Disclaimer: I do not own the works of The Lord of the Rings, which belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, or the works of Harry Potter, which belong to J.K. Rowling. Any familiar dialogue or scenes belong to their respective owners.
A/N: Hello, I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and please let me know what you think in a comment/review! I love hearing what you think of this story so far!
Hermione glided quietly through the tranquil hallways, her footsteps barely audible on the stone floors as she neared the library. The cool marble touched her feet and echoed softly in the night’s stillness. Moonlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, casting shimmering, silvery rays that danced along the ancient stone walls and stretched long shadows down the corridors. The tapestries lining the hall, adorned with Elvish symbols and scenes from bygone ages, subtly shifted in the gentle breeze. When she arrived at the library entrance, she paused and pressed her hand gently against the heavy wooden door, which was adorned with intricate leaves and Elven runes. She carefully surveyed her surroundings, listening intently for any footsteps or whispering voices to make sure she remained alone and undisturbed. The silence enveloped her, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl and the soft rustling of leaves outside, enabling Hermione to slip inside unnoticed, her heart brimming with anticipation and reverence for the knowledge awaiting her.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZwVWmDOTxN
Hermione lit a small oil lamp, and its gentle flame drove back the shadows, spreading a warm amber glow that softened the sharp, silvery moonlight. The flickering light brought out the fine details around her: dust motes drifted through the air, and ancient, gilded titles gleamed in the growing warmth. With purpose, she stepped towards the tall bookcases lining the walls from floor to ceiling, their dark, polished wood carrying the subtle scent of old paper and incense. Eagerly, she scanned the many rows of weathered books—some wrapped in faded leather, others adorned with delicate Elvish filigree—each one guarding secrets from centuries past.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyUwA0lQ8BM
Hermione noticed one particular book tucked among the weathered tomes on a middle shelf, and its unspoken promise seemed to call out to her. The silver runes decorating its spine, slightly worn on the edges, shimmered invitingly in the lamplight. She extended her hand, gliding her fingers over the detailed patterns carved into the cover, and when she lifted it from the shelf, a profound sense of reverence washed over her. The book felt heavier than she expected, its solid, cool binding pressing into her palms, and as she held it, she sensed the immense weight of history and knowledge contained within its ancient pages.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtwPG5zsK5L
Hermione studied the book, its cover shimmering in the lamplight with intricate silver filigree and Elven motifs. She opened it and breathed in the faint aroma of age and wildflowers that wafted from its slightly yellowed, delicate pages, as if the leaves themselves held the forest’s wisdom. The manuscript meticulously chronicled the Elves’ history, carefully highlighting the major and turbulent events of the Noldor’s exile from Valinor to Middle-earth. Every page, written in graceful, flowing script, vividly recounted stories of heartbreak and heroism—tales of lost glory, betrayal, and hope beneath the stars. Hermione immediately identified it as a rare, firsthand account, penned by an Elf who had lived through those legendary times. The story’s authenticity resonated: emotions and memories emerged so clearly that she could almost hear ancient songs and see the fierce determination in the eyes of those who marched into exile.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLWQpxZwF6T
Hermione studied Elvish under her parents and, later, under Gandalf at Hogwarts, gaining a deep understanding of the language’s melodic tones, dialects, and cultural nuances in every phrase. She found herself drawn not only to formal instruction but also to discovering Elvish history through the voices of those who had lived it. She treasured the opportunity to read a firsthand account written by an Elvish author—a rare perspective shaped by personal experience rather than retold tales. She eagerly examined subtle inflections in the text, seeking the laughter hidden behind specific lines, the sorrow trembling beneath words, and the pride interwoven in stories of the Noldor’s exile. For Hermione, these accounts offered more than facts or lessons; she saw them as a living tapestry of Elvish culture, illuminating the Elves’ struggles, victories, and enduring spirit in ways no textbook ever could.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsNNzjmpHHK
Hermione settled herself comfortably at the table, allowing the gentle glow of her lamp to spill across the polished wood and illuminate the delicate script on the old parchment. The ancient Elvish book radiated its deep history, making the air around her thrum with ancient melodies and softly whispered secrets. She paused for a moment, letting her eyes linger on the elegant Elven script—each letter curling and intertwining like vines in a moonlit forest, with the ink faded to a silvery grey where time had brushed against it. The quiet only gave way to the distant wind sighing through the high windows and the soft rhythm of her own breath. She marvelled at the artistry before her, half expecting the page to spring to life at any moment.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDm0k4baDRc
She carefully set out her materials on the desk. Her trusty notebook, its edges worn and pages filled from years of diligent study, brimmed with carefully recorded insights and an ever-growing vocabulary of Elvish she had gathered from earlier lessons. The open inkwell shimmered in the lamplight, releasing a subtle scent of iron and herbs, grounding her in the present even as echoes of the past lingered. She placed her quill, ready for use, on a small square of rough linen; the feather stood snowy white, and the nib gleamed sharp and fine. With a steady hand and a sense of both anticipation and reverence, Hermione dipped the quill into the ink, watching as the black liquid climbed up the nib. The faint aroma of ink mingled with the ancient scent of parchment and old books, anchoring her in the moment and reinforcing her sense of purpose.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2NcJfrgzGh
Hermione studied each line of the text with careful attention, her eyes moving steadily over the elegant Elven script as she absorbed every detail. She leaned in and concentrated intently, sometimes tracing a delicate rune with her fingertip to feel the grooves left by the ancient quill. The silver runes caught the lamplight and revealed the artistry and the worn areas where time had faded the ink. As she transcribed key passages, she shaped her neat, flowing handwriting to echo the grace of the original, ensuring each letter and flourish reflected her respect. She filled her notebook with facts and dates, but also captured the subtle emotional tones—she noted the sorrow in farewells, the pride in vows, and the hope in poems about lost homelands. The soft scratch of her quill and the turning of parchment marked her deep immersion. Hermione moved seamlessly between reading and writing, frequently pausing to interpret phrases or to render the cadence of Elvish poetry in her own words. She focused unwaveringly, determined not to miss a single detail, knowing that each insight would illuminate more about the Noldor’s exile and the Elves’ enduring legacy. As she worked, she lost herself in a scholarly world where the pain, hope, and courage of an ancient people continued to resonate across the centuries.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcvcNldz5ZZ
Hermione spent several hours reading and taking notes, maintaining unwavering concentration as she scratched her quill softly and rustled the parchment pages. The lamplight wrapped the vast library in a cosy cocoon, and its golden glow enveloped her desk, casting gentle, shifting shadows that danced with her every movement. Towering shelves surrounded her in silence, with ancient books standing as guardians in the muted light. She occasionally dipped her quill into the inkwell, letting the faint scent of iron and herbs mingle with the stale aroma of old books and parchment. The sounds of softly turning pages and the distant groan of old wood heightened her sense of solitude and scholarly focus. Hermione devoted herself to decoding the Elven script. She meticulously copied her notes into her well-worn notebook, losing track of time as the world beyond her small circle of light disappeared into darkness.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbsZ6UCb0GB
A shadow swept across her table, piercing the amber glow and jolting Hermione out of her intense focus. The abrupt interruption sent her heart racing, and she froze with her quill mid-sentence. She glanced up, her eyes quickly adjusting to the figure before her—Aragorn, whose tall silhouette stood illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the high windows.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Y3tlLP3Qk
Startled by his sudden presence, Hermione tried to speak, but no words came out. She closed her mouth, searching for words, but still said nothing under Aragorn’s curious gaze. Embarrassment and anxiety coloured her cheeks as she unconsciously tightened her grip on her quill, struggling to compose herself.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkMatMrSZbC
After a moment, Aragorn asked softly, with a gentle hint of concern, ‘Unable to sleep, Lady Hermione?’ As he spoke, he kept glancing at the notes before her—a careful collection of parchment inscribed with neat, looping Elvish script. He furrowed his brows slightly, deeply interested in her scholarly work. He leaned in, drawn not only to her late-night vigil but also to the evidence of her dedication and knowledge on the polished wooden table.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqlcbiVODSR
Hermione briefly hesitated, her mind racing to find a reason. Her heart beat faster, and a slight blush coloured her cheeks as she searched for the right words. ‘Um, no… I just wanted to do a bit of light reading and lost track of time,’ she said, her voice slightly uneven. She moved her hands nervously, her fingertips brushing her quill’s feather as she glanced at Aragorn. She realised he probably wouldn’t believe her excuse; his intense stare and furrowed brow only heightened her awareness that her attempt at sounding casual was failing. Despite her efforts to appear nonchalant, her uneasy gaze and the way she gripped her quill betrayed her anxiety, making her answer seem unconvincing.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfTV2kdmZQg
Aragorn’s eyes widened in surprise as he observed Hermione. ‘You did not mention you could read and write Elvish,’ he said softly, clearly astonished. Quietly, he approached the table and, with the creak of the chair breaking the silence, sat across from her. He settled his tall figure gracefully and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished surface. He kept his gaze fixed on the intricate, silvery script—unmistakably beautiful to anyone fluent in the ancient language. After a brief pause, Aragorn looked into Hermione’s face, searching for answers. ‘But you are not an Elf,’ he said gently but with curiosity, trying to understand her skill despite her mortal background.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDk3EHHsTPY
Hermione sighed tiredly and leaned back in her chair, her shoulders weighed down by her secret. She watched the lamplight spill across the table, illuminating the intricate Elvish script before her. The silence in the library pressed in on her, dense and heavy, as she reluctantly accepted that she could no longer keep her truth hidden. She realised Gandalf wanted them to keep the secret to protect them until the right moment—until she, Harry, and Draco were prepared to reveal the truth and face any consequences. As the minutes passed and Aragorn’s earnest gaze remained, Hermione sensed the boundary of secrecy dissolve, replaced by a quiet, inevitable acceptance. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ84gtLi3yKo
Hermione traced the edge of the ancient parchment with her fingers, savouring the cool, smooth feel of the faded ink. Flickering shadows played across the detailed script as her thoughts returned to her childhood. She remembered the gentle voices of her parents guiding her through the lyrical sounds and mysterious symbols of Elvish. Their lessons brought her comfort and sadness—she always cherished those moments as a private ritual, a world apart from her life at Hogwarts. She had never questioned the source of their knowledge or why they chose to share it with her, but she valued it deeply.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6yopouByr9
Hermione summoned her courage as the truth pressed on her. She looked up at Aragorn and spoke softly in a gentle, almost apologetic tone, ‘My parents taught me. I don’t know where they learned it, though.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuxP1oACNJH
Aragorn nodded in understanding. ‘Much like myself,’ he told Hermione, and she looked up at him with interest. Noticing her curiosity, Aragorn continued in a low, resonant voice, ‘I was brought to Rivendell as a child and raised among the Elves.’ As he spoke, he let his gaze wander, recalling distant memories. He smiled at her, his expression tinged with sadness and nostalgia as he shared this personal story.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSvg1dRrTVI
Hermione smiled at Aragorn, a small, genuine gesture that revealed a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. She trembled slightly, her fingertips brushing the edge of the parchment as she leaned in and whispered cautiously, ‘Please keep this between us.’ Aragorn furrowed his brow and studied her with concern, his expression showing worry. He observed her shoulders as she hunched protectively over her notes, clearly intent on shielding the secret she had just revealed. ‘Gandalf told me to keep it secret for now. I can’t explain why, but please…’ Her sentence faltered as she lowered her gaze to the book.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1G3jSD6LpR
Aragorn nodded softly, his sombre blue eyes radiating quiet sincerity. He leaned forward slightly and spoke in a gentle, compassionate tone. ‘I understand. Your secret is safe with me, Lady Hermione,’ he said, his words carrying the weight of a sworn vow and genuine empathy. With respectful grace, Aragorn bowed his head, adding a solemn note to the moment.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq0E0m39dWR
Hermione met Aragorn’s gaze and felt her heavy burden lift, replaced by confidence that Aragorn would respect her privacy and uphold Gandalf’s wishes, keeping the secret safe until the right time. She gave Aragorn a grateful smile, her face softening as the tension eased from her shoulders. ‘Thank you, Aragorn,’ she said, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Relief shone in her eyes, briefly warming her expression and lifting her weariness. She carefully gathered her scattered notes and gently stacked them as if they were precious. She reverently closed the ancient book—its leather cover cool and smooth—the faint snap of the cover echoing in the quiet. Hermione quietly walked to the bookshelf and placed the volume back, aligning it so the worn Elvish characters faced outward, like a silent goodbye. She paused, rested her hand briefly on the spine, then straightened up.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWCVkV5M3La
Turning back to Aragorn, Hermione gave a weary but genuine smile, her voice gentle and tinged with fatigue as she softly said, ‘I should probably get some sleep now.’ She wrapped her robes around her and walked towards the door, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet covering the stone floor. At the threshold, she paused and looked over her shoulder, meeting Aragorn’s eyes one last time. ‘Goodnight,’ she said quietly.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTErLkFJ40I
Hermione slipped quietly out of the library, gliding through the heavy wooden door into the dim corridor. Aragorn stayed seated at the table, the impression of her presence lingering on the surface before him. He leaned back, pressing his shoulders to the carved wood, and gazed thoughtfully at the space she had just left. Aragorn shifted his blue eyes to the door through which Hermione had vanished, his face serious and contemplative. Hermione’s secret remained at the forefront of his mind, a constant reminder of the trust she had given him and the hidden truth she bore—an invisible burden that both now shared, bound by oath and understanding.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIVIkTggoNh
Aragorn whispered, ‘Interesting,’ his tone carrying a thoughtful curiosity. He stood and walked over to the bookshelf, gazing at the ancient book for a moment. He took it off the shelf and opened it, brushing his fingers over the intricate Elvish script as if committing it to memory. Then he carefully closed the parchment to conceal its secrets and returned it to the shelf. He straightened with quiet purpose and moved back to the table. Leaning forward, Aragorn gently blew out the lamp, sending a wisp of smoke twisting into the air as the golden light gave way to shadows. Darkness settled over the shelves and rows of sleeping books, draping the chamber in silence. The polished wood, brass bindings, and faint scent of parchment all faded into the peaceful gloom. After one last thoughtful look at the table, he slipped through the door and disappeared into the quiet corridor, leaving behind a whisper of secrets and a promise kept.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaPsd3PFVly
Early the next morning, Hermione arrived at the familiar fountain in the small clearing—the exact spot where she and Harry had spent time together the day before. Fresh, dew-laden air greeted her as sunlight filtered through the delicate canopy of leaves, casting shimmering patterns over the smooth stone and sparkling water. She sat on a mossy stone bench and closed her eyes, allowing the peacefulness to settle within.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI2qcmtr3E8
