You are worthy of your sword
Lytharial woke earlier than usual; she knew that she would find Legolas in the training hall around this time, the prince always trained early in the morning, and sometimes during the day, But morning was his favorite.
She recalled yesterday's night, and how she followed her prince. Today, she will finally talk to him.
The training hall resonated with the rhythmic clash of blades and determination that echoed through the air. Lytharial entered the expansive chamber, her footsteps muted against the polished stone floor—the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of weaponry hung in the air.
Her eyes sought out Legolas, his lithe form moving with an otherworldly grace as he sparred with a fellow elf. The dance of blades, a language spoken fluently by the warriors of Mirkwood, unfolded before her. Lytharial marveled at the precision of his movements, the fluidity of every strike and parry.
As the sparring session concluded, Legolas wiped the sweat from his brow and exchanged a few words with his training partner. It was the perfect moment for Lytharial to approach, to speak to him about his father's decision.
"Legolas," she called out, her voice a gentle breeze that barely disturbed the quiet intensity of the hall.
He turned, his keen eyes meeting hers. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath. Yet, instead of the warm acknowledgment she expected, Legolas merely nodded and turned away, his attention drawn to the weapons on the nearby rack.
Undeterred, Lytharial closed the distance between them.
"I have something to discuss with you," she began, her tone measured and steady.
Legolas continued inspecting the weapons, his response delayed.
"Speak, then," he replied, his voice detached.
Lytharial hesitated for a moment, sensing the walls he had erected around himself.
"I have taken on the role your father assigned to me. I am to be your guard, to do wherever you'd want me to do, to go wherever you order me to go ."
Legolas's expression remained impassive.
"It is unnecessary. I do not require a constant guardian."
"I beg to differ," Lytharial countered him, "your safety is paramount to the well-being of our realm. Thranduil believes it is necessary, and so do I."
A silence settled between them, laden with unspoken tensions and unanswered questions. Legolas, however, chose to focus on the blade in his hands, his movements deliberate and controlled.
Undeterred by his silence, Lytharial pressed on, her words a persistent melody in the stillness of the training hall.
"Legolas, I am here not as a mere shadow but as a guardian you may not see, but one you may come to rely upon."
Legolas finally met her gaze, his eyes revealing a complexity of emotions. Yet, without uttering a single word, he turned away once more, leaving Lytharial standing amidst the echoes of silence that lingered in the training hall. She felt the tension in the air, a palpable energy that crackled like static. The training hall, once filled with the echoes of practice, now held an anticipatory stillness. Her patience had been tested and stretched to its limits.
With a swift and determined movement, Lytharial unsheathed her blades, the steel gleaming in the dim light of the hall. The soft sound of metal meeting air was a prelude to the clash of wills that was about to unfold. She pointed her blade at Legolas. He, still in his composed stance, turned to face her, his eyes betraying a hint of surprise at her decisive action.
"Enough, already," she declared, her voice firm. "I will not be ignored any longer. We are bound by duty, and I will not allow you to ignore me."
Legolas's expression hardened, his gaze unwavering.
"I am perfectly capable of ensuring my safety. Your constant watch is unnecessary."
Lytharial, fueled by the frustration that had simmered beneath the surface, advanced with calculated steps.
"This is not about your capabilities, Legolas. It is about unity and the strength that comes from standing together. Your father believes in this, and so should you."
In response, Legolas smoothly sidestepped her initial strike, a testament to his prowess. Yet, he did not counterattack, choosing instead to maintain a defensive stance. The dance of blades continued a silent conversation that spoke volumes about the underlying tension.
"You could be the most important person in the world, and that would not grant you the right to challenge me, especially when I don't even know who you are" Legolas stated, his voice measured.
Lytharial pressed on, her movements were swift and determined.
"I challenge you not as your adversary, but as your ally. We share a common purpose, a duty to protect Mirkwood. I will not let pride and stubbornness cloud our path."
"Who are you?," Legolas asked, standing away from his sparring opponent. His neck glistened with sweat, and his breathing was unsteady.
