Love Lead Me On - A Legolas x Priestess!Reader Fanfiction

Chapter 8: Burying wounds of the Past, A Persistent Ally

Aragorn blinked in confusion before his mind had fully registered how easily the naturally hostile horse had bent to the girl's will without so much as a minute doubt in its beetle black eyes.

"It is him." Came the Dunedain's confirmation before he fixed an amused smile in the girl's direction, "You've got skill not only with the blades but with creatures as well." He wondered out loud as he helped her up the horse, blood seeped out of her leg to his hand as he did so and the bluenette visibly flinched as she realized what just happened, "Your injury-"

"I am quite alright, Aragorn. Let us not fuss over it for now. We ride to Helm's Deep," Celine began, urgency in her tone as she fought with the man for dominance over the reigns.

"You are injured, you should rest." He reasoned, concern softening his features.

"I hardly think I can rest with this much dread, much less perched atop the back of a horse at that too. And no offense but I think I am a faster rider than you are," she spared the ranger a sideways grin before kicking the horse's side with her good leg.

Aragorn knew better than to argue so with a helpless shake of his head, a quirky grin and a "Every woman I have met tells me that. Do I really look that awful of a rider?", he mounted the horse, avoiding the girl's hands on the reigns to balance himself.

To which the girl merely chuckled to, "Arwen's got observant eyes."

"She is an elf after all."

The girl waved him off dismissively, "Yes, yes. And you are an awful rider."

Celine hates any form of physical contact, he and The Fellowship had proven this one too many times before.

Just some poor hand suddenly lying on all the wrong places could result to being thrown into the ground if not a broken wrist, finger or two and a knuckle.

The Dunedain inwardly cringes at the memory of his close encounter and comes to the conclusion that he's already hurt enough as he is right now and he couldn't risk wrapping his arms around one slender waist.

He kept close watch where his hands are touching as well, making sure that his palms would not accidentally slip off leather and land straight into soft fiery death.

"You are being unnecessarily cautious," the girl began as she rode at a faster speed across the rocky plains.

The man tipped his head in curiosity, the sudden attempt for a conversation quite a welcome change for his consciousness is in the verge of slipping off his fingertips like water, "Whatever is it you are talking about, dear swordsmaster?" He asks, his mock-ignorance a bit too indiscreet.

Celine shakes her head. It's not as if the people around her had any choice but to abide by her unspoken wishes lest they would want to get hurt. That's how she got her way most of the time now, more because of fear and apprehension to what she could and would do should they go against her will than anything else. It's the life she had chosen the moment she sat those barriers up.

Her companions being wary in her presence is merely a consequence of her choices and the actions she had taken.

Hadn't she always been big in realizing that whatever is happening to her are all due to the choices she had made and the paths she decided to take?

Then why does the set of consequences for this particular choice of hers too difficult to take in?

Her brows furrowed at the thought and she had never felt so lost in her life.

Celine takes pride in being organized -in body and in mind- all the time. Seldom could anyone find her at a loss for words to say or actions to take. But now, her head is a whirling cacophony of things she thinks she's better off not pondering about and things that concern their quest and everything in between.