Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 19 ~ Archery Practice

When I wake up a few hours later, the sun is finally up, its bright rays peeking through the lush drapes covering my window. Blinking sleep out of my eyes, I pull myself to my feet and stumble around my room, getting dressed in my usual sparring leathers that have finally been returned by the maids who stole them away for cleaning yesterday. My sword and bow are a comfortable weight as I strap them on, then pull back my hair with a simple braid. I begin to reach for my new daggers, their glimmering sheaths beckoning to me, challenging me, but refrain from the temptation.

Slow and steady, I tell myself evenly. Let's master one weapon at a time.

I leave my room with an empty stomach, the smell of breakfast acts as my guide through the confusing halls, but after wandering around for nearly a half hour, I decide to give up my search and head to the training grounds instead. I know training on an empty stomach is bad, but maybe I can follow someone to the breakfast hall from there.

The training grounds seem to be the only place I can find in this maze of a palace because I find them in less than five minutes. Unfortunately for me, they are completely empty, with no one to guide me to some breakfast. Defeated and no longer hungry, I pick up a quiver of arrows stored along a shelf, strapping it onto my back and releasing my bow. The arrows are beautifully crafted, light as a feather and perfectly balanced, and they slide into the shaft of my bow like water running over river stones. My bow is beautiful as well, complimenting the arrows quite nicely. Made by the skilled craftsmen of Lothlórien, it is made of the wood of the golden trees there, sleek and engraved with intricate patterns that twist and dance along the length of it.

Lifting my bow, I throw back my shoulders and pull back the arrow as I aim for the target hanging off a tree on the other side of the grounds. I lock my eyes on the ring at the center, letting out a slow breath, and then let the arrow fly. It makes a dull thud as it embeds itself into the target, one ring away from the centre. I let out a steady breath and reach for another arrow. Letting the second arrow fly, I watch as it pierces the second ring, like the first. Letting out a swift curse I reach for a third arrow. I've been practicing my archery for months with no luck, and frustration has begun to get to me. Impatience eats away at my concentration as I lock my eyes on the target once more. I adjust my stance, nock back the arrow and-

Thud!

An arrow hits the target before mine has left my bow. I whirl around, only to come face to face with the Prince, a smug smirk on his face as he looks down at me. His eyes burn into mine, but no hint of the emotion he had shown last night lingers within them. Some small part of me wishes that it did, if only to clear the confusion that now muddles my mind. Yet he stares down at me, only pure amusement flitting across his face.

"Tsk, tsk," he chides softly. "You need to work on your shooting Princess."

He pulls back another arrow, his taunting gaze never leaving my face, and lets it fly. There is a faint thud and crack from behind me and I spin around to see that his second arrow has split his first, right down the middle. I clamp my jaw shut to keep it from dropping. I've never seen anyone shoot like that, even among elves. Composing my face into an annoyed expression typical of myself, I turn back to him.

"Showoff," I grumble.

His just winks, sending another arrow shooting for the target, once again splitting the last.

I study him, the wheels in my head spinning as my gaze sweeps over everything from his lightly armored chest, to the braces around his forearms, to the quiver of red-tailed arrows strapped onto his back. I've heard whispers of the famed Woodland Prince, the best archer of the Third Age, rivaled by none in that skill. But I never thought they held true.

"Where did you learn that?" I ask sharply, jutting my chin to the target and his three perfectly shot arrows.

His lazy smile sparks my annoyance, but I reign it in. Anticipation and determination roar through my veins, sending shivers down my spine and whispers echoing through my head.

The best archer of the age, rivaled by none.

"Taught myself mostly," he drawls, running a hand along his bow. He shrugs. "Might not seem typical of a Prince but-"

I cut him off, my ambition a constant push on my mind, a song in my blood.

"Show me," I breath.

He balks, surprise causing his mask of ever-calm to slip as he flicks his gaze to me.

"I'm sorry?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

The best archer of the Age.

I hold his gaze, my green eyes sparking with challenge as a wicked grin splits my face.

"I said, show me how."

A slow smile tugs at his lips, his daunting grin a direct challenge to mine. "As you wish, my lady."