Her thoughts drifted to her recent conversation with Harry about the truce she had arranged with Draco, and the memory remained vivid. Hermione explained the details to Harry, who listened intently but kept a cautious air, uncertain whether the truce would last. His doubts showed clearly as he furrowed his brow and traced patterns on the mossy bench, his eyes flickering with hesitation. He accepted Hermione’s reasoning, yet tension lingered in his body—a guardedness shaped by past battles and hard-won trust. Hermione mirrored his concerns; worry etched on her face, and she pressed her lips tightly as she looked at Harry. Both recognised that the days ahead would challenge their agreement. For now, they could only hope their efforts would keep the fragile peace with Draco, the weight of past grievances casting shadows over their optimism.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8PEODBIkWz
Aragorn and Boromir closely observed the Hobbits as they practised their skills, missing nothing with their keen eyes. The Elves had arranged several targets around the sunlit clearing, each crafted from sturdy wood and painted with concentric rings to mark the centre. Frodo and Sam, being smaller, aimed at a single target set at the perfect height, already bearing marks from their previous shots. Aragorn kept his hands behind his back, maintaining a commanding yet approachable stance, while Boromir frequently offered helpful advice and sometimes corrected their stance or grip. ‘Concentrate on the target!’ Aragorn called out, his tone clear and steady—firm yet encouraging—prompting the Hobbits to focus, steady their nerves, and improve with every shot.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvEYcowXbit
Harry crossed his legs and sat on the grass with the Sword of Gryffindor laid across his lap. With a soft cloth, he polished the intricate hilt and the broad, shiny surface, working in slow, circular motions. Boromir had calmly handed him the linen cloth, instructing him with a quiet authority shaped by countless campaigns and hard-won wisdom. Hermione had questioned the necessity of polishing at first—her voice gentle but sceptical, noting the sword’s flawless appearance—but Boromir responded with gentle firmness. ‘It is always wise to keep your blade in top condition,’ he had said, his eyes steady, ‘even if it appears perfect.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTKdDAc9il1
Aragorn called across the clearing, his sharp and clear voice pulling Hermione back to attention. ‘Try to visualise your enemy as you aim and strike!’ he encouraged, blending guidance with motivation.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1wAomuKCZ5
Harry strode purposefully towards a target set up near Frodo and Sam. Although his training lacked the same intensity as theirs, he felt a strong sense of duty driving him to improve and stand tall with his companions. He gave Hermione a quick wave and a brief nod, sharing a silent look of encouragement before turning his attention to his task. He gripped the Sword of Gryffindor, drawing comfort from the cool metal. Planting his feet firmly and squaring his shoulders, he radiated determination as he readied himself to train with serious intent, muscles tensed, and senses sharpened.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA7bQIrIoYw
Harry focused on the target, and vivid memories of confronting the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets flooded his mind. He recalled how cold and silent the stone chamber felt, his rapid breathing echoing in the heavy quiet before the monster appeared. He pictured the Basilisk’s massive, coiled body, its scales gleaming like armour in the torchlight, fear and adrenaline driving the image deeper into his thoughts. The creature’s venomous fangs and hypnotic golden eyes haunted him; he remembered that even a direct or indirect glance could mean death, so powerful was its stare that even a reflection in the water posed a deadly threat. Panic surged through him, the metallic scent of blood sharp in his senses, and his heartbeat thundered with each breath. He remembered dodging, ducking, and finally striking with his sword as the Basilisk lunged at him, narrowly escaping being eaten—each movement sharpening his focus and strengthening his resolve to face the challenge ahead.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlmJLzH6iaP
Harry blocked out all surrounding noise and distractions, imagining himself once more confronting the Basilisk in the shadowy chamber. The scene became so vivid that he almost felt the cold and smelt the stifling scent of fear, his heart racing as the serpent’s ominous eyes glinted in the darkness. He took a slow, steady breath and gripped the Sword of Gryffindor tightly, the cool hilt comforting in his hand. Summoning his courage, he purposefully stepped forward, his footfall muffled by the damp grass. With renewed resolve, he lifted the sword high, tensed his muscles, and struck overhead with force. The blade sliced through the air, briefly catching the sunlight before it hit the target with a solid, ringing impact. The echo carried through the clearing, drawing the attention of those nearby and leaving a noticeable dent in the wood—clear proof of Harry’s focus and the strength he drew from his powerful memory.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDxrbtAWhbl
Aragorn saw Harry’s focused strike on the target and strode across the dew-covered grass towards him, his footsteps barely making a sound on the soft ground. He nodded deliberately, silently endorsing Harry’s efforts, and said softly, ‘Excellent, Master Harry.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA0sbEkeRnB
Harry offered Aragorn a grateful smile and sincerely said, ‘Thanks.’ He breathed steadily, feeling Aragorn briefly rest his reassuring hand on his shoulder before Harry stepped back into position. Eager to improve, he launched into a series of attacks, each movement growing smoother than the last. He lifted the sword overhead, tensed his arms to gather strength, and brought it down in a clean, powerful arc. With every strike, Harry refined his technique—he made his footwork more precise, controlled his swings better, and displayed growing confidence and dedication to mastering the skills.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk8TFmoMUDZ
Draco strode into the clearing with his platinum-blond hair tousled and his robes slightly rumpled, looking as though he had either just climbed out of bed or been abruptly roused. He blinked in the morning light, walked with an unsteady gait, and attempted to smooth his creased sleeve while regaining his composure. Gandalf followed behind him at a steady pace. The wizard knitted his bushy eyebrows into a serious frown and pressed his lips into a thin line of clear disapproval as he fixed Draco with a sharp, almost scolding stare. Hermione, perched on her mossy seat by the fountain, raised her eyebrows in silent curiosity, wondering what trouble or mistake Draco had made to warrant such a severe look from the wise elder.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU10wzxDQR2
Hermione shook her head and picked up the book that Lady Arwen had recommended. It was one of the few volumes in the vast library that was written in the common language, filled with yellowed parchment and intricate, hand-painted borders. Her fingers traced the embossed title as she settled herself on the mossy stone bench, pulled her knees up, and tucked her feet underneath. Immersed in the ancient text, Hermione furrowed her brow in concentration and traced the elegant script, occasionally mouthing unfamiliar words. She became so absorbed in the stories of distant lands that she paid little attention to her surroundings, only noticing a soft change in light when it gently cast a shadow over the page, prompting her to look up, her focus briefly interrupted by the sudden shift.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡETnk7MX94X
Draco smirked beside her, the early sunlight catching the mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. He swept his platinum-blond fringe aside with a practised gesture and settled on the fountain’s edge nearby, relaxing with purpose as if he owned the space. The mossy stone cooled him, and the gentle splash of water echoed softly through the quiet morning. He stretched his long legs and leaned back slightly without waiting for an invitation, radiating his usual air of nonchalance. ‘Too good to train with the rest of us, Granger?’ he teased, a crooked, knowing smile on his lips. His familiar rivalry came through in the teasing tone of his words, which hid the genuine amusement in his expression. Amusement sparkled in his eyes as he watched her, clearly enjoying provoking a reaction, his gaze flicking from her book to her face, daring her to accept his challenge.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO7NAhKQTKD
Hermione glanced down at her book. ‘It’s not required, and I don’t think sword-fighting is really my thing,’ she said softly but firmly, her words quiet yet deliberate. As she spoke, she lifted her gaze from the faded script to the lively scene before her: the Hobbits bustled with energy, their faces set in determined focus, while Harry—his brow creased in concentration—aimed precisely at the wooden targets.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9l3umCK28u
Draco nodded slowly, a pensive look in his blue eyes as he surveyed the bustling clearing. His gaze lingered on Legolas, who stood a short distance away in a ray of sunlight. The Elf moved with grace and composure, carefully examining his bow. Legolas’s slender fingers glided smoothly over the polished wood, calmly checking the string’s tension and ensuring each arrow was perfectly straight, his actions reflecting years of skill and tradition.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVpRnWBFb6I
Boromir hunched his shoulders as he deliberately demonstrated sword sharpening to Merry and Pippin, carefully showing them the correct method. The sound of metal on the whetstone punctuated his clear, patient instructions. The Hobbits watched intently and imitated Boromir’s actions with their small hands as they tried to learn the skill.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvAcO6P4lN3
Draco observed the varied demonstrations of discipline and camaraderie, then turned back to Hermione with his usual smirk softened by genuine curiosity. He inquired, ‘What about archery?’ and subtly gestured toward Legolas, as though encouraging Hermione to step beyond her comfort zone and consider the refined skill of the bow.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrE3XXzNRo8
Hermione widened her eyes at Draco’s question, her surprise and thoughtfulness clear as she considered his words. Doubt flickered across her face for a moment, and she shifted on the old stone bench, tracing patterns over her closed book with her fingertips. She glanced over at Legolas, who remained focused on his bow, and softly admitted, ‘I don’t know,’ her brow creasing as she truly considered the question. She paused and watched Legolas closely, taking in the way he expertly nocked his arrow, his movements so fluid they resembled water gliding over smooth stones. Her thoughts drifted to her childhood practice sessions, recalling how she clumsily trained in a muddy field, her fingers aching from repeatedly pulling the bowstring, and how her arrows either missed their mark or fell short. ‘I took lessons when I was younger, but I was terrible at it.’ Frustration tinged her voice as she recalled her earlier archery attempts, and a faint flush coloured her cheeks. Even with her prior experience, she now doubted herself. As Legolas demonstrated his effortless skill, Hermione felt self-doubt pressing on her, her eyes following the Elf’s perfect technique with a quiet, wistful longing for that same confidence beneath her outward calm.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX8e18BpVcY
Draco dramatically widened his eyes and pretended to be incredulous. ‘Hermione Granger? Terrible at something? Except, of course, for flying,’ he joked, giving a sly, playful smile as his voice carried a mock surprise. Hermione gently rolled her eyes in annoyance and nudged him lightly with her elbow, blending affection with correction. Laughter burst from both of them, their shared joy echoing through the peaceful clearing.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxGxkQism8w
Hermione shook her head, and a touch of self-deprecation flickered across her face as she gazed at the book resting in her lap. ‘Perhaps I’m better at the theory of flying and archery than the practical aspects,’ she murmured, her voice carrying resigned humour and a hint of vulnerability. She gently brushed a stray curl behind her ear as she spoke, letting her gaze fall to the mottled parchment beneath her fingers. ‘I’m not perfect, you know,’ she added softly, her words quiet yet sincere. With careful hands, she closed the heavy book, ran her hand over its worn cover, and tucked it into her beaded bag, making sure she protected its fragile spine. She rested her hands on the soft surface of the bag for a moment, then placed it gently beside her on the stone bench, letting the cool moss comfort her palm.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHEllbTNiy2
Draco lifted his eyebrow and gave a wry smile, blending amusement with genuine thoughtfulness. ‘No, you’re not perfect, but then again, who is?’ he said, his sarcasm giving way to a more reflective tone. Draco fixed his gaze on the Elf and observed Legolas’s hands as he smoothly adjusted the string and tested the arrow’s balance. Legolas conveyed both skill and calmness, his confidence clear after centuries of unhurried mastery. Draco turned back to Hermione with a softer expression, replacing his earlier bluster with genuine curiosity and support. ‘So, you learned archery from a Muggle as a kid…’ he said thoughtfully, tapping his chin, ‘…but here, you’d be learning from someone who’s a genuine expert—someone who probably has the patience of a saint.’ As he spoke, Draco raised his hands and mimed weighing invisible scales, highlighting the contrast between her frustrating, muddied childhood lessons and this incredible opportunity to learn from someone whose skill was almost legendary among their group. Draco met Hermione’s gaze. ‘It’s not every day you get the opportunity to be taught by an Elf who’s spent centuries perfecting their craft,’ he added, admiration and gentle encouragement colouring his voice as he prompted Hermione to recognise her own potential within this new setting.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoF35wlbmUA
Hermione sighed as she accepted Draco’s point. She had been yearning to learn archery from Legolas, admiring his remarkable skill. Curiosity and longing tugged at her whenever she watched the Elf move with flowing confidence that seemed almost otherworldly. She sat quietly on the cool stone bench, letting her gaze drift to Legolas, who caught the morning light in his golden hair and held himself with calm mastery. Still, she hesitated, unsure whether she dared to approach him. Whenever she imagined herself asking Legolas for help, her heart raced and her palms turned sweaty, as awe for his effortless skill mingled with her fear of rejection. Hermione had convinced herself that Legolas hated her—a belief she couldn’t fully explain, but one that made the idea of asking him feel intimidating. Fleeting glances and imagined slights fed this suspicion, casting a shadow over her determination. The distance between them felt vast—not only the physical space of the training ground but also the silent gulf of her insecurities, which made reaching out seem almost impossible.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA5lNy67Mvj
Draco shrugged and cast one last glance at Hermione, his expression showing reluctant acceptance and emerging determination. ‘I suppose I should pick up the basics of sword-fighting,’ he said quietly, voice tinged with resignation and resolve. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He paused for a moment, looking back at Hermione as if her presence gave him strength. Then, stepping carefully, he crossed the dew-covered clearing towards Boromir, who stood slightly apart. Boromir had just finished demonstrating how to care for a sword to Merry and Pippin, skilfully polishing a blade while explaining grip and stance. The scent of oiled steel filled the air as Draco approached, the muffled sound of his boots on moss marking his steps.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN7eY0om6a7
Draco concealed his nerves beneath a calm exterior as he approached Boromir and cautiously greeted the experienced warrior. Boromir scrutinised Draco with a sharp, evaluating glance, assessing his purpose and resolve. After a brief pause, Boromir nodded in approval, grabbed a sword from the rack, and extended it toward Draco. The blade, polished to perfection, reflected the sunlight and glinted with the promise of challenge and possibility. The hilt felt firm and comforting in Draco’s hand, connecting him to a long legacy of martial tradition. Boromir exuded the confidence of an experienced leader as he stepped forward to begin his lesson, speaking in a calm, precise voice. He demonstrated the correct stance, planting his feet firmly on the grass, and gently but firmly guided Draco into the proper posture. He delivered each instruction clearly and deliberately, explaining how to grip the hilt, angle the blade, and keep balanced. Boromir moved smoothly and assuredly, intentionally demonstrating key techniques: the defensive stance, the basic strike, and the art of anticipating in combat. Draco watched Boromir closely, paying full attention and mimicking his movements as he learned.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxlvmXaojkT
Hermione sighed, turning her attention away from Draco. She fixed her gaze on Legolas, letting her eyes linger a little longer than she meant to. Across the training ground, their eyes met for a brief moment, and although the glance was fleeting, they seemed to share an unspoken understanding. Legolas moved with effortless grace as he drew his bow and released an arrow in one smooth motion. The arrow struck the target quietly and precisely, a demonstration of the skill Hermione so deeply admired. She watched him intently, her heart fluttering, while the Elf maintained unwavering focus and moved with a poetic elegance in the morning light.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmqamBP2rVf
Their gazes met again for a heartbeat, and warmth rose in Hermione’s cheeks. The surroundings blurred as the clearing’s noise faded, making the moment feel as though it belonged to them alone. Legolas kept his blue eyes fixed on hers—calm, inscrutable, yet somehow inviting. Hermione wondered if he could sense her admiration, or if she alone felt the subtle tension between them. Legolas shifted his focus back to his bow, and Hermione caught her breath, uncertain whether she should approach him. She doubted that he even noticed her. She wondered how he regarded the presence of a mortal woman on their journey. Did he see her as a liability? The lingering look they had shared made her question what truly lay beneath his calm exterior and what he might really be thinking.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4UFy4k4KCP
