The sound of weapons is my favorite music
The sound of the new bow was something; it was almost like singing to the elven general. One arrow after another, they all flew to the tree Lytharial chose to fire at. She loved the sound of her new bow, she liked its elegance, its strength; she had just come back from the town of Minas Tirith, and bought the best bow she had ever seen. The bow was wooden, made from ash with great durability, and elasticity. With its strength, she could fire arrows from her horse all day; it was a horse bow, and she loved it very much, and it was worth all the money she just spent on it.
She had little time to try it out, because soon enough a lot of young elves appeared, and she was supposed to teach them how to use swords today; she had to recruit new elves to the army, and it was up to her to select the best of them and to make them the greatest warriors.
Lytharial's life was simple enough; she was the general of the Mirkwood's army, sworn to protect her king Thranduil and his son Legolas, even if it meant she would lose her own life. She did not value her life much; being general was tough, and she worked hard to become one. At the early age of 4, her parents were killed in front of her, her sister went missing and her half-brother never came back. After that, Thranduil took her in, and trained her hard; every day, she would learn how to do archery, how to use swords and knives, how to throw axes, how to fight with bare hands...
At the age of 8, she had her first kill. She still remembers that day; it was sunny, and a few of the elven warriors took her hunting. They saw a few Orcs on the way, and they started fighting. She saw one Orc running towards an elf that had his back turned to the Orc, so Lytharial took the axe and threw it in Orc's back, and saved the elf.
At the age of 12, she was already fighting with the best warriors of Mirkwood, she went to numerous battles and was the key to winning them. A lot of times Legolas was near, fighting with her, but he never knew who she was. Nor does he know now, even though she is the general of his army. She saved him a few times, but he saved her a lot more. He always shielded her when she needed the shield, and always looked after her back, but he did that for everyone. He was protecting so many elves, humans, and dwarves, and he could not possibly know who she was.
At the age of 17, Thranduil declared her as a general and his right arm, and ever since she listened to him, and did everything he wanted her to do; she killed for him, killed in his name, and went wherever he sent her, did the most dangerous jobs for him. It was her "thank you" for saving her from death when she was a child.
Thranduil, on the other side, even though he did not show it, cared for Lytharial. Maybe he just wanted to use her as much as he could, or he just knew that she was the best fighter he had in his kingdom, and he could not lose that. He knew that at a very young age, Lytharial defeated some of the best warriors he ever had, and a few of the generals of his elven army. That is what he trained her for - to become an elven weapon, to endure every possible kind of pain, to be the best archer in his realm, to fight with a one-handed sword, two-handed sword, and with two swords at once, he wanted her to learn to throw daggers perfectly and precisely.
And she learned. It was a hard path, full of sweat, blood, and bruises, but she succeeded. When the world fell for her, she did not quite understand what happened, she was only a child, but she could remember, oh, she will always remember till the day of her death; she will remember the blood, spilled over her wooden bed, the bodies of her parents, shaking while taking their last breath, her half brother with his knife covered in blood, pulling her sister away for her hair while she screamed to him to let go.
Did he kill her parents? Yes, she was certain; even though the air was smoky from the fire, she saw it through the smoke, she saw him raising that knife on her parents, that was not a dream, that was a harsh reality she went through.
Since that day, she never cried, she did not shed a single tear, even when she was hurt the most, even when she was on the verge of death because of the numerous wounds she got from the battle, she did not cry...
Did it hurt? Oh, it hurt like hell, but she did not care. She only cared about being the best in her king's army, because that was the only way for her to thank him for saving her.
"Do I even want to be saved?" was the question she only asked herself once, and never raised that question again. Her purpose was to find her half-brother and erase him from this world. Yes, to kill him, or torture him, whatever.
What did she enjoy? Did she enjoy anything?
The things she loved the most were doing archery, riding, and swordsmanship. She was the best in it, or everyone around said so. Only one name was above, and that name hovered somewhere in the air wherever she arrived. Humans, elves, and dwarves talked about it when she entered their lands - "Look, that is her, the general of Thranduil's army, the one to shield and protect his son- Legolas".
