Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Disciplined

Three hundred years ago:

Her heart thrumming in her chest, Narylfiel practically skipped down the softly lit corridors to the king's study; she knew she hardly looked dignified enough to be a young initiate of the Forest Guard, just beginning her first day of formal training, but she was so excited she could scarcely contain herself. When she reached the lower hanging crossbeams that formed the arch over the next hallway, she stretched her arm out and leaped up to slap the beam; Thaliniel had gotten on to her for that, more than one time, but today Narylfiel felt so exhilarated, so alive! She skidded to a stop in front of Thranduil's rooms and waited for the guards outside the door to let her in. Finally, Elfir nodded, and she cracked open the door and popped her head in.

"Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, for she would always address him formally in front of others.

Seated at his enormous carven desk, Thranduil looked up from whatever he was reading and his poet's mouth curved into a laughing smile. "Well, do not linger in the doorway," he chided her, "when I know you are dying to show me!"

Narylfiel glided into the room and struck a pose, proudly displaying her new initiate's uniform, right down to the tops of her gleaming boots. "What do you think?" she asked him, her eyes bright and eager.

Eyebrows furrowed, Thranduil rose from his desk in one liquid movement and circled her, pretending to study her seriously. "Well, you certainly look the part," he said with a grin.

"I have waited for this day for so long," she confided in him, smoothing out her tunic, "and now that it's here I cannot help but worry that I may not be good enough."

"You will," Thranduil assured her. "I will tell you what I told Legolas on his first day of training for the guard, the same thing my father told me: Be disciplined and willing to learn. The captains can teach you the rest, but if you can do those two things, you will always be well thought of."

Narylfiel tilted her head and listened to her king's wisdom and clasped her hands. "Disciplined and willing to learn," she repeated back and flashed him a dazzling smile. "I will be the most disciplined and eager to learn guard that my instructors have ever seen!"

"I do not doubt it," Thranduil said quietly to himself as she waved enthusiastically and wished him goodbye, promising to come back later and tell him all about her first day of training.
. . . . . . . . . . .
November, 3018:

Filtered beams of light accented the spaces between the ancient trees that twisted like spires from the undergrowth. Dark leaves littered the forest floor, occasionally dusted with the odd bit of snow that had managed to drift in from the thick canopy overhead. The shadows lengthened, and Thranduil appraised the trail of horrors that he had wrought- orcs, wargs, all dead, gutted, throats hung open-yet he found little reason to rejoice from his role in the devastation. Across the scene of carnage, his eyes landed on Narylfiel. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared at her, watched her gulp, felt her fear. His eyes darkened, and he willed himself to slow the pounding of his heart to quiet the surge of fury brought on earlier by seeing her unarmed and captive. He willed himself not to think about what might have been, what might have happened had he arrived only seconds later. Finally, he forced himself to speak and his voice sounded discordant and unsteady to his own ears.

"You...you are not injured then?" he asked uncertainly. Her travel clothes were streaked with orc blood, with the odd bit of dirt and parts of leaves clinging to tunic and hair.

Narylfiel shook her head. "Do I not look the very picture of health?" she joked, attempting to assuage his fears and lighten the mood. She knew she looked wretched and hated for him to see her this way, so broken down and defeated. She most certainly was not telling him about the wound to her side-it was just a trifle, a scratch really-and she did not need him getting more upset.