Lapsus Memoriae [Rávamë's Bane: Book 1]

Part III : Chapter 21 ~ A Little Drop of Poison

- Three Weeks Later -

"Could someone please explain why I'm the only one doing this?" I asked breathlessly, ducking just as the edge of Boromir's sword missed my head for the fifth time in ten minutes.

"Because," Aragorn's reasonable tone came from somewhere behind and off to my left, "You are our only trained healer, and have already proved competent at evading close range attacks. It seems prudent for you to devote some time to honing the skills that will assist in keeping you alive, rather than pouring all your time and energy into offensive and potentially unreliable ones."

I ground my teeth and did my best to keep my focus on the Gondorian knight who was currently attempting to behead me with a blunt training sword.

Since the tentative apology Aragorn and I had exchanged almost a month ago, the air between us had seemed to clear a great deal. We'd arrived in Lothlórien in late January, and even now well into February it was obvious he still wasn't completely on board with the idea of me barrelling headfirst into danger along with them. Still, he made no more show of it. In fact, if anything, he seemed to have jumped on the lets-make-Eleanor-marginally-less-of-a-safety-hazard wagon with gusto. The stoic (read: grouchy) ranger had taken to dropping me a lot of tips and advice on everything from defending myself and evading attacks to escaping dangerous situations. They were small things at first; how to effectively hide a knife up a sleeve or in a boot, how to break a chokehold, how to avoid or parry a knife attack, etc. Then, it had quickly escalated into "assisting" with my other lessons...

Boromir pivoted on the balls of his feet, faster than a man his size should have be able to, and tried to catch me with a surprise upper cut with the pommel of his blade. I saw it coming just in time and spun out of the way with just inches to spare. The momentum unbalanced us both, and I took the chance to hunch over on my knees and gasp for much needed breath. We'd been at this for hours now, and good as I was at running, keeping up with a seasoned Gondorian warrior in a one-sided sparring match was an entirely different ballgame.

"Faster," Aragorn ordered without pause. I groaned, but straightened and got ready to dodge again. Boromir readied his sword and gave me an inquiring raise of one eyebrow, a silent question asking if I was ok to continue. I gritted my teeth determinedly and nodded. He came at me again.

"I get that," I rasped out in between even more sharp pivots and close-call dodges. "What I don't get is why I'm the only one who's been training for the past hour straight, while you've all been sitting there smoking!"

Aragorn didn't quite let out an amused chuckle, but only because he managed to turn it into a would-be-polite cough at the last second.

"The more you talk, the less breath you'll have to dodge, lass," Gimli informed me with an audible grin. He was sitting on a flat rock beside Aragon with his own pipe, his feet resting leisurely on a tree root.

"Urgh!" I grumbled, barely missing having the end of my ponytail severed by another close swing. "Stop distracting me with your logic!"

"Surely learning to ignore unhelpful distractions is a key part of the exercise."

"You're not helping, Legolas!"

The accused just chuckled, and I threw him a glare as I dodged another of Boromir's overhand swings. He was standing beside Aragorn with one shoulder leaned casually against a tree, arms folded and a teasing smile on his handsome face — the smug git.

My archery lessons with him had continued as regular as clockwork during our stay in the wood, though considerably less awkwardly than the first time. The pair of us met every morning to practice until lunchtime, and my aim and draw speed were improving if nothing else, thanks to my stitches finally being removed. Legolas insisted that, despite my initial clumsiness with the weapon, I was improving fast — though I wasn't 100% sure whether he was being genuinely sincere or just messing with me. He had an odd sense of humour like that. Our talks had tended to skew more and more towards friendly banter than serious instruction lately, and though Merileth was appalled by the brazen way we addressed each other, Legolas and I both preferred it that way. It was a vast improvement over the hostile glares or tense silences that had once been so frequent between us.