Legolas, Legolas, Legolas...
That name echoed wherever she went for some reason. She saw him so many times, and she knew that he did not even know of her existence, let alone knew she was his father's right hand. What did she even know about him? He looked somehow distant, and cold, or she just did not know how to read his facial expressions. However, she never came close to him, because Thranduil said so, and she also did not want to interfere, how would she even act towards someone who looked so cold yet was royalty? He did not look different from his father; he was also cold, and distant, yet Lytharial knew Thranduil cared for her, even though he had moments where he would yell at her, and hit her, she knew he could not live without her, nor she could live without him.
But, she could not think about that at the moment, as she was pulled from her thoughts by young elves who were yelling so loud her head started to hurt.
"QUIIIIIEEEET!"
Everyone went silent and looked at Lytharial who just yelled at them to shut up.
"I guess I should be starting with a few words about me," she said looking at the group of young elven boys.
" My name is Lytharial, I am the general of Mirkwood's army, and I will be also training you, younglings, to become warriors, and I will be the one to pick the best ones out of you. Any questions?"
They observed her. They already heard stories about her, everyone feared her, and here they were, standing in front of her, not knowing what was going to happen next. In their heads, they imagined Lytharial as a lot older elf, much bigger than her and taller. Instead of their imagination, they saw a girl who was shorter than almost all of them, the girl who had a fragile body, yet she held her bow steadily, and she fired arrows precisely. They could not believe that this thing in front of them was their soon-to-be commander.
"Let us start," Lytharial spoke, making everyone stand in the positions for fencing and learning about different blows with swords. Finally, she allowed them to try them.
The training grounds echoed with the rhythmic clashing of blades as Lytharial observed the young elves under her guidance. Among the recruits was a particularly audacious elf, Eirion, whose skepticism lingered in the air like a storm cloud.
"Are you sure you're the general?" Eirion scoffed, smirking down at Lytharial, who, by elven standards, appeared diminutive and youthful. Laughter rippled through the group, creating a dissonant melody that tested Lytharial's patience.
With a calm demeanor, she rose from her crouched position, her eyes reflecting a silent determination.
"Appearances can be deceiving, young one. Never underestimate what lies beneath the surface."
Eirion continued to jest, convinced that Lytharial was an impostor, a mere child playing at being a general. In response, Lytharial gracefully unsheathed her slender, glinting blade, its edges whispering a promise of precision and mastery.
As Eirion continued to mock, Lytharial's movements became a blur of unparalleled swiftness. She danced around him with a grace that belied her size, leaving the young elf bewildered. In a breathtaking display of skill, she disarmed him with lightning speed, her blade now resting effortlessly beneath his chin.
The once-smirking Eirion was now wide-eyed and silenced. Lytharial's gaze bore into his, a quiet intensity that demanded respect.
"Appearances, young one, are nothing compared to the substance within. A lesson, I hope, you won't soon forget."
With a flick of her wrist, Lytharial withdrew her blade and resumed the training session as if nothing had happened. The young recruits, once filled with laughter, now regarded their diminutive general with newfound reverence. The lesson had been learned—their general, though appearing small and delicate, was a force to be reckoned with.
In the hushed aftermath, Lytharial continued to guide her charges, her every movement a testament to the strength that resided within her seemingly fragile frame. And as the blades clashed once more, the training grounds echoed not with mockery but with the respectful acknowledgment of a true warrior.
"Lytharial!"
She quickly turned around as she heard the familiar voice.
"My lord," she kneeled in front of Thranduil. He looked as glorious as ever, with his crown, long silver mantle, and cold stare. He looked down on her with a cold small barely visible smile.
"Get up" was his quick order, and Lytharial almost jumped up from her kneeling position.
"Didn't I tell you not to give them swords right away?" he looked at her questioningly.
In response, Lytharial gave him a small smile.
"Forgive me, lord, but I am certain you knew when you picked me to be a general, that I would not follow all of the rules. I am a warrior, and so are you. Did you not want to hold a sword when you first started training? Didn't you want to swing your sword at anything, just to feel its power?"
