling himself to calm down. It would not do to become overly emotional and then freak out and loose within a few seconds. At the very least he did not want to look pathetic. Sure, he was fighting an Elf who probably had who knows how many hundred of years of experience but, hey, what was the big deal right? Draco, himself, would be surprised if he lasted longer than a minute. 

He would honestly count it a miracle if he did last that long. As long as he managed to last at least sixty seconds, Draco would call it a win in his book. Otherwise, it was a failure, and there was no in between. Draco, he refused to be a failure. 

So, gripping the metal tightly, Draco closed his eyes, steadying his breathing, and calmed his heart as much as he could given the fact that it was racing in his chest. 

He needed to focus. Focus on surviving...

And his vision tunneled.

The next thing he knew all he could focus on was the Elf. The other was opposite of him, and they both waited, neither taking a step towards the other as they both waited and watched, assessing, and carefully observing. Draco kept his eyes on the other.

The first strike came and a clash of metal struck as daggers struck sword....and then Draco moved instinctually. 

No, he had no idea what in the world he was doing. What he did know was that all of his senses were heightened and he felt as though his skin was burning, his eyes were a bright steely silver, and he felt everything barring the Elf he was currently fighting fade into the background, as though they were nothing but blurry objects of a needless background in a painting. His sole focus was the one before him, which he fought vigorously against. Every other sight, every other sound, faded into the background.

It was because of this that he did not notice the shock of the Elf that he was fighting, he did not notice the Elf beginning to realize that there was something more to him than what seemed at firs ton the surface level. He did not realize that the Elf was beginning to see him in a different light, he did not know that the Elf began to fight as best as he could just to try and over take him. 

Nor did he notice the twin looks of awe on Thranduli and Legolas' faces. He did not notice Legolas watching in with shock and awe and a certain degree of fondness and pride. He did not notice how Legolas carefully tracked each and every movement that he made, committing it to memory. The look of Thranduil, the utter surprise that the King had felt. When he had uttered this challenge he had expected the boy to have been beaten in moments, lasting no longer than perhaps a breath of time, but this was where he had misjudged the boy, clearly, something that he would have to make sure that he did not do anytime in the future. The boy's fighting was beautiful, and reminiscent of something long forgotten, something which Thranduil could not quite remember.