Lytharial looked at him dead in the eyes. He bore his gaze into her eyes, scanning her, his face not showing any kind of emotions. But there was something, there was an aura around him, and that aura whispered only three words. Warrior. Ruthless. Trouble.
And he looked like a trouble to Lytharial. He was much taller than her, much stronger than her, and he looked like a threat.
"The funny thing is that you do not even know who is the general of your army", she stated, changing her stance into a more defensive one.
If he felt a sense of shock, Legolas didn't show it, his facial expressions were as cold as ever.
"I am well aware that the general of my father's and mine army is called Lytharial," he countered her.
She grinned.
"Then, you must be aware that Lytharial is me."
Silence. Everyone around them stopped their training, everyone was looking at them.
Legolas was now standing inches away from Lytharial, so she now needed to raise her head to look at Legolas.
"Continue!" he yelled, looking at Lytharial dead in the eye, and all of the elves went back to their training.
"I thought the general of our army would have manners," he whispered.
Lytharial almost bit her tongue. She felt uncomfortable; she was standing inches away from the prince who was radiating with power, masculinity, and authority. She felt like a mere child in front of him.
She kneeled and looked at the ground.
"My lord, forgive me for my disrespectful words, I-"
"Stand up."
Lytharial stood up, as she was told to do so. The next thing she felt was the end of Legolas's sword pointed at her neck.
"May I ask you how old are you? You look particularly too young to be a general, and you look pretty fragile in my opinion, don't you think so?," Legolas asked, tilting his head to one side, still looking at Lytharial's eyes.
"I am 23, and yes, I have been general of Mirkwood's army since I was 17," Lytharial answered, not daring to push away Legolas's sword.
Legolas laughed. He laughed so hard, even though Lytharial did not see anything funny in this. She just wanted to finish whatever this encounter was and to disappear.
"If you are a general, then fight like one," Legolas said, attacking Lytharial with all his might.
Their blades met in a series of quick exchanges, each striking a declaration of their conflicting perspectives. Legolas, though defensive, displayed a skill that demanded respect. Lytharial, however, was unyielding, her resolve unwavering. Lytharial met Legolas's challenge with a grace that belied the intensity of the moment. As his strikes rained down upon her, she danced with calculated agility, each movement a testament to her skill as a seasoned warrior and general.
"If you seek to test me, Legolas, you will find that I am no stranger to the rigors of battle," she replied, her voice steady despite the flurry of attacks.
Her blades moved with precision, deflecting his strikes with a fluidity that spoke of years spent honing her craft. Legolas, fueled by a determination that mirrored the fiery spirit of Mirkwood itself, pressed on. His attacks were relentless, each blow aimed with the precision of an archer seeking the heart of its target. Yet, Lytharial, unwavering in her resolve, parried and countered with a calm ferocity. The clash of blades echoed in the training grounds, a symphony of steel that resonated through the air. The warriors moved in a dance of combat, each step calculated, each strike a declaration of their prowess. Legolas, driven by a desire to see the extent of Lytharial's abilities, fought with a controlled aggression.
As the dance of blades continued, Legolas, driven by an undeniable admiration for Lytharial's skill, decided to unleash the full extent of his prowess. With a newfound determination, he pushed himself beyond the limits of control, allowing the elven instincts and agility that ran deep in his veins to surge forth. Lytharial, though a seasoned warrior, found herself met with an intensity that caught her off guard. Legolas's attacks became a torrent, each strike a testament to his formidable abilities. She skillfully parried and dodged, but the relentless assault began to take its toll. The air crackled with the energy of the battle, and both warriors locked in a struggle that transcended the physical.
Legolas, recognizing Lytharial's undeniable prowess, spoke amidst the clash of steel.
"You are indeed a remarkable warrior, Lytharial. But to truly understand your strength, you must face the full force of my skill."
With those words, Legolas increased the tempo of his attacks, his movements a blur of elven grace and precision. Lytharial, though valiant in her defense, began to feel the strain. Each parry required an extra ounce of effort, and the dance of blades became a test of endurance. The training grounds, once filled with the echoing symphony of combat, now bore witness to a display of unmatched elven prowess. Legolas, with every strike, sought to push Lytharial to her limits, not out of malice, but out of a genuine desire to understand the depth of her abilities.
