A Walk down Memory Lane by Raiyana

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A Bow - or Two

The Hunting trip continues

 

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Bow

On the second day of the hunting trip, Telperína again found herself left alone with Curufinwë for company, though this time she remembered his promise. Picking up the bow she had bought in Tirion – Curufinwë’s snort of derisive amusement spoke eloquently to its quality – she trapped a quiver of arrows to her hip and attempted to string the bow.

“You said you’d teach me,” she pointed out, when he’d watched her struggle for some minutes.

“So I did,” he replied, getting to his feet with a shrug, “but that looks far too rigid for you – it’s not made for your level of strength.” Telperína glared, though it was half-hearted at best; he was right, no matter how much it vexed her.

“This is the one they sold me,” she said, frowning at the length of wood. Curufinwë sighed, eyeing it with a craftsman’s scorn.

“Wait a moment,” he muttered, turning to rifle through his pack. “I finished one I meant for my cousin Aredhel; it’ll be less wrong for you than that one, at least.” Holding up the bow, he continued mumbling to himself, “I wondered why Makalaurë thought I should bring it for testing… but maybe he meant for you to do the testing.”

 

Curufinwë’s body seemed to radiate heat against her back, though Telperína told herself not to notice, keeping her focus on the weapon in her hands. The wood had been carved with angular lines at the grip section, inlaid with a paler wood and sanded smooth, oiled to a buttery soft sheen. The curve bent to the string, the finely feathered arrow caught between her fingers, her hand and forearm wrapped in a layer of protective leather.

“Keep your eye on the target,” Curvo said quietly. Telperína stared at the small charcoal circles he had drawn on a tree on the other side of the clearing. The arrow wobbled slightly. “Steady,” he murmured, warm fingers closing over hers. Telperína shivered lightly. “Cold?”

“No,” she said, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the heat rising in her cheeks. When he had offered to teach her, she had not expected to be standing so close, nor to feel so… affected. “How do I shoot?” she asked, trying to take her mind off the warmth of Curufinwë’s touch.

“Pull back evenly,” he said, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled back the string with her. “And release.” His breath tickled, fluttering a loose lock of hair across her cheek.

The bow sang.

Curufinwë chuckled.

“I’m sure you were no better the first time,” Telperína complained, staring at her arrow with dismay. The red feathers stuck out from a thorny bush – several yards from Curufinwë’s target.

“Worse, I promise.” Turning his head, he gave her a crooked smile; the twitch of his lips and a softness in his eyes gave away his mirth. Telperína scowled, but Curufinwë amusement was infective, and her annoyance melted away into bright laughter. “You’ll get better,” he continued, yanking the arrow from the shrubbery.

“Perhaps,” she replied, giving the bow a dubious look. At least Curufinwë hadn’t laughed at her – not really – which Makalaurë certainly would have. For a moment, she thought she could see his superior smirk before her eyes. “… Don’t tell your brother how terrible I am?”

Curufinwë’s smile widened, but he nodded as he handed her the arrow.

“As you wish,” he promised. “Now, try again.”

Telperína lifted the bow, putting the arrow to the string with a look of concentration.

“Relax; you want to pull with your back, not your elbow,” Curufinwë murmured, walking behind her.

The bow twanged again.

Telperína stared at the arrow quivering in the tree with disbelief for a moment before whirling around to beam at Curufinwë. “I did it!” she exclaimed, waving with the bow towards the tree. “Did you see, Curvo? I really did it!”

“You did!” Curufinwë smiled. “Well done.”

She hugged him.

Curufinwë stiffened, a soundless question escaping him even as his hand curved around her waist, as though he meant to dance with her.

I wonder if he’s a good dancer?

The thought flashed across her mind in a moment, bringing with it an image of them dancing together – she was wearing a sea-green-blue gown with frothy white lace and Curufinwë looked resplendent in golden robes with a red cape – that rung with some indefinable sense of home. Tearing herself away from the image and the arms at once, Telperína flushed, looking down at the verdant grass at her feet. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she stepped back, glancing up to apologise for her presumption. The words escaped her, staring into those golden-brown eyes.

Neither moved.

Curufinwë opened his mouth slightly, breaking the spell of those eyes. Telperína whirled around, almost running to retrieve her arrow, praying that the redness in her cheeks would be attributed a flush of victory.

When she turned around, Curufinwë’s expression was unreadable

“I’m-” she began, at the same time as he said,

“Maybe another shot?”

Snapping her mouth shut around the unspoken apology, Telperína nodded, gripping her bow far too tightly as she moved back to the starting point.

Curufinwë kept himself more than three feet away from her.

The rest of the afternoon passed in silence.

When Makalaurë and the rest of Curufinwë’s brothers returned, she lay down the bow gratefully, taking up her lapdesk and quill once more and allowing Makalaurë to fill her mind with lyrics and dialogue lines until Telperion’s light was alone in the sky.

She dared not look at Curufinwë all evening for fear of blushing – Makalaurë was not blind, and he would ask awkward questions. After all, she told herself optimistically, nothing happened; we will both forget my lapse of decorum and stay friends.