Lytharial looked at elves who stood nearby, still swinging their swords, some of them had little cries when they got hit, and some already had some skills they caught up from their fathers or older brothers.
Thranduil looked at her.
"You have always been free-spirited and I always tried to suppress your spirit, and if I succeeded, it would have saved you a few times... " he looked at her, giving her a cold stare.
"You are now in the positions you have because I gave it to you. And you deserve it. And if I could again choose someone for that position, I would choose you over and over again. But because you are so young, you are so naive, and one day it is going to cost you a life," he finished.
"I am not afraid of death," Lytharial said, looking at the elves, who were now tired from all the swinging, running, and yelling. "I have never been afraid of death, and I will never fear death. I have nothing to lose and nothing to achieve anymore. If I feared death, I would never choose to serve you," she said slowly turning her head towards Thranduil.
"I thought so," Thranduil exhaled, not looking at Lytharial. "I have a job for you".
Lytharial raised her eyebrow; this was either going to be an order to kill someone, to steal something, to follow someone, or to do a dirty job. She already rolled her eyes, but in the next moment, she barely covered her shock.
"I am assigning you to be Legolas's guard".
"Huuuuuhhh?" Lytharial whispered, looking at the ground, not daring to raise her head. She could only hear somehow distant voices of the young elves sitting on the ground waiting for her. She could only see the light green grass, bending on the light breeze. She felt the wind blow her hair, as she turned around to walk away. What was even this order...
"Disobeying doesn't suit you, Lytharial," a voice came after her. She stopped and sighed, her shoulders slightly falling. She turned on her heel, now facing Thranduil. She came closer to him, now standing only inches away from him.
"Your son is capable of protecting himself, I am sure," she spitted out.
"Are you capable of the job or should I find someone else?" Thranduil lowered his voice. There is no way Lytharial could decline this, but she did not want the job. She did not want to have even the smallest chance to be closer to someone. She did not want anyone close to her. Especially not the heir to the elven throne. Especially not Legolas.
"Does he know about this?" she asked carefully.
"Of course, he does not, he should find out from you," Thranduil answered, "you can find him in the hall for the training," he said, turning away, ready to leave.
"I will consider the offer," she said steadily.
"This is an order, Lytharial. You have a week," Thranduil said, leaving the words to float as he left. Lytharial was now all alone with her thoughts and a bunch of young elves.
"Enough. Leave the swords, it is time we learn basic steps," she said shortly and worked with them till the sun fell behind trees.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the Mirkwood Forest into a tapestry of shadows, Lytharial felt an irresistible call to go deep into the woods. The curse that veiled Mirkwood only heightened her sense of wonder, and the urge to explore its mystical depths pulled at her elven heart.
Mirkwood was sick, enchanted was just a word for the outsiders who wanted to make the visible damage smaller by calling it "enchantment". The wood Lytharial knew long ago was green, full of life, with various animals roaming through it. Now, it was a dark forest, where everyone got lost, covered in spiderwebs. Lytharial often went into the woods to hunt the spiders down, but it was like the number of them just grew and grew every day.
Cloaked in shadows, Lytharial moved with grace through the dense foliage. The curse of Mirkwood was her constant companion, a silent enemy that danced through the air.
Her keen senses guided her toward the heart of the forest, a place where moonbeams filtered through the leaves, creating a latticework of light and shadow. Here, beneath the eaves of the ancient trees, she felt the pulse of the cursed realm.
Midnight approached, and with the precision of a seasoned huntress, Lytharial concealed herself in the folds of her cloak. She knew of Legolas's fondness for these midnight explorations, his love for the hunt matching hers. Silently, she waited, her eyes keenly observing the dance of shadows.
As the first whispers of midnight brushed against the forest, she saw him—a silhouette in the moonlight, moving with a fluid grace that mirrored the ancient trees. Legolas, the prince of Mirkwood, stepped into the woods, his bow at the ready.