Later that day, Gandalf brought Harry, Hermione, and Draco together beneath an ancient oak at the edge of the training ground. Thoughtful and composed, Gandalf explained the theoretical basics of several spells they would soon learn. As he spoke, he conjured airborne diagrams with a wave of his hand—elegant runes and swirling patterns of energy—that shimmered in front of the trio. Gandalf actively selected a well-curated and balanced set of spells, assigning each one a specific purpose. He placed particular emphasis on strong defensive magic, thoroughly describing how shields deflect curses, wards prevent unseen threats, and charms safeguard both body and mind. As he spoke, he drew attention to their practical uses and the magical principles behind them, inviting the trio to ask questions and to analyse the construction of protective enchantments.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtHPTRFllZb
Gandalf also addressed the need for offensive spells, adopting a more serious tone as he emphasised their importance for the dangerous challenges ahead. He described spells that disarm, immobilise, or incapacitate foes, continually stressing the responsibility and restraint required when wielding such power. Gandalf not only taught them new spells, but he also reminded them about the counter-curse that Snape had discussed with them in the Forbidden Forest. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDhZ9pwb9id
Gandalf announced, ‘I will begin by teaching you healing and defensive spells, which I deem more crucial than offensive ones.’ His voice, shaped by many battles, underscored the importance of protecting oneself and others. He summoned a floating target with a seamless, almost effortless motion, demonstrating his expert wandless magic. He said, ‘Although time might be scarce, I will attempt to teach you the fundamentals and theory of wandless magic.’ The trio’s excitement surged at the prospect of mastering such an advanced magical skill.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDztoT2HtXW
Gandalf began the lesson with a serious, resolute tone. ‘First, I will teach you “Curio”,’ he said, immediately drawing their attention. ‘This spell stands as the most powerful healing magic. When you wield it properly, you can mend even the gravest injuries and restore health completely. It offers far more than a simple healing charm—it channels deep, ancient energies, repairing the damaged bonds of flesh and spirit until a person becomes whole again.’ He paused for a moment, a slight smile on his face as he watched the trio scribble notes into their notebooks. ‘“Curio” not only heals, but also neutralises poisons, making it a vital skill for any capable wizard or witch,’ Gandalf explained, clasping his hands behind his back.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHFq2LJrD3h
Gandalf paused briefly, building anticipation and ensuring Harry, Hermione, and Draco understood the significance of what he was about to share. His tone took on a serious note, tinged with caution, as he continued thoughtfully, ‘However, I must warn you. This spell cannot be cast on Elves or anyone with any blood relation to Elves, such as a Half-Elf, for example.’ The trio exchanged uncertain looks, their faces displaying confusion and curiosity, clearly intrigued and unsettled by this unexpected restriction.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4fkcFZFgxr
Hermione tilted her head and asked, ‘Why?’ Her clear and genuinely earnest voice revealed her intense curiosity and desire to understand. She fixed Gandalf with bright, searching eyes, eager to uncover the mystery behind the spell’s unusual limitation.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlSSAqsXN0E
Gandalf fixed the group with a serious expression as he explained the special limitations of the spell. He revealed that Elves possess a natural resilience to magic, making them inherently resistant to most spells and distinguishing them from other beings. Their profound bond with ancient forces actively shields them from external magical influences. Unlike humans or other creatures, Elves inherit this resistance at birth, so most spells—no matter how powerful—fail to affect them as intended. Even the potent healing spell “Curio” cannot breach their defences; attempting to heal an Elf with this magic may instead bring discomfort or produce unforeseen effects. Gandalf reminded the trio that this magical boundary should be respected as a fundamental aspect of Elven nature, not viewed as an obstacle. He stressed the importance of recognising and honouring these distinctions among magical beings, explaining that true wisdom in magic requires not only power but also a willingness to understand and accept the unique qualities of each race. The trio listened attentively, understanding that mastering magic involves both skill and a humble respect for the mysteries held by ancient peoples.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH1YHrsQvk2
Hermione glanced at Legolas as Gandalf outlined the boundaries of the spell. She knew about the magical resilience of Elves, but she didn’t realise their magic could harm them. This knowledge struck her, prompting her to direct a thoughtful look towards Legolas. Their eyes met for a brief moment—Hermione’s gaze, searching and filled with curiosity. She quickly shifted her attention back to Gandalf’s explanation, intent on absorbing every detail, determined not to lose focus.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjpbYNJTEuj
Gandalf outlined the fundamental principles of the spell to the trio, ensuring they understood the underlying concepts before attempting to cast it. He spoke in a calm, deliberate manner, clarifying every detail. He began by explaining that the magical foundation of “Curio” lies in channelling ancient energies through the caster’s intent and compassion. Gandalf emphasised that the spell goes beyond simple recitation; it requires the caster to combine willpower and empathy, genuinely wanting the recipient to recover.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6lZbeN2rXO
Gandalf showed them the precise wand movement for “Curio”: he controlled a smooth figure-of-eight with a steady hand, then delivered a quick, firm flick downward. He combined elegance and purpose in his movement—the figure-of-eight symbolised infinity and renewal, while the downward flick asserted the spell’s healing aim. The trio fixed their gaze on Gandalf’s hands, determined to observe every detail of the sequence. Harry focused intently, furrowing his brow, while Hermione mouthed the incantation and mimicked the wand motion. Draco gripped his wand tightly, determined not to miss a single step. They recognised that to cast the spell successfully, they needed to master both the theory—understanding magical forces and compassion—and the technique—executing each movement with precision, timing, and intent.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTZzfGeXY0K
Gandalf instructed them to cast the spell on the target he had summoned. The three stepped forward, their wands at the ready, hearts pounding with excitement and nerves. Each one raised their wand and focused intensely, tracing the smooth figure-eight pattern Gandalf had demonstrated. Their wands glowed faintly, but the golden aura of “Curio” failed to appear. Harry frowned in frustration, Hermione sighed quietly and glanced at her wand in confusion, while Draco clenched his jaw and avoided meeting the others’ eyes. Observing their struggle, Gandalf let out a gentle chuckle. ‘It’s a difficult spell to master, but keep practising,’ he said softly yet firmly, giving Harry, Hermione, and Draco renewed confidence as they nodded, ready to keep trying despite the challenge.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTLxAgU8ngz
Gandalf beckoned Hermione, saying, ‘Miss Granger, could you come here for a moment?’ Hermione left Draco and Harry behind and joined Gandalf, glancing back at them as she moved away from their practise area. As Hermione and Gandalf walked out of sight, their footsteps crunched softly on the leaf-laden earth. ‘I have no illusions you will learn the spell quickly, so I would like to review some of the Elvish spells I have taught you.’ They made their way to a quieter, shaded corner beneath an ancient oak out of sight of everyone in the clearing. Hermione, aware that Gandalf’s guidance would challenge her intellect and resolve, steeled herself for a thorough review of complex Elvish incantations, feeling nerves and anticipation.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡORQ70VYz40
Gandalf set up a new target for Hermione to practise on. Hermione drew a deep breath, fully aware that this training would be especially demanding. She steadied herself, recalling the challenges she had encountered with Elvish magic. Elvish spells, unlike others, consumed a lot of energy, rapidly draining her magical reserves and placing significant strain on her mind and body. These previous struggles weighed on her as she prepared to try once more, determined to improve with Gandalf’s guidance. Hermione raised her wand with trembling hands. Complex patterns and Elvish spells Gandalf had taught her filled her mind. She remembered how previous tries had exhausted her—leaving her dizzy, depleted, gasping, and unfocused. Determined not to give up, she steeled herself, whispered a quiet motivational phrase, and looked up at Gandalf. He watched patiently yet expectantly, ready to guide her through the complicated process again.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8C7P5lVY7A
‘You are very formal in your stance, Master Malfoy,’ Boromir said as he watched Draco take up his fighting position. He observed Draco deliberately plant his feet, taking each step with precision, his toes aligned and his weight evenly distributed, in a manner that suggested military discipline. Draco squared his shoulders, kept his back straight, and raised his chin, displaying a confident poise shaped by strict training and discipline. Draco held his weapon with firm fingers, neither clenched nor loose, and angled the blade perfectly, all actions revealing the well-practised routine behind every movement. Boromir noticed Draco’s eyes flick to the target, keeping his focus there, while he subtly adjusted his wrist for better control. Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, Boromir asked, ‘Have you trained before?’ His tone held both curiosity and respect, as he recognised the hallmarks of formal training in Draco’s stance, reminiscent of an experienced duellist or a young noble versed in martial etiquette.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0ABtmjh6oo
Draco eased the tension from his shoulders and arms, relaxed his stance, and then turned fully to face Boromir. ‘My father made me take fencing lessons as a child, so I know a bit,’ he said, his voice carrying a note of resignation. He gave a slight shrug to show indifference; clearly, he had undergone the training because of strict parental expectations rather than any genuine passion for the sport. For a moment, Draco let his gaze drift, recalling distant memories of hours spent in echoing halls beneath his father’s critical stare—each lesson fuelled by the need to uphold the Malfoy name, not by the joy of learning the sport itself.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNMQkPNOMWj
Boromir watched Draco closely, his experienced eye taking in the young wizard’s stance and composure. He assessed Draco’s posture and technique, spotting clear signs of rigorous training in the way Draco held himself. After considering what he saw, Boromir nodded with measured approval. ‘It is a good discipline,’ he said, crossing his arms to lend authority to his words. His tone conveyed respect and pragmatism, recognising the merit in Draco’s formal approach. Yet Boromir grew serious and gave a light shake of his head to set the distinction. ‘But it is more suited for duels,’ he stated, his voice steady yet cautious.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoSILO21kGa
Draco slowly nodded, his expression thoughtful as he reflected on Boromir’s assessment. He tilted his head, fixed his eyes on the target ahead, and asked, ‘Is that a bad thing?’ Guarded curiosity shimmered in his gaze; he genuinely considered Boromir’s words but hesitated to reveal too much vulnerability. Draco’s fingers subtly clenched the weapon’s hilt, betraying a flicker of unease despite his calm appearance.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiMCUh1tuyn
Boromir kept his expression severe yet not unkind, shaking his head. ‘No, it is not, but it will not save you against the armies of Mordor,’ he said, gesturing toward the target. He tightened his jaw muscles as he issued the warning, keeping his eyes fixed on Draco’s stiff form and noting the tension and discipline in each movement. Boromir moved closer, making almost no sound on the mossy ground. Boromir calmly instructed, ‘Loosen your shoulders and arms,’ his tone firm but composed. He rolled his shoulders to demonstrate, letting his arms hang naturally and moving smoothly—a gesture honed through years of combat. Draco watched as Boromir’s body shifted seamlessly, his stance relaxed yet prepared. Draco followed the advice: he lowered his shoulders, unlocked his elbows, and slightly relaxed his fingers around his weapon’s hilt. As he made these adjustments, the stiffness eased within him, and a cautious comfort suggested flexibility. Boromir observed intently, his keen eyes catching the subtle changes in Draco’s balance and alertness, ensuring Draco made each move deliberately and mindfully.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEiBtrTQrMp
Boromir nodded with approval and said, ‘Now, imagine your target as your worst enemy and strike,’ then stepped back, giving Draco space. Eager to see Draco apply this new mindset, Boromir kept a sharp eye on him, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he tracked every movement and assessed both Draco’s technical skill and emotional intent.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZG7oFcEFHC
Draco’s smirk turned bitter, sharpening his lips and setting his jaw as he fixed his cold gaze on the target, his narrowed eyes radiating contempt. The stern, withering expression of Lucius Malfoy loomed in his mind, haunting every thought. Tension tightened Draco’s shoulders, and he clenched the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white, resentment bubbling inside him and coiling like a snake ready to strike. He stepped purposefully towards the target, his boots pressing into the mossy ground, posture rigid with barely contained fury. Anger smouldered within him, fuelling each movement—every step a direct challenge to the spectre of his father’s expectations.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3hRTNNWLAq
Lucius’s harsh words echoed relentlessly in Draco’s mind: ‘Draco, you are a disappointment.’ The criticism struck him harder than any physical blow, with each word pressing expectations and judgement upon him that had haunted him throughout his life. The memory sent a cold ache through Draco’s chest, causing his breath to grow shallow and quick. His heart pounded as shame and resentment mingled with simmering anger. He hardened his eyes and clenched his jaw, absorbing his father’s condemnation. Lucius’s voice—cold, emotionless, and full of disdain—seemed to resound through the silent clearing, drowning out the sounds of birds and leaves. Every recollection coiled Draco’s muscles; he tensed his body, driven by the urge to prove himself. Channelling that painful memory, Draco allowed humiliation and fury to surge through him, and he struck the target harder with each blow—a desperate effort to silence his father’s disappointment and reclaim his dignity.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVfFbotRMuQ
‘Draco, your swordsmanship is amateur at best.’ The blunt remark struck Draco hard, and vulnerability stung him as the words echoed through his mind. He not only criticised himself as usual but also felt the constant scrutiny he had endured since childhood. Lucius’s tone, cold and final rather than explicitly cruel, reinforced the message Draco knew all too well—his years spent striving to meet his father’s high standards had shaped him. Draco felt the weight of his failures pressing down at that moment, as the frank assessment laid bare the gap between his efforts and his father’s expectations. The atmosphere thickened while he took in the comment, each word underscoring how much further he needed to go. Lucius crossed his arms and kept his expression impassive, appearing almost indifferent to the emotional impact, with his face betraying nothing. Yet Draco sensed quiet disappointment beneath that calm exterior—an unspoken rebuke that chipped away at his confidence and fuelled his simmering resentment. That memory—the shadow of his father, the cold steel in his hands, and his feelings of inadequacy—carved itself into his mind as a constant reminder of the challenge to prove himself worthy.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvLm5YLWhw2
‘Draco, you will never live up to the name Malfoy.’ The words crashed into him like a thunderclap, years of his father’s strict gaze and the burden of family legacy bearing down with heavy force. Each syllable stung, echoing inside him and conjuring memories of moments when he had fallen short—when he could not meet the Malfoy standard, no matter how hard he tried. The words gripped him, cold and inescapable, steadily eroding his self-esteem. He felt the pain of inadequacy radiate through his chest, generations of disappointment pressing down on his spirit. His breath grew shallow and strained, and he clenched his weapon so tightly that his knuckles whitened, gathering all his strength to fight off self-doubt. The phrase looped endlessly in his mind, casting a relentless shadow over every attempt to prove himself—not just to his father but to the world, and most painfully, to himself. The sting of failure mingled with a fierce resolve, compelling him to break free from the legacy that tried to define him.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWBXlntCagI
‘Pathetic. I am ashamed to call you my son.’ These words hammered relentlessly in Draco’s mind, each syllable punching his already wounded confidence. He felt his father’s cold disapproval seep into his bones, freezing his blood and robbing the afternoon sun of any warmth. Lucius’s voice, sharp and detached, cut through Draco’s defences and left him exposed and vulnerable. The constant weight of his father’s judgement pressed down on him—a silent, unyielding force that seemed to squeeze the very spirit from his chest. Condemnation still rang in Draco’s ears, tightening his chest and turning his breathing shallow and uneven—he drew short, ragged breaths that tore at his throat as he fought to master the storm of emotions within. Old wounds, long hidden but never truly healed, throbbed with renewed pain beneath the surface: he vividly recalled harsh words, commanding looks, and the icy silences that had scarred his childhood. Each memory stoked the simmering anger battling against deep-rooted shame, rage blazing in his blue eyes even as tears threatened to fall.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIrDJiLjhF1
