We've been practicing for hours, my fingers sore, the muscles along my arms and back utterly spent. He'd been instructing me from the sidelines, occasionally shooting his own bow to demonstrate, but we haven't made much progress. Currently, he watches me with a bored expression, resting his head against a tree as he sharpens his new pair of knives.
For the hundredth time that afternoon, I lock my gaze on the target in front of me, shooting only to miss the center yet again, and let a stream of curses slip past my lips.
A low whistle sounds from the side lines.
"That's quite colorful language for a Princess."
The Prince chuckles softly as he pushes himself off the tree, sheathing his knives at his side, and struts over to me with an amused smirk on his face.
"For the last time, I'm not a Princess," I growl, my frustration with my progress sparking into anger as I glare hotly at him.
He just raises his arms in mock surrender before I whip back around to face the target, slipping another arrow into the shaft of my bow.
Anger, frustration, and fatigue cloud my vision as I try to regain control over my body and concentrate on the target infront of me. Slowly, my breaths begin to even out and I pull back the arrow, eyes fixed straight ahead. I almost jump when I feel his arms come around me to brace my own, his callused fingers gently steadying my hand as I hold the arrow in place. His face is inches from mine as we focus on the target ahead, and I feel my heart rate speed up; from nothing other than shock, I quickly convince myself.
"Calm down," he whispers in my ear. His breath is warm against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "Let the world around you fade. Focus."
Despite my heart pounding erratically in my chest, I do as I'm told, letting his warm touch, the noise of the wind, the ache of my tired muscles, all fade into nothing as I concentrate solely on the target and the arrow between my fingers... and release it.
It hits dead centre.
The world comes rushing back to me, and I quickly pull myself away from him, realizing that his arms still hold mine. My head spins, trying to process what just happened.
What was that!?
I barely register my perfect shot as an avalanche of emotions tumble through me, my heart beating a mile a minute as I attempt to sort through them. His voice jars me from my thoughts, sending a shockwave through my body.
"Celebríel... you did it."
He sounds suprised and possibly even impressed, though my muddled brain could be playing tricks on me.
I refuse to turn to face him as I set down my bow and start unstrapping the quiver attached to my back, slowed down by the shaking of my hands. Storing the half-empty quiver back on the shelf, I start walking back towards the entrance through which I came, struggling to calm my pounding heart.
What in Varda's name is wrong with me!?
"Where are you going?" I hear him call to me in confusion, his voice nearly drowned out by the blood roaring in my ears.
Quickly glancing back to him, I mumble something about 'clearing my head' and rush out of the training area before he can respond.