Lytharial's heart quickened as she followed him, matching his silent footsteps. He was unaware of the presence that trailed him, the hidden watcher in the shadows. Legolas, with his keen elven senses, glanced behind him more than once, a subtle acknowledgment of the feeling that he was not alone.
But Lytharial was a master of concealment. Cloaked in her abilities and the shadows that embraced her, she moved as if woven into the very fabric of the night. Her eyes, sharp and watchful, followed Legolas's every move, witnessing his prowess in combat as he dispatched two spiders with the fluidity of a dance.
The prince searched for creatures, unaware that the true watcher lurked just beyond his perception. Lytharial, hidden and patient, continued her silent vigil, staying as silent as she could.
She liked to watch him, follow him, and see what he did in his life, and what an heir to the throne could do besides his numerous encounters with some high elves.
They finally came near the river and Legolas sat on the riverside. As he sat, Lytharial sat behind the nearest tree, silently watching Legolas in the dark. The moon was shining, so she could see him, and his reflection in the river. It truly was a sight; the moonbeams fell on his blond hair, making it shine with silver color. His swords on his back also shone with silver color.
He put his bow near his legs as he was sitting.
Lytharial tried to get as close as possible; she was now facing him from the side, only one tree shielding her from his view. She saw his ice-blue eyes, his facial structure, his expression. Rather, there was no expression on his face at all; he just watched the river after killing two massive spiders like it was nothing.
Lytharial was now thinking; how old is he, does he have any friends, when is he going to become a king, will he be angry when he finds out he has a protector of his own? How is she even going to face him, telling him that she is his guard now? She did not care about anyone's opinion, not even Thranduil's, so she also did not care about what is Legolas going to think about her, but she was getting nervous. He is better than her, better in everything, even though she is the best in the realm, he is even better. And it was making her uncomfortable; the thought of someone being better than her, and her having to deal with someone better.
Lytharial retraced her steps through the paths of Mirkwood. The moon, now at its zenith, bathed the woodland realm in an ethereal glow, guiding her way back to the heart of the Elvenking's palace.
As she entered the grand throne room, adorned with intricate elven craftsmanship and bathed in the silver light of the moon, she found Thranduil seated upon his majestic throne. The Elvenking's piercing gaze met hers as she approached.
"Lytharial," Thranduil's voice, smooth as a woodland stream, filled the chamber. "What brings you back so soon from the depths of Mirkwood?"
Lytharial bowed gracefully, her cloak trailing like shadows behind her.
"My lord, I have witnessed the curse of our realm again, I killed a few of the spiders, but it looks like every time I go to the woods, there are only more and more of them. And in the quiet hours, I have also observed the prince."
Thranduil's eyes, sharp and perceptive, betrayed a hint of curiosity.
"Speak, Lytharial. What have you seen, and what does your heart whisper to you?"
"I have seen Legolas in the heart of the cursed wood, his skill and courage unmatched. My lord, I wish to accept the task you have laid before me. I will become the guard of Prince Legolas, his right hand, as I have been for you through all these years. I promise to be faithful to him, just like I am to you, and that I will always follow him and protect him, even if it costs me my own life."
A knowing smile played upon Thranduil's lips.
"Lytharial, as the guardian of my son, may your watch be steadfast, your heart resolute."
With a graceful nod, Lytharial accepted her newfound duty. Tomorrow, she will find him and tell him about the deal she got with his father.
Why did she even accept this order? She already disobeyed Thranduil a few times, and for that, she got beaten a lot, but she survived that, and nothing happened after that. She would just get beaten or closed in her room.
She looked at her new bow; she accepted it because she wanted to see how it is to have a person with you for almost a whole day. She rarely spoke, and when she spoke, she spoke a little. She knew to be playful when she felt like that, she knew to be harsh, tight-lipped, she knew to be stern, wild, gracious. She learned every facial expression, even though she used only a few of them. But at the core, she was a closed person; she did not like to communicate, even though she had to do it daily since she was a general, and did most of the jobs for Thranduil. She liked to be alone in the woods, hunting, or just training. She did not like changes, she hated them, and this was a change for her, a big one. And she did not know what to think about it.