Draco dropped to his knees on the mossy ground, feeling its cool softness sharply contrast with the turmoil raging inside him. He hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, clutching his weapon’s hilt with trembling hands as though it alone kept him anchored against his overwhelming self-hatred. His father’s expectations pressed down on him like a suffocating weight—every imagined sneer and cutting word tightened around his chest like an iron band. No matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn’t rid himself of the conviction that he would never measure up or escape the Malfoy legacy’s shadow. In that moment, he fought a fierce internal battle: one impulse urged him to rebel against his father, while another, crushed by shame, threatened to break him entirely.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaLgvjeqX6n
‘Draco…’ 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGE7McbadfA
Draco shot to his feet, pure instinct driving his swift movement as he barely disturbed the mossy ground beneath his boots. He twisted sharply away from the cold sensation gripping his chest. The sudden grip of a hand on his shoulder sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through him, and in one fluid motion, he drew his sword. The blade gleamed and shook in his hand as he fixed its point on whoever had startled him, his muscles taut and ready to snap. His eyes, usually composed, now blazed with a sudden, stormy anger that threatened to erupt into violence. For a brief moment, Draco focused solely on the steel edge and the pounding of his heart, while tense, unspoken energy crackled in the air between him and Boromir. Fierce anger flashed in Draco’s eyes, but reality struck him hard and swiftly extinguished that fiery rage, replacing it with a wave of sickening clarity. He understood what was happening, and guilt weighed his sword down in his hand, transforming it from an instrument of defence to a burden. Horror and disbelief twisted his features as he grasped how close he had come to harming a companion—the realisation settled over him, suffocating and inescapable.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYUX0AYxBBw
He searched for words, opening his mouth. Still, shame and confusion overwhelmed him, and only a fractured syllable escaped, ‘I…’ Draco’s hand trembled as he lowered the blade, his jaw softening into vulnerability. Unable to bear Boromir’s stunned gaze—or the internal chaos—Draco quickly turned, his boots crunching the fallen leaves as he fled the clearing. He vanished among the trees, escaping not just Boromir but also the fallout of his impulsive choices and the tumult of emotions that pushed him to the edge.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYbP52IYPgY
Boromir remained rooted to the spot, his body rigid and unmoving, surprise etched plainly across his face as he watched Draco dart into the shadowy trees with almost supernatural swiftness. The intensity of their encounter still charged the clearing, its energy pressing against Boromir’s chest and scattering his thoughts. He struggled to make sense of what he had witnessed—a swift glint of steel, Draco’s wild, haunted eyes, and his abrupt flight that seemed driven by more than just the desire to escape a friend, but rather something darker within himself.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEQxItuQOc1
Gandalf strode towards Boromir. ‘What happened, Boromir?’ he asked in a low, commanding tone, keeping his gaze locked on the spot where Draco had vanished.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS3lB4weWC5
‘I told him to picture the target as his worst enemy and to strike,’ Boromir recounted, still visibly shocked by what he had seen. He paused, searching for words to describe the oddness of the moment. ‘But his eyes, Gandalf…’ His voice trailed off as he shook his head, clearly disturbed. The image of Draco’s eyes clung to Boromir’s mind, hinting at something unnatural that puzzled and alarmed him in equal measure.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqtxa4lLTTd
Gandalf narrowed his eyes and regarded Boromir curiously, concern clear in his piercing gaze. Gandalf placed a steadying hand on Boromir’s shoulder, grounding and reassuring him in one gentle gesture. ‘What about his eyes?’ Gandalf inquired, his tone calm but edged with urgency. The subtle intensity in his voice revealed his keen interest in understanding what had unsettled the warrior so deeply.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPNQgI1luy3
Boromir shook his head, uncertainty flickering in his eyes and a crease forming on his brow. He paused briefly while he tried to understand what he had seen. ‘No, it was probably just the light,’ he said, though his voice betrayed lingering doubt. ‘But his eyes seemed to glow unnaturally…’ His words carried uncertainty, as if he were trying to convince himself rather than Gandalf. The memory haunted him: those usual blue eyes had flashed with an eerie, almost supernatural glow, their depths swirling with a fury and pain that seemed beyond human. For a split second, Draco’s intense glare cut through the air, casting a chill over the clearing and making Boromir wonder what sort of magic—or darkness—had seized the young wizard. Even now, the memory sent a shiver down his spine, as if he had glimpsed something wild and dangerous beneath Draco’s calm exterior. A cold shiver ran down Boromir’s spine, the prickling sensation making him acutely aware of the strange possibilities behind what he had witnessed. His hesitant tone revealed his inner unease, leaving him cautious and unsure whether he had seen real magic or merely a trick of the light.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ49kuhXvDLm
Gandalf frowned more deeply as he examined the spot where Draco had vanished from the clearing. He scanned the undergrowth with sharp eyes, searching for any lingering traces of magic or emotion. His narrowed gaze revealed his growing curiosity and concern, and his usual calm demeanour now carried an unmistakable hint of apprehension. The wizard adjusted his robes and stood, lost in thought. He weighed Draco’s strange actions and the disturbing incident Boromir had described, sifting through his memories and instincts for clues. He wondered whether some darker force influenced Draco, or if the swordfight had exposed a concealed aspect of the young man’s nature. The unnatural shine Boromir had noticed in Draco’s eyes troubled Gandalf deeply—a detail too clear and unsettling for him to dismiss as mere illusion or a trick of the light. Gandalf, intrigued, resolved to uncover the truth behind the incident. He grew pensive, focusing intently on the threads of fate that might have converged at that moment. He actively considered whether Draco’s reaction—and the peculiar glow in his eyes—carried a deeper meaning. With his jaw set in determination, Gandalf cast a final look at the spot where Draco had disappeared and silently vowed to keep a closer watch on the young wizard, prepared to intervene if shadows threatened the Fellowship again.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSVWRVqEwTn
Draco apologised to Boromir after the incident, his voice filled with remorse and his face showing regret. He bowed his head, kept his shoulders tense, and fully acknowledged that his uncontrolled outburst had almost caused serious harm. The image of his trembling hands and frantic actions stayed in his mind, and he found it challenging to meet Boromir’s eyes, knowing he had crossed a dangerous line.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQxugtEvigF
Boromir remained cautious despite Draco’s apology, keeping his stance guarded and his eyes alert. He tightened his grip on the sword, showing his continued unease. His body held tension in every muscle, as if he expected another sudden outburst of violence. Although Draco’s voice sounded sincere, Boromir continued to recall the memory of those glowing eyes, unable to rid himself of the sense of danger that now lingered around his companion.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0unfZVlWt8
For the next two weeks, Draco actively avoided using a sword, gripped by a deep fear that he might repeat the frightening incident which had unsettled both himself and Boromir. Each morning, while the others trained and sparred on the dewy grass, Draco lingered at the edge of the clearing, drawn to the rhythmic clash of steel but unwilling to step inside. The memory of his uncontrollable rage haunted him, casting a dark shadow and causing his hands to tremble whenever they neared a blade’s hilt. Determined to prevent another mistake, Draco firmly decided to keep his distance, seeking comfort away from the clatter of weapons.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTM4aN9VnBb
Gandalf watched over Draco as he dedicated himself to meditation. He led Draco to tranquil, wooded glades where birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves helped him focus and steady his emotions. Draco sat cross-legged on a mossy rock, closed his eyes, and concentrated on controlling his breathing. While Gandalf calmly instructed him, Draco applied techniques to unravel his anger and frustration. The journey proved slow and often painful, as Draco confronted the storm of childhood rivalries, the weight of family expectations, and recent disappointments. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhz4nmRIxwd
Draco calmed his restless mind day after day, drawing strength from each peaceful moment he found. He noticed subtle changes: his jaw eased, his quick temper faded, and a fresh sense of clarity settled over his thoughts. Gandalf comforted and challenged him, asking insightful questions and encouraging Draco to confront his fears rather than hide behind pride or bravado. During their sessions, Draco let go of his built-up anger by understanding its roots instead of ignoring it. Each evening, he returned from the woods feeling lighter, and the journey to inner peace and resilience felt more attainable.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAhj6cfjVpR
During this period, Aragorn and Boromir actively supervised the Hobbits as the latter trained. Every day, the Hobbits diligently practised and sharpened their sword and shield skills, while the experienced warriors offered advice and encouragement. Despite their smaller size, the Hobbits showed determination and resilience, gradually building confidence in their abilities. Pippin, always full of lively energy, frequently volunteered for sparring and relied on quick footwork to compensate for his shorter reach. Merry concentrated on perfecting his defensive stances, his brow tightly knit as he parried imaginary attacks. Sam, initially hesitant, gritted his teeth and steadily grew more confident, and Aragorn rewarded each successful block with a proud smile. Even Frodo, though still burdened by his weight, practised with genuine resolve and showed determination in his eyes every time he swung his small blade. The mornings rang with the sounds of clashing steel and laughter as the Hobbits gradually transformed from hesitant novices into a skilled and united group, encouraged by the consistent support of their companions.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ43Pevq34PQ
Harry, Hermione, and Draco actively practised and refined new spells. Gandalf led the trio, and they dedicated long hours to mastering more complex incantations. They often held their lessons in secluded forest glades or beneath the protective branches of ancient trees, with the scent of moss and the quiet woods fostering focused concentration. Each faced the challenging process and encountered personal obstacles and setbacks. Harry tried to control the surge of energy during powerful spells, but his magic often flared beyond his control. Hermione analysed the structure and language of each incantation, furrowing her brows as she navigated unfamiliar magical forms and refined her technique. Draco, haunted by his recent outburst, sometimes trembled but persisted with determination as he rebuilt his confidence. Gandalf patiently and insightfully guided them, offering encouragement, corrections, and the occasional witty remark as they approached mastery. Even though frustration and doubt sometimes gripped them, they gradually improved—spells that once fizzled now grew stronger, and their teamwork deepened as they learnt to support one another during their steady magical practise.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa9JYwWCvZS
Hermione found the complexity of Elvish magic challenging. She attempted each spell, which demanded subtle tones and delicate hand motions that consistently eluded her grasp. The lyrical and intricate language required a fluidity and intuition she had not yet mastered. Although her talent and sharp mind stood out to those who watched her, Hermione soon recognised that Elvish spells required her to rely on instinct and harmony with nature, rather than the structured, logical methods she had learnt with normal magic.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVD5ysZyzWA
Gandalf quietly reassured Hermione as he observed her diligent work, watching her study ancient texts and practise her gestures with precise care. He explained that even experienced wizards found Elvish magic difficult, emphasising that patience and consistent practise were essential for mastery. With gentle yet firm support, he reminded her that perseverance played as important a role as intelligence. Uplifted by his confidence, Hermione steadfastly continued her studies each day, maintaining her resolve and focusing intently on overcoming the obstacles before her. She kept her brow knit and her heart full of hope, determined to unlock the secrets of this ancient and exquisite magic.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9N89EL2HLT
Hermione also grew increasingly interested in archery, yet she hesitated to seek help from Legolas. Eager to learn from his expertise, she often planned to approach him. Each time she summoned her courage and moved closer, however, his cool, mysterious gaze met hers—always as if he saw more than she wished to reveal. The Elven Prince’s silent stare felt almost surreal: he focused with the precision of his arrows, combining wisdom and a calm detachment that left Hermione feeling exposed and unsure of herself.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVBldY7dD6v
Her heart raced and sweat dampened her palms as she mentally prepared to ask for help. Legolas’s inscrutable expression—calm but neither welcoming nor dismissive—heightened her anxiety. She hesitated, letting words slip away and drawing back from the silent challenge in his gaze. The way he smoothly moved around the clearing, stringing his bow or handling his arrows, only intensified her unease; his elegance felt almost unreachable, and she worried he would consider her questions silly or unworthy of his attention.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVbxZDwB8el
The ongoing uncertainty weighed heavily on Hermione, knotting tension in her chest that surfaced whenever she considered asking Legolas for help. She watched Legolas closely from a distance, studying the precise way he drew his bow and the effortless flow of his movements—hoping to learn by observing. At the same time, her own hesitation kept her from approaching. She tried to find the right moment, the right words, and the right attitude. Still, her growing interest in archery and nervousness around the mysterious Elf consistently left her tongue-tied, unable to bridge the gap.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq2ONb6CHjb
Late in the evening, Hermione gazed at the magnificent waterfall as silvery streams plunged into the large lake beneath the House of Elrond. Moonlight sparkled on the water, casting shimmering reflections that danced across the ripples. Mist hung gently in the air, swirling around rocks and drifting upward in cool, fragrant wisps. The tranquil scene granted her a rare escape from the stresses of recent weeks. The soft roar of the falls and the calm lake soothed her restless mind. Soft lights illuminated the surrounding gardens, and the scent of night-blooming flowers mingled with the earthy aromas of moss and damp stone. Lost in thought, Hermione traced her finger along the smooth, carved railing, keeping her gaze fixed on the shifting patterns of light and shadow beneath. She failed to notice when the Elf Lord quietly approached, his footsteps almost silent on the flagstones. Elrond took his place beside her at the railing, maintaining a serene, unobtrusive presence as he watched the water cascade over the rocks into the pool below. His elegant robes fluttered in the gentle breeze, and the subtle rustle of fabric merged with the whispering leaves above. They stood quietly for a moment, listening only to the soft flow of water and the whisper of the night breeze, each lost in their own thoughts as they shared a peaceful moment under the starry sky.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQMY8myXOJj
Elrond watched Hermione and, for a brief moment, memories of Arwen as a young maiden in these very halls came rushing back to him. He recognised the determination in her jaw, the resolve in her eyes, and the warmth of her genuine smile—each mirroring Arwen’s lively youth and filling him with pride and nostalgia. Yet, when he looked at Hermione, he noticed even more. Her graceful movements and the gentle empathy she radiated during moments of calm brought Celebrían, his wife, to mind. Hermione’s features struck him as remarkably familiar: her silky hair, the elegant arch of her brow, and her effortless manner blended Arwen’s elegance with Celebrían’s comforting presence. In Hermione, he perceived a delicate harmony—the luminous beauty and boldness of Arwen woven together with Celebrían’s serene kindness and subtle strength. This rare combination of qualities captivated Elrond, stirring both joy and bittersweet memories as he observed her standing in the moonlight, an uncanny reflection of the cherished women in his life.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBFuUqAW8sH
Elrond grew troubled as he actively considered the possibility that fate had woven their stories together in ways he could not yet grasp. He wondered whether Hermione possessed Elven blood or descended from a distant branch of his noble lineage. At times, fleeting thoughts overwhelmed him—he imagined she might be a daughter lost to time and memory, an unlikely hope that nevertheless tugged at his heart. These musings quietly obsessed him and drove him to search for answers. He resolved to investigate Hermione’s past to discover the truth behind her mysterious resemblance. This discovery could revive old joys and sorrows, threatening to unsettle the carefully balanced world he had built.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeU54sZ4vvL