"Enough!"
Thranduil's voice, commanding and authoritative, sliced through the air, bringing an abrupt halt to the clash of blades. Legolas and Lytharial did not even see when he entered the hall. The elves in the training grounds turned their attention to the Elvenking, a mixture of curiosity and concern on their faces.
Legolas, blades at his side, faced his father with an unyielding gaze.
"What is the meaning of this, Legolas?" Thranduil demanded, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.
"She claims to be the general of our army," Legolas replied, his tone cold and composed. "I sought to test her abilities. She proved herself."
Thranduil's gaze shifted to Lytharial, who stood with a quiet determination, her cloak billowing in the aftermath of the battle. The Elvenking's eyes bore into her with an intensity that needed no words. Lytharial already knew that she made everything look bad and that in the first place, she never should have tested Legolas with her blade.
Legolas, sensing the unspoken question, spoke firmly.
"Father, I have tested Lytharial's abilities, and she is more than worthy of her title. She has served as the general of our army for years, as I heard from her. I have never met her, but now I see why you chose her as a general of our army, and as I hear, as a guardian for me."
Thranduil's expression, though stern, softened with a hint of acknowledgment. He regarded Lytharial for a moment before turning to Legolas.
"If you vouch for her abilities, then she shall retain her position. Let this be the end of such challenges. From now on, she will protect you, go with you wherever you go."
With a nod from Thranduil, the elves dispersed, leaving the training grounds in a quiet aftermath. The clash of blades had not only tested the skills of warriors but had affirmed the standing of Mirkwood's general. Lytharial, with a subtle nod of gratitude to Legolas, resumed her post, the unspoken approval of the Elvenking solidifying her role as his guardian.
Now, in the room were only Legolas and Lytharial. That was it, she became his protector, and he accepted the fact that she would now be with him every day from the early morning till midnight.
"Your father was talking about you to me since I was 4, that is when he took me in. And every time he would train me, there would be words like "Legolas won this battle, Legolas won that battle" so I was always training and hoping one day I could be like you," Lytharial started somewhat like a chitchat, but it was the truth. Thranduil talked about his son with so much love, and she remembered that.
Legolas looked at Lytharial with a strange expression; almost like he tried to smile but he did not want to show it.
"My father spoke of me to you?" he asked, putting his blades on his back, and taking his bow in his hand. "It is funny to hear someone else speak of my battles, and it is an honor that he spoke so highly of me." He looked at you with respect, but still held his built-up walls so high. "If you truly want to be like me," he said, "then your life won't be easy. From what I just witnessed, your combat skills are almost like mine. Since you are short, you do not use strength as much as you use your speed and tactics. But you are more than strong for someone your age and your constitution."
"My life has never been easy," Lytharial whispered, hoping Legolas wouldn't hear that. Instead, she looked at him and formed a small smile. "Is there anything you'd like to know about me since I am going to be your companion for a long time?" she asked.
Legolas took a moment to reflect before expressing his curiosity.
"I understand your role as the general, but I'm intrigued by your journey. Have you been training since childhood? Did you quickly ascend through the ranks to become a general at a young age?" His genuine interest shone in his eyes as he looked at Lytharial.
With a sigh, Lytharial began recounting her challenging past.
"Lord Thranduil took me in at the age of 4 after my parents were killed in front of my eyes. My sister disappeared, and my half-brother was responsible for our parents' death, vanishing as well. Under Thranduil's care, I underwent rigorous training starting at a young age. I achieved my first kill at 8 and, by 12, I was dueling with every warrior in our realm. At the age of 17, I assumed the role of the general of our army."
Legolas listened intently as Lytharial shared the chapters of her life, a mixture of curiosity and empathy reflected in his eyes. The weight of her past, the loss, and the trials she had endured seemed to echo in the air, and Legolas felt a genuine interest in understanding the journey that had shaped Mirkwood's general.
