Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Disciplined

With a disbelieving look, the king crossed the distance between them and gently lifted her chin with his hand, as if she were incalculably fragile. His full lips stretched into a thin line as his fingers ghosted over the welt on her cheek where one of the orcs had struck her.

He plucked a few errant leaves from her hair, glided his hand down the brown tangled strands.

"Narylfiel." His voice was little more than a whisper as he searched her eyes, as if he needed to persuade himself that she really stood before him, unharmed.

"I am fine," she reassured him. "I was handling it."

"I could tell," he retorted and crossed his arms. His eyes flicked over her again, but he said nothing.

An immeasurable amount of time stretched by, and Narylfiel shifted uncomfortably. This newer, quieter version of Thranduil unsettled her. Why was he so quiet? Why would he not just yell at her and get it over with already?

"Well," she began, "I guess I'll just be on my way then. Not too far from the forest border!" She patted her vest pocket. "This letter will not deliver itself, you know."

She chuckled a little, and Thranduil joined in with her, his warm baritone ringing like chimes through the empty branches. It sounded tinny in the open air, a little too merry, a little too bright to Narylfiel's ears.

"No," he told her flatly. Then he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "You have acted foolishly, but a fool you are not. Let us hear no more about delivering this letter." He stretched out his hand. "Give it to me."

Narylfiel reluctantly pulled it from her vest and handed it over with an exaggerated sigh. Eyeing the letter like she had just placed a live spider in his open palm, Thranduil picked it up, folded it twice, and stuffed it into his tunic.

"Since you are apparently 'fine' as you so claim, then you can help pile these carcasses to burn," Thranduil told her and gestured to the gruesome trail of bodies behind him. "We will wait here for the Royal Guard to join us. They should be here in a few hours, coming up the forest path. I have already sent your horse back to lead them here."

"Mirima?" Narylfiel enquired about her horse. "You found her then, and she is safe?"

Thranduil nodded once and then pointed to a clear space next to the nearest dead warg. "Let's pile the dead there."

Narylfiel nodded, more than a little frustrated by his lack of communication. It was just so unlike him and frankly unnerving.

Without another word, he went to work, and so did she, dragging the corpses and settling them into a hideous pile. Thranduil motioned for Narylfiel to help him drag one of the wargs.

Wishing for a pair of gloves at this point, she disgustedly picked up one of the paws, while Thranduil hoisted the other side. He gave her a questioning look, and then together they both began to pull the dead beast toward the pile.

Those nasty things were heavy! All this lifting and pulling was not doing Narylfiel's injury any favors either, not that she could mention it to Thranduil now. Her side burned from the exertion.

"I know I should not have left without your permission," Narylfiel told him quietly, straining to move the warg.

Thranduil dropped his side. "You think, Naryfliel?" He pointed around the clearing. "Look at this! Look at them!" Then he dropped his hand and closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to guard his temper.

The king drew a deep breath, and Narylfiel stared and wondered.

Thranduil picked up his side of the warg. "Come. Let's get this one moved."