When Gandalf explained Hermione’s background to Elrond, it granted him a much deeper understanding of the young woman before him, though Hermione stayed unaware of his silent watchfulness. Speaking in quiet, deliberate tones, Gandalf shared parts of Hermione’s history and detailed the remarkable journey that had brought her to Rivendell. He emphasised her unwavering courage, sharp intellect, and the burdens she carried from the future. Elrond listened intently to every detail—how Hermione’s loyalty often placed her in danger, her compassion even for those who did not deserve it, and her relentless desire for knowledge. With each revelation, Elrond better grasped the reasons behind Hermione’s demeanour and actions—the calm resolve in her posture, the moments of vulnerability, and the genuine warmth behind her smiles. He now perceived the roots of her hesitation, her careful speech, and her efforts to reconcile her logical upbringing with the intuitive nature of Elvish magic and culture. He also understood why Gandalf stressed the importance of respecting Hermione, recognising that she was more than just a clever student—she was a resilient young woman shaped by adversity, with a spirit as strong as any who had walked these ancient halls.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQjh8HbLHlu
Elrond observed Hermione as she gently sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with a quiet breath. She leaned against the cool stone railing, her hair shimmering in the moonlight as she crossed her arms and rested her head on them. In the soft light of night, her movements took on an almost childlike quality—a rare and sincere display of fatigue or vulnerability from someone who usually maintained such composure. He found this informal gesture both charming and slightly out of character for her usual poise, and a faint smile played on his lips. He noticed how her delicate fingers gripped the smooth railing, taking in the contrast between her simple, earth-coloured robes and the ornate Elven carvings behind her. He hesitated briefly, then softly cleared his throat to draw her attention, the sound barely disturbing the peaceful stillness. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc88FmUbhap
Hermione quickly straightened her posture and met his gaze, her cheeks reddening as embarrassment coloured her unguarded moment. When she realised who had joined her, she smiled gently and bowed respectfully. ‘Lord Elrond,’ she greeted, her voice soft and clear, demonstrating proper deference to the Elf Lord’s stature. She stood with grace and sincerity, her gesture conveying respect for his wisdom and gratitude for his presence on this peaceful night.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPimVaaDEIS
Elrond softened his expression as he looked at her, visibly warming his typically composed features with kindness. He carefully raised his hand and used two graceful fingers to gently lift Hermione’s chin, prompting her to meet his steady gaze. He spoke with a serene yet firm voice that commanded and reassured, saying, ‘You bow to no one, Lady Hermione.’ His tone expressed earnest conviction, clearly showing that he respected Hermione far beyond simple courtesy, recognising her bravery, resilience, and the burdens she bore from the future, even if she didn’t know that he knew about her life.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTzClujHdrn
Confusion furrowed Hermione’s brow at Elrond’s unexpected statement. Uncertainty flickered across her face, and she parted her lips to ask something, but she restrained herself, cautious about questioning the Elf Lord. While curiosity pressed her to seek clarification, she instinctively chose not to push, aware that doing so might disrupt the delicate decorum. Hermione thought for a moment and then steered the conversation with polite caution. She spoke in a calm and sincere tone, asking, ‘Is there anything I can help with, Lord Elrond?’ Her words conveyed gentle warmth and genuine eagerness to assist, even though uncertainty lingered. The soft tone and slight tilt of her head showed both respect and a natural desire to offer help.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡovjcrvWT7n
Elrond gently smiled at Hermione, regarding her thoughtfully. In a soothing and melodic voice, he said, ‘I understand you wish to learn the fundamentals of archery, Lady Hermione.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWI05Mcpr1L
Hermione softly asked, ‘How do you know that?’ Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, and she fixed her gaze on the waterfall below. The steady cascade set a calming rhythm, but she betrayed her underlying tension by subtly tightening her shoulders and gripping the stone rail for reassurance.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIuw41aNxCf
Hermione met Elrond’s gaze as he let out a quiet, knowing chuckle—an unexpectedly warm sound that softened his usually commanding presence. After a brief pause, he spoke again, infusing his voice with smoothness and affectionate humour. ‘I have eyes and ears everywhere in Rivendell. Also, you have a rather entertaining companion who was very forthcoming when asked,’ he revealed, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. A wry smile tugged at his lips, deepening the lines at the corners as he appreciated her response. He remained calm and playful, yet his quiet authority as Lord of Rivendell lingered, making Hermione acutely aware that he missed very little.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDx7zaALboO
Frustration made Hermione sigh quietly; embarrassment reddened her cheeks. She tried to hide the storm of emotions, but her trembling breath betrayed her. She suspected Draco, always eager for trouble, had already told others about her hesitation—perhaps even exaggerated her reluctance to approach Legolas for his own amusement. The possibility that gossip about her private worries now spread through Rivendell sent a cold shiver down her spine. She pictured whispers echoing through marble halls and leafy corridors, laughter behind hands, and curious or pitying glances directed at her. The idea that people discussed her secret wish to learn archery unsettled her deeply; she feared that others viewed her as too timid or intimidated to speak to the famous Elf.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwKhnwT4MAe
Hermione took a slow breath to steady herself and gathered her thoughts. When she responded, she kept her voice steady with a quiet resolve, ‘It’s what I want to do, I just haven’t had the opportunity to start.’ Yet as she spoke, a faint doubt slipped into her mind. She noticed the hesitation in her tone—an involuntary tremor that revealed her hidden uncertainty. She glanced up at Elrond, hoping her words sounded more convincing than she felt. His elegant eyebrows arched subtly, and a faint quirk of amusement played at his mouth, confirming her suspicions—she realised she had not fooled him at all with her attempt at confidence. The Elf Lord’s calm, knowing expression made it clear he saw through her façade, subtly revealing the hint of apprehension she had tried to hide.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMlaYNLyBdH
Elrond gave a comforting smile as he softly said, ‘Legolas would be delighted to teach you, Lady Hermione,’ while he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He conveyed reassurance and support through his light touch, sharing some of his steady confidence with her. As he stood beside her, Hermione felt the tension ease in her shoulders, soothed by his warm words and the gentle yet firm reassurance of his touch.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkfztGzlxLq
Hermione let out a soft sigh, her hesitation clear in her expression. She allowed her shoulders to fall and pressed her lips together, working to regain her composure, though her eyes still revealed the turmoil within. In a whisper, barely louder than the evening air, she said, ‘Honestly, I’m unsure how to approach Legolas. I feel like he might hate me for some reason.’ She dropped her gaze with a frown, her brow knitting in quiet uncertainty. Her fragile, trembling voice gave away the nervousness and self-doubt she usually kept hidden, despite her attempts to appear calm. She nervously toyed with the hem of her sleeve and traced patterns in the gravel with her foot, seeking comfort in the familiar rhythm. In her vulnerable stance, she revealed a young woman wrestling with her insecurities, her usually poised composure now tinged with raw apprehension.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQVDSwUxsKt
Hermione lifted her gaze, surprise flickering in her eyes as Elrond’s gentle laugh caught her attention once more. When she met his gaze, Elrond offered a reassuring smile and gently addressed her concerns. ‘Legolas does not hate anything or anyone,’ he said softly, his voice calm and authoritative, wrapping her in a feeling of safety. Elrond noticed her lingering doubts and tilted his head slightly. He leaned closer, radiating calm and reassurance. ‘He may seem distant—his manner can appear cold to those unfamiliar with him—but he is not unkind. There is no reason to be afraid of him.’ As he spoke, Elrond’s face softened further, and a gentle, inviting smile formed to ease Hermione’s worries.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTreEbSaLBe
Hermione spoke before she had a chance to think, stammering as her cheeks reddened. ‘I’m not afraid,’ she claimed, yet her trembling voice and the way she clutched her waist revealed her inner anxiety. Even as she tried to project confidence, a nervous shake weakened her front.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU2Rg9FbBLK
Elrond arched his refined eyebrows slightly, conveying both understanding and a playful challenge, encouraging her to face the situation with confidence. ‘Then I believe you should have no trouble in speaking to him about it on the morrow,’ he said, his steady, certain tone filling the night with a sense of possibility.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsljheDkXYJ
Hermione widened her eyes at his confident suggestion, but she revealed her underlying apprehension as a flicker of uncertainty crossed her expression. She hesitated, parted her lips to protest or explain, yet failed to utter any words. Elrond recognised her growing anxiety, and he raised a slender hand in a gentle, deliberate gesture, quietly asserting his age-old authority and reassuring her. His smooth, regal movement effectively quieted her before she could voice her worries.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFPPBYLdJ9o
Elrond assured her, his voice as calming as a night breeze, ‘Do not worry, Lady Hermione. Legolas is a remarkable Elf with many talents. He will help, you have only to ask.’ Understanding shone in his eyes, and a gentle, reassuring smile played on his lips, radiating kindness. In that moment, the Lord of Rivendell appeared both timeless and fully present, offering Hermione not only reassurance but also unwavering support, demonstrating that he genuinely believed in her courage and abilities.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQLm4BZ9bi1
Hermione drew a slow, trembling breath to steady herself. After a moment, she straightened her shoulders and released her tension. She turned to Elrond, finding calm in his steady presence, and gave him a small, genuine smile—both grateful and cautious, warmed by his support. ‘Okay, I will,’ she said softly but with confidence, turning her words into a promise. Although her voice quivered slightly, her determination shone through, making it clear she meant what she said. A faint crease of doubt lingered in her brow, but Hermione shifted her stance—hesitant yet stepping forward, raising her chin in quiet defiance of her fears. Elrond’s supportive words boosted her confidence, threading hope through her uncertainty. Her steady gaze revealed her readiness for the challenge, while her trembling fingers showed the courage she needed to move past her worries.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJIqGsZc8Ne
Elrond and Hermione shared several comfortable moments of silence, standing side by side as the surrounding quiet enveloped them. The gentle rustling of leaves overhead and the distant sound of a stream flowing through the ancient trees disrupted the evening’s peacefulness. Hermione let her gaze wander over the elegant arches of Elven architecture nestled among moss-covered rocks and delicate flowers, admiring Rivendell’s beauty. Soft moonlight bathed the lush gardens, casting a silver glow on ferns and wildflowers with subtle hues. A faint scent of honeysuckle and pine drifted on the breeze, mingling with the fresh, earthy aroma of moss and river-stone. In the Elf Lord’s calm presence, even the air seemed different—cool, sweet, and infused with ancient magic and quiet wisdom. Elrond’s tranquil company made the valley’s secret charm more captivating—a rare delight for the fortunate few who found it. This peaceful pause allowed Hermione to absorb Rivendell’s gentle harmony, enjoy the subtle moonlight on stone and water, and discover the valley’s hidden wonders that outsiders rarely noticed. Every detail—the dew on fern fronds, the soft glow of lanterns partially veiled by trailing ivy, the distant sound of an unseen flute—stood out more vividly amid the serenity that connected her to the land and to her wise companion.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWMgB8eisvS
Hermione entered the clearing early in the morning, breathing in the fresh, quiet air. The dawn’s golden light streamed through the canopy, casting soft, elongated shadows over the shimmering grass and bathing the entire glade in a gentle glow. She immediately spotted Draco already training with Gandalf. The wizard stood tall and composed, his silver robes fluttering in the light breeze as he demonstrated defensive moves and guided Draco through smooth sword techniques. Gandalf had set his staff nearby, while he patiently corrected Draco’s posture and offered quiet advice, his eyes full of wisdom. Draco focused intently, gripping his sword firmly as he did his best to replicate Gandalf’s moves, each swing growing more assured.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc8Mf4ptgnf
Hermione looked around and noticed that Boromir, Gimli, and the Hobbits had not yet arrived. Their absence kept the clearing quiet and undisturbed, allowing only the soft sounds of the nearby fountain and the distant chirping of birds to fill the peaceful atmosphere. She had arrived among the first and relished the tranquillity before the others showed up—a rare opportunity to enjoy Rivendell’s beauty without rush. The cool morning air brushed against her skin as she took a slow breath, feeling a blend of anticipation and calm.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwjILc6opST
Aragorn and Harry sat on the grass by the fountain, where water sparkled as it flowed over moss-covered stones. As a mentor, Aragorn leaned forward slightly, the gentle morning light softening his rugged face while he spoke in calm, reassuring tones. He shared stories or advice with Harry, sometimes gesturing towards the Elven knife that he always carried—a slim blade with detailed silver filigree along the hilt, which reflected tiny rainbows onto the grass. Harry listened carefully, his face thoughtful and serious, and he occasionally traced the patterns on the knife’s handle while he absorbed Aragorn’s words.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh7mwvjrM3M
Hermione cast her eyes around the clearing and immediately spotted Legolas, who tended his bow and inspected his arrows with focused care. He sat in the soft morning sunlight, letting the golden rays highlight each delicate movement as his slender fingers traced the polished curve of his bow. The Elven weapon shimmered in the light, and its detailed carvings flashed silver and gold, while every arrow he checked displayed flawless precision in its feathering. Legolas maintained a remarkable calm—he kept his posture relaxed yet attentive, and his peaceful expression revealed his full focus on the task at hand. A slight tension in his jaw revealed his discipline and attention to detail with each gesture. Watching him remain so calm and focused made Hermione’s throat dry, her nerves reflecting his quiet confidence. She knew she had chosen today to speak with him, and this realisation set her heart racing, her pulse pounding in her ears as excitement and fear mingled. The tranquil atmosphere surrounding Legolas intensified her uncertainty, making the idea of approaching him intimidating and inevitable, as if everything had led her to this single, breathless moment.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwtwfRXsZwc
Hermione drew a deep breath and steadied her nerves as she approached Legolas. The world seemed to fall silent for a moment, leaving only the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant stream. She watched Legolas move with effortless grace; he shifted his stance, squared his shoulders, planted his feet, and held his back straight like a reed. The morning sunlight caught the silver carvings on his bow as he smoothly drew the string, his fingers unwavering. He released the arrow swiftly, which whispered through the air and struck the target with a soft thud. Before Hermione could fully take in his fluid movements, he quickly chose another arrow, nocked it with practised ease, and shot again in one seamless motion. The second arrow flew straight and true, landing right beside the first, both hitting the bullseye. Legolas’s precise and rapid actions demonstrated his mastery—every gesture calm and disciplined. The arrows remained embedded in the target, marking his skill, while a faint smile played at his lips, revealing his quiet confidence and deepening Hermione’s admiration.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHjQcm4za0b
Hermione moved closer to Legolas, nerves tingling as the moment’s significance pressed upon her. As she approached, the subtle scents of earth and dew greeted her, and a gentle hush settled around them, broken only by the distant trill of a bird. She lifted her gaze, heart pounding, and spotted a raven perched high in the branches above. Its glossy feathers shimmered with hints of midnight blue, and its piercing black eyes locked onto her. The stare seemed to cut right through her, at once ominous and mysterious, as if the bird guarded her or carried secret knowledge. Though sunlight warmed the glade, a sudden chill traced her spine—a prickling at her neck, as if the raven saw more than she wished to reveal. Unnerved by the intensity of its gaze, she quickly averted her eyes, breaking the stare.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnqflVwVovl
A silky voice broke the quiet from her left, its smooth, mysterious sound like velvet, startling Hermione, ‘Never look a raven in the eye for too long. It might steal your soul and fly away with it,’ their words tinged with ancient, almost otherworldly wisdom.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQqgTygi1Da
Hermione met the source of the voice with a direct gaze, instinctively locking onto those striking blue eyes. Captivation held her in place—she could not speak, move, or even blink—as if he had woven a delicate web that anchored himself at its centre, trapping her within it. His gaze shimmered with an almost otherworldly depth, mirroring the soft gold of the morning sun and the cool silver of distant stars—timeless and unfathomable. The glade seemed to fade away, leaving only the magnetic pull between them. Her breath caught, and her heartbeat thundered as time slowed. She observed every detail—the silver flecks in his irises, the gentle arch of his brow, the enigmatic expression beneath his calm exterior. His presence radiated serene confidence, both commanding and hypnotic, carrying an aura of ancient Elven wisdom that intimidated and fascinated her in equal measure. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her response, but she stayed frozen under the intensity of that gaze—a silent exchange in which her secrets felt dangerously close to being revealed with each passing second.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5jdnkAR4JH
Legolas slightly tilted his head, maintaining a carefully neutral expression, showing neither curiosity nor impatience, and he held himself with perfect poise—shoulders relaxed yet alert, embodying the effortless grace that centuries had given him in every gesture. He fixed his bright blue eyes on Hermione, calm and inscrutable. When he spoke, he used a soft and musical voice, delivering each word with deliberate courtesy. ‘Can I help you, Lady Hermione?’ he asked, his steady gaze making Hermione feel as though he perceived much more than she could express.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH3DLaNrU3a
Hermione’s nerves took hold, making her hesitate as she tried to find the right words. Her throat tightened, and her tongue refused to cooperate. Cheeks burning bright pink, she quietly muttered, ‘I… uh…’ her words barely more than a whisper. The silence pressed in, each heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears as she struggled to steady her thoughts beneath Legolas’s calm, unreadable stare. He kept his blue eyes fixed on her, tranquil yet intense, which only amplified her self-consciousness. Sensing her awkwardness, Legolas subtly raised an eyebrow—a gesture that carried both curiosity and a hint of amusement. The movement was so subtle it could easily go unnoticed, but Hermione felt as though he observed her every discomfort. She inwardly scolded herself—Well done, Granger. Your grasp of the English language is truly astounding, she thought with embarrassment, wishing she could sink into the mossy ground beneath her. Even the gentle rustle of the leaves above seemed to mock her, heightening her self-doubt as she tried to gather herself before the poised, enigmatic Elf.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcJb6nulWDY
Blushing with embarrassment, Hermione quickly apologised, ‘Sorry, I was just a little startled…’ She let her voice trail off, closing her eyes briefly to compose herself as heat rushed to her cheeks and she sorted through her thoughts. When she looked up again, her heart still fluttered. Legolas offered her a calm and patient expression. His gentle blue eyes and peaceful face encouraged her quietly, making her feel both comforted and exposed. With his graceful demeanour and poised manner, he gave her silent reassurance that he would not judge her—only support her with steady patience, fully understanding her nerves and uncertainty, and willing to wait as long as she needed to find her voice.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZa1xMY5TDN
Hermione steadied herself, clasped her trembling hands, and exhaled softly. She breathed in the cool morning air, allowing it to soothe her nerves. Then, she lifted her gaze and met Legolas’s eyes directly, her hazel eyes reflecting determination and a flicker of doubt. The Elf’s bright blue eyes held steady, as calm as a still lake, silently encouraging her to be honest and brave. With as much composure as she could muster, Hermione spoke softly yet clearly. ‘I want to learn the basics of archery, and I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me?’ she asked, carefully choosing her words to mask her nerves. Even though her heart raced, she maintained eye contact, demonstrating sincerity and respect, though a faint blush coloured her cheeks.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQBMzFRf8DH
Legolas nodded immediately to confirm her request and responded softly and calmly, saying, ‘As you wish.’ A faint smile softened his usually composed face and gave him a welcoming warmth, contrasting with his typical Elven reserve. The calm confidence on his face showed his eagerness to teach and his patience with Hermione’s nerves.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPIEHkAFIpX
Hermione lifted her gaze to Legolas and gave him a nervous smile, her eyes bright with gratitude. Her lips trembled at the edges, betraying her unease and the honesty behind her gesture. ‘Thanks,’ she said softly, her voice carrying the familiar nerves that always surfaced when she stood close to the calm Elf. Hermione’s fingers fidgeted at her side, and her tense posture revealed just how much the moment meant to her. Even with her fluttering nerves, she held Legolas’s gaze, drawing reassurance from the calm in his blue eyes and silently hoping he recognised the depth of her gratitude.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmP8Ej2ETqe
Legolas strode over to a large nearby rock and, with careful grace, set down his bow and quiver of feathered arrows. Without pausing, Legolas picked up a spare bow that rested against the stone—a finely crafted piece with polished wood glowing softly in the filtered morning light and delicate runes etched along its curve. Turning to Hermione with calm confidence, he held the spare bow as if it were simply an extension of his own arm. Hermione’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at the sight of the second bow, and she quickly realised that Legolas had probably planned to teach her archery all along. This realisation set her thoughts racing—had he brought the extra bow specifically for her, or had Lord Elrond discreetly mentioned her interest beforehand? The possibility made her feel both touched and a bit self-conscious, as if her Elven companions had quietly noticed and accommodated her wishes.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwoJlxwV0xY
Legolas leaned his bow against a nearby tree, making sure it stayed secure and within easy reach. He then focused entirely on Hermione, moving with the confident precision of an experienced archer. He quietly unfastened the leather strap of the quiver with quick, skilled fingers. Standing before her, he brought with him the earthy scent of worn leather and wood. He gently draped the strap over Hermione’s left shoulder, his touch light but deliberate, and showed reverence through his careful handling. The quiver’s weight settled against her back, and the fletched arrows shifted, making soft noises. Staying focused, Legolas slipped the second strap under her right arm and guided it with effortless grace, securing the quiver snugly. He briefly brushed her shoulder and side with his fingers to adjust the fit until it was just right—tight enough not to slip or hinder her, yet loose enough to allow free movement. He tied the Elven knots with intricate precision, fastening the straps quickly so that, before Hermione could react, the quiver sat firmly against her back. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf6zzXsH7fI
Legolas picked up the elegant bow and approached Hermione with calm, purposeful steps, holding it firmly. He stopped directly in front of her, his expression gentle yet attentive, and he offered her the bow with both hands—a gesture that showed both respect and support.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCm7tWZiV79
Hermione reached out with trembling hands, her nerves betraying themselves in their delicate shake. She gripped the cool, polished wood of the bow, which felt unfamiliar yet welcoming, and paused briefly before her fingers closed around the handle. Her posture displayed her nervousness and her determination to succeed before the composed Elf. She tried to imitate Legolas’s earlier grip and stance, but her uncertainty showed in the stiffness of her limbs and the tentative way she placed her feet. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0ms7sSdhUq
Legolas quietly watched her, attentively and patiently studying every subtle detail of her posture with his sharp blue eyes. He observed her shoulders hunching slightly, her elbow bending awkwardly, and her stance lacking certainty. After a brief moment, he gently shook his head—an unspoken sign that she needed to adjust her grip or stance. His calm, supportive gaze promised patient guidance, as he offered his expertise with the same grace and poise that defined him. Legolas closed the distance to Hermione in silence, moving fluidly like water around stones. When he reached her, his calm presence radiated strength and grace. He gently placed his hand on hers, transferring warmth through their fingers with a light yet steady touch. He curled his elegant fingers around hers, patiently guiding them to rest along the bow’s spine. Each careful movement honoured the ancient tradition, feeling more ceremonial than technical.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDKiUcyG7Vb
Hermione felt her breath catch at the unexpected touch; the exhilaration and unease of his closeness sent her nerves fluttering and made her mouth go dry. Tingling spread from her fingers up her arm, sharpening her awareness of Legolas’s graceful presence right beside her. She detected the steady pulse beneath his cool skin and drew reassurance from the gentle strength in his touch, which grounded and energised her in equal measure. For a moment, she let the surrounding forest slip from her mind, fixating instead on the precise way he positioned her hand—an exchange of trust and encouragement that needed no words.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGxI1gOUGyr
Hermione planted her feet shoulder-width apart on the moist, dew-covered grass, copying the stance Legolas had demonstrated. She straightened her back and relaxed her shoulders as he instructed, focusing on recalling the exact angle at which Legolas held his bow. The unfamiliar weight of the quiver pressed against her back, making her limbs feel stiff, yet she concentrated on the memory of Legolas’s gentle guidance as he positioned her hands. She gripped the cool wood of the bow firmly, anchoring herself in the present moment. As Legolas stepped back to watch, his quiet, intense presence seemed to settle over her like a cloak. She caught his gaze, warmth rising in her cheeks as she revealed her nervousness and self-consciousness. Even in the crisp morning air, a slight flush coloured her skin and a flutter stirred in her chest. She reminded herself that Legolas was checking her posture for proper archery stance, his attention professional and patient, not critical or unkind. Still, his scrutiny made her subtly fidget, tightening her grip on the bow and catching her breath.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZW8e8dSfvx
Legolas maintained his composure and stood beside Hermione, displaying professionalism. He fixed his clear blue eyes steadily on Hermione, tilting his head as he gently and critically examined her stance. He used his sharp Elven senses to notice every subtle detail—the tension in her shoulders, her uncertain grip on the bow, and the slight misalignment of her feet on the forest floor. He never showed impatience or judgement, always keeping his expression calm and encouraging, reassuring her quietly. He focused intently on helping Hermione master the basics of archery, his presence steadying and comforting her as she battled visible nerves. He spoke in a soft, melodious voice, advising, ‘Shoulders down, back straight. Keep your eyes on your target.’ His gentle authority encouraged Hermione to follow his instructions with ease. Hermione adjusted her posture, striving to imitate the effortless grace he displayed. Though her movements were tentative and revealed her nervousness, she aimed to settle into the stance he had shown. Legolas watched her with steady, attentive eyes, observing every shift in her posture. Then, in a composed tone and with a slight softening of his features, Legolas asked, ‘Which hand do you write with?’ The calm, professional question offered Hermione a brief respite from her self-consciousness and demonstrated his thoughtful, systematic teaching style, focusing on her individual needs.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBgRD65jyMV
Hermione paused briefly, her voice betraying her nervousness as she replied, ‘Um… my right hand,’ stumbling over her words while she tried to compose herself beneath Legolas’s calm gaze. A faint flush coloured her cheeks, and she avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the smooth grain of the bow’s polished wood to summon her strength. Her hand trembled, exposing her inner tension, and she drew a slow, deep breath to steady herself. Legolas’s gentle and composed attention made her more self-conscious, yet his serene presence also reassured her, helping her concentrate on his next instruction.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA4fF8t9jEg
Legolas nodded in approval and stepped closer to Hermione, closing the gap until she could feel the subtle warmth of his reassuring presence. He reached out gently and softly curled his long fingers around her left hand, creating a warm contrast against the crisp morning air. With careful, deliberate movements that displayed both his expertise and reverence for the ancient craft of archery, he guided her trembling hand along the graceful curve of the bow’s spine. Patiently, he repositioned her fingers so that each one rested perfectly on the wood. He moved with quiet confidence and consideration, never forcing, expressing trust and encouragement through each subtle adjustment. Their eyes met briefly, and in that look they exchanged an unspoken understanding. Hermione saw Legolas’s patience and sincere guidance reflected in his gaze. He let his hand linger over hers a moment longer, a gentle and protective gesture that reassured her she was not alone.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3CdGbTMmET
Legolas calmly and steadily guided Hermione, anchoring her with his gentle voice in the quiet forest. He said, ‘Now, use your right hand to draw back the bowstring,’ his tone soothing and supportive, which eased some of the tension between them. Hermione nodded slightly, her determination shining through her visible nervousness as she focused, her brow creasing. Her trembling fingers reached for the string and drew it back, her muscles tightening with the unfamiliar effort as the gentle resistance increased. Legolas stepped back just enough to give her space, observing her closely and staying watchful. He caught every detail with his sharp eyes—the tremor in her grip, her shoulders rising, and the uncertain tilt of her chin. He memorised each part of her stance, eager to help her find a balance between strength and ease.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB5CJyvqrtx
Legolas moved towards Hermione with deliberate care and gently gripped her right elbow, his cool, calming fingers pressing softly against her skin. Hermione briefly tensed at the touch, a gentle shiver running through her arm, but he kept hold just long enough to soothe her nerves rather than unsettle her. His touch remained precise—light as a feather yet confident, just as one would expect from an experienced archer. Legolas moved with deliberate care, placing his other hand on her waist. His palm rested warm and steady against the curve of her side. Hermione nervously swallowed, feeling a flutter in her chest at his firm yet gentle grip. She noticed the subtle pressure of his hand and the soft brush of his thumb as he kept her in place. Legolas gently but confidently guided Hermione slightly to the left, precisely aligning her stance with the distant target. He moved smoothly and deliberately, giving Hermione a sense of support while making her feel slightly vulnerable. He carefully straightened her right elbow, using steady patience as he positioned her arm perfectly for the shot. With each adjustment, he conveyed quiet assurance, letting her know she was in capable hands.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIlxyxQt1xj
Legolas leaned close and enveloped her in his presence. He whispered into her ear, his breath brushing her cheek with a warmth that sent a shiver down her spine, ‘Now, release the string.’ Speaking so near and intimately, the soft cadence of his voice melted away the last of her hesitation and grounded her in the moment as she prepared to let the arrow fly.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvjWiZrHV7k
Hermione released the bowstring, and a loud twang echoed through the air, making her gasp softly in surprise. The string snapped back forcefully, burning her wrist with sharp pain. ‘Ouch!’ she exclaimed, her voice strained, as she looked down to assess the damage. A bright, fresh scrape quickly appeared on her skin—thin, pink, and already starting to swell from the impact. The pain made her wince; she instinctively let go of the bow and gripped her wrist with her other hand. The ache pulsed beneath her fingers, tracing a burning line where the shot had gone wrong. Brow furrowed with discomfort, Hermione pressed her palm over the sensitive spot, trying to ease the pulsing sting. The ache overwhelmed her thoughts, pushing aside any focus on archery or guidance and reminding her of her inexperience and the bowstring’s unforgiving force.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtajt2FBYBT
Legolas regarded Hermione’s fresh graze with quiet concern, his gaze sharp yet compassionate as he took her injured hand with gentle care. He steadied her with a feather-light touch, offering silent reassurance. He studied the thin, pink welt on her skin, narrowing his eyes to assess the sting’s severity. His brow furrowed subtly, reflecting empathy and attentiveness, though he kept his face calm and composed, radiating serene confidence. In a low, steady voice, he whispered, ‘Wait here.’ With graceful assurance, he released her hand and crossed the clearing. He knelt by his belongings, retrieved a small, intricately carved vial of clear liquid from a worn leather pouch, and unfolded a pristine white rag.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSkTcgGgctB
Legolas stepped to Hermione’s side and uncorked the vial with gentle precision that spoke of years of practice. He let a single droplet of the clear, glimmering liquid fall onto her wound, and the solution shimmered like morning dew as it touched the angry welt. He pressed the pristine white rag against her wrist with careful deliberation, cradling her arm with his long fingers as he protected and healed her. The cool, soft cloth soothed her skin, but the moment the liquid touched the graze, Hermione gasped at the sudden, sharp sting, her body stiffening as it seeped into the graze. Legolas kept his touch tender, holding her steady and anchoring her against the discomfort with the pads of his fingers. Calm and serene, he focused his warm gaze on her and, when he sensed her pain, paused to meet her eyes, offering quiet encouragement with his composed expression. Hermione searched his eyes for answers, torn between relief and uncertainty. Sensing her silent question, Legolas softly explained in his melodic tone, ‘It is called Nebra. It will prevent infection, and your wrist will be as good as new by dusk,’ his sincere manner soothing her as he finished tending to her injury.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVZUqCF1l1l
Hermione offered him a tentative smile, searching his face for any hint of warmth, hoping to see a reaction that never came. Legolas kept his features inscrutable, maintaining his calm expression and revealing nothing of his thoughts. She imagined, unbidden and persistent, what it would feel like to watch his eyes light up with laughter or see the corners of his mouth lift in joy—a notion that lingered stubbornly in her mind. As the silence stretched, Hermione became acutely aware of herself, suddenly realising she had been staring, utterly captivated and now feeling exposed. She quickly dropped her gaze, flustered and embarrassed, as a deep, rosy colour spread across her fair skin. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOv2VRS54xk
Legolas, ever perceptive, noticed her shift in mood. With his usual grace and calm, he quietly reached for her bow, moving with smooth, unhurried motions. He gently gripped the wood with his long fingers and, without a word, handed it back to her—practical and thoughtful as always. Throughout the exchange, he maintained his composed demeanour—calm, steady, and reassuring—silently assuring Hermione that her mistake had not unsettled the delicate understanding forming between them.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Ke0yZNVo1
Legolas removed his right bracer glove with smooth, unhurried movements, displaying a calm and graceful demeanour. He quietly slipped the soft leather, adorned with subtle Elvish patterns, from his forearm. Drawing closer to Hermione, he steadily held her gaze and, with a composed and attentive look, spoke softly yet authoritatively, ‘Give me your hand.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyd1ufhgSqs
Hermione briefly paused, then offered her hand, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. Legolas gently accepted her hand, his touch warm and confident against her skin. He skilfully slid the bracer over her slender wrist, letting the cool leather conform to her arm’s shape. He carefully fastened it, tying the cords into a firm knot with his long, agile fingers to prevent it from slipping during her next attempt. Legolas finished and lingered for a brief, wordless moment with his hand on hers. He applied a subtle pressure with his palm against her wrist, radiating comfort and protection as his thumb traced a silent promise of support. They shared a quiet, unspoken understanding. Finally, he gave her hand one last, gentle squeeze.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2rYszItlHn
Legolas watched her intently, tracking every subtle movement with his keen eyes. He slightly tilted his head and, keeping his voice calm and soothing, explained, ‘The bracer will prevent the string from catching your wrist. You will no longer feel it.’ His measured words conveyed gentle confidence, which helped to calm Hermione. As he spoke, Legolas gently placed his hand on her forearm, guiding and protecting her and underscoring the importance of the bracer. The soft leather, although slightly too large for her slim wrist, wrapped around her arm, forming a shield of gentle strength. Legolas recognised the inadequacy of the borrowed bracer. ‘My bracer is too large for you, but I will have a pair made to fit you,’ he added, his tone gentle but resolute. The assurance in his words carried a rare note of personal care, suggesting he was willing to see to her needs beyond the immediate moment. Hermione slowly nodded, her eyes glinting with gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a small but genuine smile flickering across her lips as she flexed her protected wrist, already feeling more secure.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMMjs9Jc5Zm
Legolas adopted a firmer tone, shifting seamlessly from comfort to command as he stepped back and squared his shoulders, his presence suddenly more commanding. ‘Now, into position,’ he instructed, the quiet authority in his voice brooking no hesitation. Hermione quickly responded, moving into the correct stance with greater assurance; she drew herself up, aware of the weight of Legolas’s attentive gaze. Legolas observed Hermione with thoughtful intent, his clear, blue eyes noting her posture and the subtle tremor in her hands. He took a brief moment to consider, then inclined his head, his expression gentle but resolutely firm. In a voice as steady as a mountain stream, he said, ‘Now, fire an arrow at the target,’ his tone blending quiet authority with encouragement. His gentle yet unmistakable words lingered in the cool, fresh air, and Hermione’s eyes widened with visible nervousness. She tightened her grip on the bow, her breath suspended between anticipation and doubt as she gazed at him, searching for any sign of leniency or reprieve.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLqqPcQZzMI
Legolas noticed the flicker of apprehension in her gaze and the tension in her shoulders. He softened his features, letting a hint of warmth ripple across his otherwise composed face. He stepped closer, his movements fluid and silent, and lowered his voice, ensuring every syllable resonated with calming reassurance. ‘Do not be afraid, Lady Hermione,’ he said, his words wrapping around her like a soft cloak. The cadence of his soothing voice settled her nerves, anchoring her in the present moment and easing some of the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her resolve.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA2kHNyVHZ0
Hermione hesitated and struggled to explain, her voice wavering. She nervously twisted her slender fingers together, revealing the turmoil beneath her outward composure. ‘It’s been so long, and the last time I did it I…’ The words faltered on her tongue, and she dropped her gaze to the forest floor while a shadow flickered across her face. For a moment, she tensed her shoulders, bracing herself against the sting of an old humiliation. The memory of her childhood lesson flashed unbidden in her mind—the sharp sting of disappointment she saw in her instructor’s eyes, the chorus of muffled laughter from classmates, and the mortifying walk home that sealed her decision never to try again. She shook her head, unwilling to relive the moment. When she finally spoke, she used a soft tone tinged with fragile vulnerability, a hint of embarrassment colouring her cheeks as the recollection drew blood anew, ‘Let’s just say I never returned.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhvLsnrQJ9r
Her childhood archery lesson resurfaced in vivid detail—her parents gazed at her with disappointment, their expressions delivering an unspoken reproach she had never managed to shake. She replayed the scene in her mind: sunlight flooded the archery field, silence thickened as her trembling fingers released the arrow, and a sharp, collective gasp erupted when it veered wildly off course. She saw her instructor’s horrified expression as the arrow struck another student in the leg—a single, dreadful mistake that destroyed any hope she had for a second chance. The instructor gripped her arm firmly and unsympathetically, escorting her home with each step echoing the sting of humiliation. When her parents opened the door, she endured the shame and mortification of having her failure exposed before them, which was almost more painful than the act itself. The lesson concluded that day, not with a gentle farewell or encouraging words, but with silence as heavy as stone and the crushing certainty that she would never be allowed to return.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡehgb5OlTdk
Legolas trained his focused attention on Hermione, unwaveringly tracking the shifting emotions that flickered across her face—uncertainty, a touch of embarrassment, and the faintest glimmer of lingering hope—with his clear blue eyes. He maintained a posture that exuded both relaxation and alertness, quietly demonstrating strength as he leaned ever so slightly towards her, silently inviting trust without demanding it. In a soft, calm voice, he asked, ‘How many years has it been?’ He kept his eyes on her, searching not just for the answer in her words but reading her expression—the slight tightening around her mouth, the way her gaze momentarily dropped to the forest floor, and the subtle tension in her shoulders—as though he hoped to offer comfort for whatever pain her memories might uncover.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUsaAIlcWjg
Hermione let out a sigh, her posture revealing the profound exhaustion weighing her down. She allowed her shoulders to droop, bearing the burden of years, and drew a slow, unsteady breath. ‘Too many,’ she whispered, regret and resignation colouring her words. Her confession drew her inward even further; she lowered her gaze, deliberately avoiding Legolas’s watchful eyes, and bowed her chin towards her chest. Shadows flickered across her face, accentuating the subtle tremor in her lower lip and the faint crease in her brow.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6euJlnreIg
Legolas slightly furrowed his brow as he considered Hermione’s vague and hesitant response. He nodded reassuringly and leaned forward just enough for Hermione to sense his quiet strength, radiating patience and empathy. When he spoke, he kept his voice low and steady, ‘Then there is nothing to be afraid of. It is not as difficult as it may seem,’ he murmured, his words designed to bolster her wavering confidence. Legolas moved with effortless, almost otherworldly grace as he reached for Hermione’s quiver and brushed his fingers lightly against the worn leather. He deliberately and carefully selected a single arrow, fully aware of how significant this moment was for her. He placed the arrow gently into her hand, letting his touch linger just long enough for Hermione to feel a reassuring warmth. As she felt the weight of the arrow in her palm and sensed Legolas’s unspoken support, she found the courage to try again. The quiet encouragement shining in his eyes said more than words, and for a brief moment, her fears and haunting memories faded, replaced by a fragile glimmer of hope.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCWDGJUtElr
Hermione drew a steadying breath and prepared to nock the arrow, her fingers trembling. She carefully aligned the arrow along the groove in the bow’s spine, the feathered fletching whispering against her thumb as she drew it back. Each motion came deliberately, muscle memory guiding her limbs with an uncertain flicker—a faint echo of her distant lessons. Yet, as she held the arrow in place, her mind drifted backwards, and the forest around her faded into the distant spectre of a sunlit childhood archery field. The scent of grass mingled with the sharp tang of anticipation, and for a moment, she became a small girl again, her heart pounding with uncertainty. Painful memories surged with startling clarity, crowding the edges of her focus. Her instructor’s disappointed remarks echoed sharply in her mind, each word barbing her confidence and causing her to hesitate. She pictured his stern face and furrowed brow, and she heard the low, measured tone that never quite concealed his impatience. She tightened her grip, her knuckles whitening as she battled the wave of criticism and shame threatening to overwhelm her resolve. Her breath caught, and she froze, the ghosts of old humiliation paralysing her and leaving her entire body rigid with remembered embarrassment. For a moment, her classmates’ laughter rose above the gentle hush of the forest, their mocking voices forming a cruel chorus that echoed in her ears, making her palms slick with nervous sweat.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBxjW8ETDnY
Legolas silently watched Hermione, his steady presence anchoring her as she confronted the ghosts of her memories. After a few moments, concern creased his brow, the subtle lines deepening as he noticed Hermione close her eyes, her lashes trembling against her flushed cheeks. She drew inward, trying to shut out the jeers and scorn that haunted her—childhood voices that had ridiculed her every uncertain step, leaving fresh wounds. Legolas approached her with quiet assurance, exuding a calm, grounding presence. He gently but firmly placed his left hand on Hermione’s waist, guiding and supporting her, while his right hand enveloped hers on the bowstring to steady her trembling grip. The warmth of his closeness and the subtle strength in his touch sent a shiver of reassurance down her spine. Leaning in, Legolas brought his lips close to her ear, his breath brushing lightly against her skin as he whispered, ‘Relax.’ The simple word, spoken with gentle conviction, melted the rigid anxiety from Hermione’s muscles. She drew a deep breath, felt the tension in her shoulders ebb away, and released the arrow. Time slowed as the arrow sliced through the air and struck the outer line of the target with a satisfying thud. Hermione stared in disbelief, relief and pride mingling in her chest, while Legolas murmured, his voice a velvet caress, ‘Well done, Lady Hermione.’ The praise lingered in the air, and only then, as the forest’s quiet returned, did Hermione become acutely aware of his steady hand still resting at her waist and his other hand lingering atop hers—a silent promise of support that lingered beyond the moment.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2oZc6I03lh
After a moment, Legolas stepped back from Hermione, gently granting her a reprieve as the last vestiges of tension from the lesson faded. He moved with effortless Elven grace, measuring his movements and taking his time to ensure Hermione would not feel rushed or abandoned after her small triumph. He let his clear blue eyes linger on Hermione a fraction longer, offering her a quiet, reassuring smile—a silent acknowledgement of her effort and progress. He kept his composure, never wavering from his calm authority, yet their interaction subtly moved from the intensity of teaching to the warmth of wrapping up the lesson. Legolas said, ‘We will wrap this up for now, but feel free to practise at any time,’ his words extending a genuine invitation that carried no expectation or pressure. His tone encouraged Hermione and offered an open door, giving her the comforting sense that she belonged here, free from judgement.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGVYYqCUs0U
As the session drew to a close, Legolas strode over to where he had left his bow, moving with light and purposeful steps. He took up his bow and drew a rag from his pouch. He treated the weapon as a cherished companion, not merely as a tool, with each movement. He wiped down the wood in careful, deliberate strokes, tracing the elegant curve and the subtle carvings along the grip with his fingers. Moving the cloth in rhythmic circles, he buffed away even the faintest traces of dust and sweat. The surface of the bow caught the fading light and glinted softly beneath his diligent touch, while he worked with the quiet reverence of someone who understood both the craft and the legacy woven into every fibre. As he repeated the motion of the cloth over the bow, he kept his focus unwavering, and the quiet ritual grounded the moment, creating a sense of calm routine after the intensity of the lesson.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaZTplPAIc2
Hermione approached Legolas, who leaned with casual elegance against the moss-dappled rock. She moved quietly so as not to disturb the tranquil air and gently placed the bow she had used beside him, resting its tip lightly on the bed of fallen leaves. She watched him retrieve the practise bow with careful deliberation; he performed every movement with a kind of reverent precision. Legolas examined the bow with the same meticulous attention he gave his own cherished weapon, tracing the gentle curve of the wood with his fingers before drawing out a soft cloth. He wiped it down slowly and thoroughly, circling the cloth over the smooth grain and lingering on the delicate carvings adorning the grip. His actions held a meditative quality, as though he poured quiet gratitude and respect into the simple act of cleaning.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo1RokBRCTH
An awkward silence drifted over them, and Hermione felt her nerves prickle in the hush as her earlier confidence began to ebb away. After waiting a long moment, Hermione hesitated, shifted her weight from foot to foot, and then spoke in a voice so soft it barely rose above the rustling of the leaves. ‘Um... thank you,’ she murmured, her words shy but sincere, expressing her heartfelt gratitude for his patience and support during the lesson. Legolas focused intently on his task, the faintest smile ghosting his lips as he nodded in acknowledgement. He kept his gaze on the bow, allowing the quiet to linger between them, yet his subtle gesture showed he had both heard and appreciated her thanks.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBvpipyZyab
Hermione started to walk away, but Legolas called to her in a soft, measured voice, his words lingering in the stillness of the forest. The gentle cadence of his tone drew her attention as surely as if he had placed a hand on her shoulder. She stopped as Legolas paused in his careful cleaning of the bow and looked up at her. For a heartbeat, the world hushed—the muted song of birds and the faint rustle of leaves faded as his gaze met hers. He maintained his composed posture, yet the subtle tilt of his head revealed an expectant curiosity, as though he invited Hermione to step into a shared space of trust. With the deliberate grace that defined all his movements, Legolas set the cloth aside for a moment, his fingers lingering on the polished wood as though grounding himself in the present. Then, with quiet earnestness, he asked, ‘What do you know of the Elves, Lady Hermione?’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbtI5Ws0lCZ
