Hidden Intentions

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Hidden Intentions

Six months and two weeks had passed since their first private lesson. Isilmë was to learn and take classes from the King himself when it came to the healing arts. But lately, the elleth could tell how futile her attempts had been and how frustrated the King tried not to be with her. In fact, their first time had been their only private session. Ever since word got out, one of his healers or counsel members would make sure to oversee the young elleth's training with him.

It was straining Isilmë to her limits. She hardly had the fundamentals perfected, let alone was she well versed in them; and yet these...pests thought it wise to distract her only time to learn! Did they think it wise to try and have the King council as he managed with the onslaught of a migraine and trying to teach the elleth ancient magic?

Thranduil knew something was amiss. He could see how she tried but something kept holding her back. Her attention was divided and yet he could not ease to help her. Then, the day came where she finally did not show up. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in the fatigue the air seemed to have around her, in the slight shallowing of her eyes as their color became dull. Her joy was slowly leaving her; her light, her flame...

A deep growl resonated from the King as one of his healers discussed the audacity and irresponsibility of someone who should be groveling and thanking the Elven-King's feet. Briskly, he stood. He would have no more of this nonsense. He was King! And if anyone was to bend or break protocol it would be him, dictated by him! Not by his advisors or healers thinking they knew best.

Tersely, he easily made his way to the clearing he knew she favored for her morning practices. This place, hidden from the palace and the camp under the cover of this leaves, was his first choice amongst many where he could find the elleth. It did not take him long as his prediction came to fruition.

Raven hair flew wildly behind Isilmë as she wielded her blade with a tenacity that could rival a woodland beast. Her movements were sharp and precise as her elven blade came down onto her 'opponent.' Her hair was kept up and out of her face; two warrior braids on each side of her temple and one in the center connected and tied with a silver clasp behind her head. The braids indicated her rank amongst the Guards of Mirkwood; her station. The dark and light greens she wore, indicating that she was both of royal ancestry and ranger to his lands, were covered with brown and red leathers.

There was ferocity to her movements. Her chartreuse eyes were narrowed and appeared darker as she concentrated on her blows. She continued at a brutal pace, never letting down even as her muscles began to burn. It was like a dance of flames

What did the King see in her? A mistake? A fluke? Isilmë was a warrior, a ranger, a guardian... a protector. But the Valar be damned! Thranduil's little party of counsel members and repentant healers were making her life miserably hard. Not only was she juggling being the head of household as she lived alone with her sister, she was also a ranked Knight of the Guard and now healer in training.

A shuffle of vines and leaves slightly crushing caught her attention and she immediately brought her blade behind her. Isilmë almost cut into someone's jugular, the tip nearing their jaw had her blade not been stopped by one more skilled. Her chartreuse eyes were narrowed until she pushed away with mild force, staring into cold-like blue eyes.

Thranduil stood before her, donned in a simple circlet and all royal robes left behind. His tunic was plain in design, yet spoke of his rank with it's fine silk. They stared at one another in silence, measuring the other and their intention. Isilmë's eyebrow rose in mild surprise as he swung his sword in hand. He was alone. Circling around her like a predator.

For each step he took she mirrored. Was he to test her? To show Isilmë her place for going against his words? Why was he here? Was her going to punish her?

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