painless wounds ;; the hobbit

life ;;

Cyrille stalked towards the throne room. Today would be her first day as the king's personal guard, she had only trained for five days, but Thranduil seemed to think she was ready.  Cyrille imagined how the next weeks, probably years, or maybe decades as the King's personal guard would be. She groaned. That night they were finally to know each other better there was even a time when Cyrille forgot to hate him, then it was to much to bear.

"My King." She said as she entered. He nodded and gestured for her to position herself at the bottom of the throne. She did.

Cyrille stood there for hours, watching numbly while Thranduil conversed with his subjects, or read a letter from a messenger. Her eyes glazed over, her mouth dry. Suddenly a guard burst through the door. 

"Your Majesty!" he said, panting. "There is a group of orcs near our borders!"

"And what was the need for you to address me directly?" Thranduil asked.

"All our readily trained guards are taking care of other orc packs elsewhere. We are being bombarded with attacks. Only two guards remain."

Very well. "Thranduil said, standing up. "I will go and fight. "

"But Your Majesty!"

"If my people are in danger I will protect them." He was already fitting armor upon himself.

Cyrille suddenly looked at him differently. Thranduil was no longer a selfish, pompous King, but a brave one, who wants the best for his people. Her instincts sharpened. "I'm coming with you, your Majesty."

"I said, call me Thranduil. And yes, I think that was obvious."

Later, Cyrille, Thranduil, Aesar and Orym stood in front of the border gates. It was quite a small pack, luckily, only twenty orcs. they'd have to kill five each.

Thranduil fought with grace, like a dancer, not even messing up his long, silky hair. Cyrille wondered how he did it, comparing his to her mussed-up, shoulder-length hair.

Her fighting style was quite different from his. It was messy and disorganized and required a lot of rolling and ducking.

Near the end of the battle, her face was smeared with dirt, and she had a gash on her right arm. Thranduil, meanwhile, had not a single spot on his face, his hair still impeccably straight.

Thranduil was still sparring with the leader of the Orc pack. The orc's movements were slow and bulky, but powerful. He impaled the horrid creature in the stomach. The King looked for Cyrille, to see if she was okay.

Over there.

Over the hill, the elleth had her arrow pointed directly at him. His eyes widened, and hers focused. She pulled the string tighter.

She wouldn't.

No, she would.

The arrow flew, hitting...

Hitting an orc behind him.

Thranduil turned around and saw the arrow embedded in the orc's skull. He turned again to look at Cyrille, grateful.

"Thank you." He said, hoarsely, after a moment. "Thank you."