"Well," he said after a moment of thoughtful silence, "your journey has been marked by both tragedy and triumph. To rise to the rank of general at such a young age is a testament to your skill and resilience."
Lytharial nodded, a shadow of solemnity in her eyes.
"It was not an easy path, but it forged me into the warrior I am today. Thranduil's guidance and the training I received shaped my abilities."
Legolas's expression kind of softened, but was soon back to his stone-cold expression.
"Your dedication is admirable. It must have been challenging to face such hardships from a young age."
Lytharial sighed, a fleeting glimpse of weariness in her eyes.
"It was, but I found solace in the art of war. Training became my sanctuary, my way of coping with the losses I endured."
Legolas nodded, acknowledging the complex tapestry of her past.
"I understand now why you are the way you are. It takes great strength to endure such trials and emerge as a leader."
Lytharial nodded. She felt quite uncomfortable, talking to him. It was the feeling of her, having to open up to him, so he could trust her. And she did not like to open up to anyone. But now she had to, otherwise, she would never be able to help Legolas. So she decided to ask Legolas to tell her about himself.
Legolas regarded Lytharial with a measured gaze before responding in a tone that carried a hint of detachment.
"I am Legolas Greenleaf, a prince of Mirkwood, skilled in archery and combat. I must protect my realm. The intricacies of my personal life are of little consequence."
Lytharial, undeterred, pressed further,
"But what drives you, Legolas? What lies beneath the surface of the warrior and prince?"
Legolas's expression remained stoic.
"Nature's melodies bring a sense of tranquility. Duty to Mirkwood is my purpose. That is all."
Lytharial observed the guarded responses, recognizing the walls Legolas had erected around himself. Despite the coldness in his words, the conversation continued, revealing fragments of Legolas's life beyond the warrior facade. The night unfolded, leaving the air heavy with unspoken truths and the quiet tension of shared stories.
The night had settled into a quiet stillness as Lytharial made her way to her room. The echoes of their conversation lingered in the air, and a sense of solitude accompanied her through the dimly lit halls of Mirkwood. When the time neared midnight, she donned her cloak, the fabric blending seamlessly with the shadows that clung to her figure. With purpose in her steps, Lytharial ventured into the cursed woods. The moon cast a silvery glow, creating patterns of light and darkness beneath the ancient trees. Her senses heightened, and her every movement seemed to meld with the whispers of the night.
As she approached the heart of the woods, the sounds of the nocturnal creatures filled the air. Lytharial, proficient and silent, embraced the solitude of the cursed realm. Her blades, gleaming in the moonlight, were ready for the impending encounter with the spiders that lurked in the darkness. The night air was cool against her skin as she moved gracefully through the woods, her steps guided by an instinct honed through years of training. The first sounds of rustling leaves signaled the presence of the spiders, and with a swift and precise motion, Lytharial engaged them in a dance of deadly elegance.
Unseen, she moved through the shadows, her every strike calculated and lethal. The spiders, though formidable, were no match for the silent guardian of Mirkwood. As the last spider fell, she took a moment to catch her breath, the moon casting a soft glow on her cloaked figure.
As the clock neared midnight, Lytharial found herself drawn to the edge of the woods, where the moonlight spilled onto the ground like liquid silver. There, in the silence, she waited, concealed in shadows, as the minutes ticked away.
Legolas, unaware of her presence, patrolled the perimeter, a vigilant guardian in the moonlit night. Like last night, she decided to follow him, to see what he does when he is all alone, to try to understand his nature.
As she expected, Legolas again sat near the river and watched it in silence.
"I am aware that you are following me"
Lytharial froze.
"You are indeed good. The air is different, and you do not smell like an enemy," Legolas said, still watching the river, not turning around to search for the person watching him.
Lytharial did not even dare to breathe. How could he even guess that she was here, that someone was here? Is he that good? Isn't she the best? She gave her everything, and he understood that she was here.
Then it came to her head; she did not use the wind, the wind carried away her scent in Legolas's direction. The even worse thing is that he met her today, and he could now easily understand that it is her, who is following him. Shit...
