Thorns & Roses (Legolas Love Story)

6. Odds

If we choose to, we can live in a world of comforting illusion. We can allow ourselves to be deceived by false realities, or we can use them to hide our true intentions.

To successfully create illusion, the first thing you need is trust. But to perfect an illusion, the false reality must appear as authentic as the one it hides. Careful attention must be paid to every detail. The slightest of imperfections can, like a pin to a balloon, burst the illusion. And the truth behind the illusion becomes revealed.

***

I stood at the east side of the massive training grounds. All of the Fellowship members, along with at least a dozen of elves were present. They were not here to train. They had heard rumors of a friendly combat going on, one in which I had next to no preparation at all.

This time I wasn’t wearing my cloak and instead was garbed in a pair of fitted pants and tunic–something comfortable that should allow me to move freely during combat. The elven pants sat on my waist nicely on top of the equally comfortable female tunic.

But the boots are the best part. It was a handmade leather boots. It was the lightest, most durable and comfortable boots I’ve ever worn in my whole life. A one of a kind.

I watched across the field where Boromir and his companions from Gondor were chatting among themselves with his back to me. I could see his shoulders relaxed–unlike mine. Clearly he was considering me a losing opponent already.

And to top my resentment, some of them present here already turned this combat to a sports betting which many of them had placed a wager against me. For some reason, knowing that most of them expected me to fail made me feel slightly more dejected than I should have.

I glanced at Boromir again and reminded myself not to show any kind of weakness to anyone. I kept my expression impassive and relaxed my tensed shoulders, choosing to turn away to study the blunt elven sword that the elves lent me.

“You look good.”

I smiled and looked back to my shoulder to glance at David.

“I know,” I reply smugly, earning a chuckle from my friend, “I feel pretty badass in this outfit,” I commented lightly. “Elves are truly the best designer in the whole Middle Earth.”

“Bad ass? Your ass doesn’t look too bad, miss,” chirped a small, cheery voice that belong to a copper, curly haired hobbit. But as soon as he said that, a look of realization passed on his cheeky face and in an instant his cheek had turned as red as a tomato.

Beside me, David bellowed with laughter at the little hobbit’s remark and I couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at the awkward misunderstanding.

“Did you just make a comment about my ass?” I questioned Pippin with a raise of an eyebrow, my hands rested on my waist as I fought to keep a straight face.

Frodo and Sam who were also cackling about their friend’s inappropriate remark abruptly ceased their laughter as soon as I spoke.

A rather intelligent looking hobbit with the same curly but blond hair steeped forward and hit Pippin on the back of his head then turned to me.

“Forgive my friend, miss. He doesn’t know how to properly talk to a lady,” he said apologetically. A perfect gentleman.

My heart melted at the courtesy the hobbit showed. That, on top of the guilty/embarrassed look that Pippin had, I just couldn’t keep my faux upset look any longer.

David, however, couldn’t quite stop the deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

Would it be that hard for him to just help me out and explain to the hobbits what ‘badass’ mean?