Hermione met his gaze, surprised by the openness in Legolas’s eyes and the sincerity woven into his question. The gentle curiosity he showed made her usual reserve falter. She searched his expression for any sign of impatience or judgement but saw only quiet encouragement. Her pulse fluttered with uncertainty and anticipation. Although she knew a great deal about Elven lore from her many readings, she realised that drawing out Legolas’s own stories felt far more precious than reciting facts. She chose her words with care, her voice soft but steady. ‘Not much,’ she replied, deliberately veiling her wealth of knowledge about Elves. In that moment, Hermione let a subtle spark of intrigue flicker in her eyes. She wanted to savour this rare opportunity, nurturing the fragile thread of trust and conversation. By feigning ignorance, she invited Legolas to take the lead, encouraging him to share the secrets and histories of his people in his own words.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5rdbhjYdUD
Legolas nodded calmly and confidently, set his spare bow beside his own, and leaned against the rock in a relaxed manner. The mossy stone supported him as he slid back, stretching out his long legs and crossing one boot casually over the other. He settled into an easy posture, keeping his shoulders loose and his gaze unwavering, exuding the natural grace and poise of his Elven heritage. For the first time, Legolas directed his undivided attention to Hermione—he fixed his clear blue eyes on her with a quiet intensity. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMaHivPYg8M
Legolas’s focus surprised Hermione; she paused mid-step and faltered in her thoughts. She realised that she might have misjudged him; she had thought he didn’t like her, having interpreted his earlier reserve as coolness or disdain. Yet now, in the golden wash of evening light, she wondered if her earlier assumption was wrong—and whether the silent depth in his eyes was not indifference, but something far kinder, quietly waiting to be understood.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlhG8mP6GIh
Legolas kept his expression open and inviting, and the faintest smile glimmered at the corners of his mouth. He radiated quiet patience, as though he welcomed every moment and had all the time in the world to listen. His voice flowed with a gentle cadence—soft, measured, and reassuring. ‘Is there anything you wish to know?’ he asked with genuine interest. He did not intend the question as a mere courtesy; he expressed earnestness, actively offering Hermione a safe space to inquire, to wonder, and to seek out the stories she yearned for.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiMX23RLAjk
The earlier tension faded, and Hermione’s smile softened as genuine curiosity took its place. She leaned forward slightly, her growing interest clear in her posture. ‘I want to know everything,’ she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She unconsciously fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve—an old habit that surfaced whenever she grew particularly eager—and a rosy flush of excitement coloured her cheeks. Her eagerness shone in her increasingly lively voice, which Legolas picked up on at once. Excitement welled inside her at the prospect of delving into Elven history and secrets, and she fixed Legolas with an expectant look, hoping he would reveal more about his people and their world. Hermione kept her gaze on Legolas, searching his expression for signs of the wonders he might unveil, her whole being radiating hope and an irrepressible sense of wonder.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeiVqk97XqS
Legolas regarded Hermione curiously, letting his gaze linger on her features as if he searched for something she had not yet spoken. He attuned his sharp Elven senses not only to the faint woodland sounds, but also to the rhythm of Hermione’s breath and her nervous shifting posture. For a brief moment, Legolas looked away, focusing on the swaying boughs above. Lost in thought, Legolas softened his expression, hinting that his memories stretched far beyond the present. At last, he quietly exhaled and brought his attention back to Hermione, the depth of his reflection still visible in his clear blue eyes. Openness coloured his expression, showing his willingness to share and bridge the distance between them. He softly asked, ‘Would you care to hear a story about my people?’ He searched Hermione’s eyes, earnest and inviting, as though he offered both a treasured secret and the chance for a proper connection.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgdLGt2UrZf
Hermione’s words tumbled out with bright enthusiasm as she eagerly agreed to listen to Legolas’s story. ‘I’d love to,’ she said, her eyes shining with anticipation. Drawn by the quiet allure of the moment, she stepped closer, her approach muffled by the soft rustle of fallen leaves. She stood beside Legolas, her presence attentive and open. She relaxed her posture yet remained expectant, squaring her shoulders with interest and lighting up her face with genuine curiosity—her cheeks flushed and lips parted in a small, eager smile.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVSk3GZHi6h
Legolas noticed Hermione’s eagerness, and the corners of his mouth twitched, the barest suggestion of a smile appearing. He gave her a thoughtful, almost searching look, as though he weighed how much to reveal. He let his gaze linger on her face, taking in the genuine curiosity shining in her wide eyes and the subtle flush of anticipation colouring her cheeks. In a gentle yet probing voice, one that carried both the weight of years and the careful tenderness of someone unaccustomed to sharing such things, he asked, ‘I am sure you witnessed the anger and hatred between the Dwarves and the Elves?’ His words held neither accusation nor lament, but offered Hermione an invitation to step with him into the tangled history that separated their peoples. The subtle gravity in his tone revealed memories and burdens too old for human comprehension.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgPCDRydHce
Hermione nodded. ‘Yes, I noticed it at the Council meeting,’ she said softly. The scene sprang vividly to her mind: the chamber’s charged atmosphere, thick with unspoken history, as Elves and Dwarves sat poised like chess pieces on opposite sides of the table. Every gesture carried meaning; Elven faces remained serenely composed, yet they flickered wary glances towards their Dwarven counterparts. The Dwarves exchanged low, clipped remarks in their own tongue, their expressions shifting from guarded to openly distrustful. Hermione caught how shoulders tightened, how delegates deliberately avoided eye contact, and how animosity simmered just beneath the surface. The Council had assembled for a matter of grave importance. Yet, she sensed centuries-old rivalry threading through every interaction, as if old grievances and wounds haunted the room itself, refusing to heal.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeUhkCh2mLo
The gentle warmth that had softened his expression vanished, and seriousness seemed to draw the light from his eyes. He lowered his voice, making it both softer and more solemn, each word carrying old sorrow. ‘Our two peoples were not always at odds,’ he began, pausing as he shook his head and a subtle frown creased his brow. ‘Elves and Dwarves once coexisted peacefully, trading and working together for thousands of years. There was amity—shared laughter in great halls, the forging of alliances, the exchange of gifts and knowledge beneath starlit skies. Our crafts mingled: Elven artistry adorned Dwarven metalwork, and Dwarven skill strengthened Elven creations. Just over 3,000 years ago, that harmony broke,’ he continued, letting his gaze drift past Hermione to fix on a distant point in the ancient woods, as if he watched the ghosts of history play out between the trees. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD50NNBq76m
Hermione watched him intently, noticing how emotion tightened his jaw, and how pride and pain etched lines across his face. ‘A tragic event unfolded at that time,’ he continued, his words measured and deliberate, each syllable reverberating with the weight of ancestral grief. ‘My father and a Dwarf King fiercely argued—disagreement quickly turned into anger. Their voices echoed through the stone halls, each accusation sparking like flint and tinder. In a sudden moment of fury, the Dwarf King raised his axe to attack.’ Legolas unconsciously curled his fingers against the mossy rock beneath his hand, betraying the tension he felt. ‘My father acted on instinct and the urgency of the moment… and killed him.’ He finished, his lips twitching, as the memory etched a trace of sadness across his features. Shock widened Hermione’s eyes at the revelation, and the admission caught her breath in her throat. She could almost see the scene unfold: torchlight flickering on cold stone, voices rising and ringing out, the fateful glint of steel—a single moment that shattered centuries of friendship and set generations on a path of mistrust. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiNRmZQnA4s
Hermione exclaimed, ‘3,000 years!?’ and stared at him, disbelief filling her eyes. She let the words escape in a hushed, almost reverent whisper—caught between awe and incredulity. Shock momentarily stole her voice; she gazed at Legolas with her mouth slightly open, as though seeing him for the first time. The weight of such an immense lifespan pressed down on her, and she shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the notion that any being could endure through so many centuries. Even though her parents had mentioned in passing the legendary longevity of Elves, nothing prepared her for the reality of standing before someone whose existence spanned millennia. A thousand questions danced on the tip of her tongue, but for a fleeting moment, she could only marvel at the thought of witnessing the ebb and flow of history, of seeing empires rise and fall, and still greeting the dawn with ageless eyes.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7QA4B6mcil
Legolas gave a slow nod, letting his gaze rest on the ancient, whispering trees for a moment before he turned back to Hermione, keeping his expression solemn yet gentle. ‘Elves live for thousands of years, Lady Hermione. Because of this, we are called “ɑlfirin”, meaning “immortal”.’ He paused, his eyes softening as he prepared to share something weighty. ‘I just turned 2,931 years old this spring, so I was not alive during the war, but my father told me about it.’ For a heartbeat, a faraway look clouded his blue eyes as memories not his own drifted through his mind like a fleeting breeze. He rested his hands quietly on his knees, fingers relaxed but poised, revealing the discipline of someone used to bearing heavy burdens. He glanced aside with graceful composure before quietly adding, ‘My mother hopes that someday, harmony will be restored between our two peoples, but she is the only one who openly expresses this wish.’ He released a faint, wistful sigh, the sound barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves. Legolas shook his head, resignation subtly shadowing his serene countenance. He tightened his jaw and admitted, ‘I do not favour the Dwarves, but if our peoples could ever set aside this ancient feud, I would be willing to accept it.’ He looked down at Hermione, searching her eyes with clear, thoughtful, and sincere intensity, as if he invited her to share in the quiet hope that glimmered beneath centuries of sorrow and pride.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0amrTOVbqz
Hermione looked at him in awe. ‘You’re 2,931 years old?’ she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if raising it might break the fragile spell holding the moment together. The sheer enormity of Legolas’s age nearly rendered her speechless; her thoughts spun as she tried to comprehend what it meant to have lived so long. She felt as though she stood before a living tapestry, woven from millennia’s threads, with each strand radiating memories of ancient forests, forgotten empires, and legendary battles. She pictured him watching centuries unfold, as if he turned the pages of a book—witnessing civilisations rise and fall, the world shifting and changing, alliances forming and dissolving. Realising that Legolas had greeted countless dawns over the same woods, his ageless eyes holding wisdom and sorrow she could never hope to match in her brief lifetime, made Hermione’s heart flutter. The profound sense of wonder that swept over her made her feel impossibly small and young; as she gazed up at the immortal Elf beside her, she teetered between reverence and disbelief.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbjeZ7289gr
Legolas anticipated her reaction and nearly smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said with a quick nod. For a fleeting instant, laughter glimmered in his eyes, though it seldom touched his lips. He observed Hermione as she struggled with the enormity of his age, his keen gaze catching the way her eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed a silent “oh” of disbelief. The corners of his mouth twitched, tempered by the patient understanding he had developed over centuries of watching the fleeting lives of mortals. He found her surprise both endearing and predictable, a reminder of the profound differences between their kind. Though he maintained a composed exterior, her wonder sparked a surge of warmth within him, as if her fresh perspective briefly lightened the burdens he had long carried. In that shared moment, the gulf of years between them narrowed, bridged by the simple, honest awe shining in Hermione’s wide eyes.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXOv7GxveIx
‘But you look so young! How is that possible?’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZhU1WaDDQs
Legolas regarded Hermione with a soft, curious expression and asked, ‘How old are you, Lady Hermione?’ As he posed the question, his deep and ancient eyes displayed genuine interest and a hint of wistful longing. He sat poised yet relaxed, resting one hand lightly atop his knee while the other brushed absently against a tendril of moss. 40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBb0MPAczu2
Legolas’s bold question jolted Hermione from her shock, drawing her back from the endless tapestry of history she had imagined and reminding her that, despite the gulf of years between them, their meeting was achingly present and real. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, letting the world slow as she processed his genuine curiosity. Yet she gathered her composure with the deftness she had honed over years of self-possession, drew a steady breath, and straightened her posture, determined to avoid seeming childish in front of someone so impossibly old. Her voice came out clear and calm, belying the nervous flutter beneath her stern exterior, as she replied, ‘I turned 18 in September.’ The simple words hung in the air like a fragile blossom—marking the boundary between her youthful innocence and the dawning maturity that meeting Legolas seemed to inspire.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR7tTxTVmc5
Legolas held Hermione’s gaze with calm intensity, his eyes steady and unwavering, as he searched for the precise words that could bridge the gap between them. In a soft voice, he explained, ‘Humans grow and change rapidly. For us Elves, time moves differently. One hundred years for an Elf is like a single year in the life of a human.’ He spoke with measured patience, conveying the quiet wisdom gained from countless decades spent observing the fleeting span of mortal lives. ‘Though, unlike humans, we appear as young adults or teenagers at this age.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS1oMaNs5Uf
Hermione furrowed her brow in concentration and kept her eyes fixed on Legolas, listening intently with both fascination and determination. She worked to grasp the immense difference in their lifespans, her mind racing to absorb this new understanding. The frown on her face revealed her struggle to reconcile the Elf’s ancient wisdom with his youthful appearance, as if she witnessed a living paradox standing before her.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBXiUxhdtKn
Legolas spoke in gentle, patient tones. ‘If I were to compare my age to that of a human, I would be around 29 years old. Does that make sense?’ He tilted his head slightly as he regarded Hermione intently. His eyes, deep and luminous, conveyed earnestness and a quiet hope, eager to help her comprehend the vast gap in the way their races perceived time.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ45gTy6YVky
Hermione met his gaze and said, ‘Yes, I understand now.’ The reality of their conversation settled over her, and a wave of youthful smallness swept through her. She recognised how Legolas’s vast experience gently pressed against her own brief existence, much like an ancient tree casting a cool shadow over new grass. The dappled sunlight illuminated the delicate lines of his ageless face, making him appear almost otherworldly—he embodied wisdom and history yet revealed a subtle vulnerability in this rare moment of connection. Hermione caught her breath, her heart fluttered with awe and humility, and she shook her head to clear her surprise, feeling like a mere sapling beside someone who had endured countless seasons. In a soft murmur, barely above a whisper, she admitted, ‘I feel so young.’40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhgzqxGdyIL
To Hermione’s surprise, Legolas gently smiled, softly curling his lips. That smile transformed his entire face, making him appear warmer and more inviting. The upturn of his mouth softened the ethereal sharpness of his features, and his usually reserved countenance radiated warmth. For a moment, he seemed less like an enigmatic Elf and more like a kindred spirit. Unable to help herself, Hermione smiled back, her own lips curving in response. She felt a quiet sense of understanding and connection grow between them, as though the simple exchange of smiles bridged the centuries and wove an unspoken thread of kinship. The hush of the forest embraced their newfound closeness, with every leaf and shadow silently witnessing the gentle moment unfolding between mortal and immortal.
A/N: So, what did you all think? Hermione’s first proper interaction with Legolas. The next chapter will have an entirely new scene, and then the Fellowship will leave Rivendell and the safety of the Elves!
Please let me know how you’re all feeling about this story so far! I love getting reviews/comments about it, good and bad.
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