Legolas turned to face the moonlit river, his gaze fixed on the gentle flow of water. The air carried a subtle tension, and Lytharial, hidden behind a tree, remained concealed in the shadows. The revelation of her presence lingered between them, unspoken yet palpable.
"I sensed your presence yesterday, and tonight I confirmed my suspicions. You are no ordinary shadow," Legolas remarked, still facing the river, his voice calm but filled with a quiet certainty.
Lytharial, her heart still racing, observed from her concealed position. How had he detected her? She maintained her silence, wary of revealing herself further. Her mind raced to comprehend the situation. He spoke as if he knew, but he hadn't pinpointed her location. Perhaps he was testing her, gauging her reaction.
Legolas, still seated by the river, didn't turn to search for the person. Instead, he seemed to absorb the tranquility of the night, leaving Lytharial hidden in the comforting embrace of darkness. The realization dawned on her. He suspected, but uncertainty lingered. The wind had betrayed her scent, yet the shadows still shielded her identity. She dared not breathe, maintaining her vigilance behind the concealing tree.
The night they held a delicate balance, with Legolas by the river and Lytharial in the shadows, their destinies hanging in the quiet anticipation of what lay concealed beneath the veil of darkness.
Legolas continued to speak, his words drifting into the night like echoes in the darkness. Lytharial, hidden behind the tree, listened intently, her curiosity piqued by the mention of a mysterious encounter.
"Well, now at least I won't sound crazy if I talk to myself. Today, I met a kid," Legolas began, and Lytharial couldn't help but make a face at the term.
Kid? She was everything but a kid.
Legolas continued, "She seems skilled. I have never seen something like that. To become a general of an elven army at the age of 17... impossible."
Lytharial's heart skipped a beat at the revelation. He was talking about her, and the weight of his words hung in the air. She remained concealed, a silent observer of Legolas's musings about the encounter. The words carried a mix of awe and disbelief, and Lytharial couldn't help but feel a subtle warmth at the acknowledgment of her skills.
In the shadows, she pondered the significance of Legolas's words. The night, once filled with the secrets of her presence, now held the quiet revelation of his awareness. The river flowed, the moonlight painted silver patterns on the ground, and the words lingered in the air.
Legolas's voice carried through the night, a contemplative tone weaving into the darkness. Lytharial, still hidden, absorbed his words, a blend of surprise and uncertainty coursing through her.
"She, with such a fragile body, yet a strong aura, makes her look much older and stronger. If she is this good now, what is going to become of her in the next years? She might even get better than me," he continued, his words revealing a mix of respect and perhaps a hint of self-reflection.
Lytharial, though concealed, couldn't help but feel a subtle warmth at Legolas's acknowledgment. The compliment, wrapped in uncertainty, painted a picture of the profound impact their encounter had left on him.
Legolas's sigh, laden with a sense of burden, echoed through the night. Lytharial, still hidden, felt the weight of his words like a ripple in the air.
"But she is going to be a burden to me. She is too young, she does not see the world. She is so green," he stated coldly, the harshness of his words cutting through the stillness.
"Her being my protector," he chuckled coldly, the bitterness evident in his tone. "More like me going to become a babysitter to her," he said, the irony lacing his words with a sharp edge.
Lytharial, though concealed, absorbed the conflict in Legolas's sentiments. The acknowledgment of her skills clashed with the perception of her youth, creating a complex interplay of emotions in the night.
Legolas's voice carried a cold edge as he continued his soliloquy into the night. Lytharial, concealed behind the tree, listened to his words, the revelations sinking in like drops into a silent pool.
"She was lucky today that my father interrupted us because I held back on her. I must admit, no one would be able to fight with me even for 10 seconds, but she did that for minutes, even though I held back a little. If I did not, I would probably destroy her reputation," he stated with a stern, matter-of-fact tone.
Lytharial could not listen to him anymore. What did he even think, that she could have a training like him? She was trained to be the best, but he was trained to be better than the best.
She decided to leave Legolas and the sight of him sitting near the river and to come back to the chambers. Tomorrow morning, she will decide her next action. Morning is always better than night.