Chapter 29: The Training Begins
Tauriel gathered the archers at dawn.
Twenty fighters—everyone in the settlement who'd shown aptitude with a bow—assembled in the training yard with expressions ranging from eager to terrified. Word had spread about the elf's standards. No one knew quite what to expect.
"Shoot," she said.
No introduction. No warmth. Just the single word, delivered with expectation of immediate obedience.
They shot. Twenty arrows flew toward targets thirty paces away. Eight hit. Twelve missed entirely.
Tauriel walked the line in silence, examining each archer's stance, posture, breathing. Her face revealed nothing.
"You hold your bows like clubs." Her voice carried no anger—just statement of fact. "You breathe like dying horses. You aim with your eyes instead of your bodies." She paused at the end of the line. "We start from nothing. Everything you know is wrong."
The training began.
[TRAINING GROUNDS — DAY THREE]
For three days, no arrows were fired.
Tauriel focused entirely on stance—how to plant feet, distribute weight, align shoulders. The archers stood in formation for hours, making micro-adjustments under her watchful eye.
"Your left foot is wrong."
"Your shoulder drops when you breathe."
"You're thinking too much. Stop thinking. Feel."
I watched from the planning corner when duties allowed, fascinated by her methodology. There was no praise, no encouragement, no feedback beyond correction. Just relentless refinement of fundamentals.
On the third evening, one of the archers—a young woman named Sera—approached me privately.
"Lord Aldric, is this... normal? We haven't shot a single arrow."
"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never trained with an elf. But Tauriel knows what she's doing. Trust the process."
"She's never satisfied. No matter what we do."
"Then keep doing better until she is."
Sera didn't look convinced, but she returned to training the next morning.
[TRAINING GROUNDS — DAY TEN]
By the tenth day, the change was visible.
The archers moved differently now—smoother, more balanced, their bodies aligned in ways that suggested coiled potential rather than awkward tension. When Tauriel finally allowed them to draw bows again, the improvement was immediate.
Fourteen arrows hit targets. The six that missed were closer than before.
"Better." Tauriel's voice carried no enthusiasm. "Again."
I found myself at the training yard that afternoon, ostensibly checking on progress, actually curious whether I could learn anything useful.
"You want to try." Not a question. Tauriel had appeared beside me without warning.
"Would you teach me?"
"You have other duties. Lords don't need to be archers."
"Lords need to understand their fighters. And I'm terrible with bows—I'd like to be less terrible."
Something flickered across her face. Amusement, maybe.
"Very well. Take a position."
I picked up a training bow—lighter than the ones the militia used—and attempted to replicate the stance I'd observed for the past week.
"Wrong." Tauriel moved behind me, her hands adjusting my arms with clinical precision. "Your elbow is too high. Your grip is too tight. You're holding your breath."
"I thought that was correct."
"You thought wrong." She stepped back, evaluating. "Draw."
I drew. The bow felt awkward in my hands, the string cutting into fingers that didn't know where to grip.
"Release."
The arrow flew. Missed the target by two feet.
"Again."
Twenty arrows later, I'd hit the target exactly once—and that was a lucky graze on the outer edge.
"Mortals." Tauriel shook her head, but there was warmth beneath the exasperation. "You lack the patience for this art. Everything must happen quickly for your kind."
"We don't have centuries to practice."
"No. You don't." Something shifted in her expression. "Perhaps that's why you try so hard."
[WATCHTOWER — MIDNIGHT]
I found her on the highest platform, as I often did during sleepless nights.
She didn't turn as I climbed the ladder, didn't acknowledge my presence. Just stood silently, face turned toward the eastern horizon, something ancient and sad in her posture.
"You're always watching the east," I said.
"Darkness comes from the east. It always has."
I stood beside her, the night air cool against skin still adjusting to summer's end.
"Why are you really here, Tauriel? Not the hunting—I understand that. But why this region? Why now?"
Long silence.
"I made choices," she said finally. "Long ago. Some were right. Some were wrong. The wrong ones cost more than I could afford to pay." Her voice carried centuries of weariness. "Now I wander. Hunt. Try to make the darkness smaller wherever I find it."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is." No self-pity. Just fact. "But loneliness is better than repeating mistakes."
I wanted to ask more. About the choices. About the costs. About the grief that lived behind her ancient eyes.
But some questions weren't mine to ask.
"The archers are improving," I said instead.
"They're adequate. Give me another week, they'll be competent." Almost a smile. "Progress."
Author's Note / Support the Story
Your Reviews and Power Stones help the story grow! They are the best way to support the series and help new readers find us.
Want to read ahead? Get instant access to more chapters by supporting me on Patreon. Choose your tier to skip the wait:
⚔️ Noble ($7): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public.
👑 Royal ($11): Read 17 chapters ahead of the public.
🏛️ Emperor ($17): Read 24 chapters ahead of the public.
Weekly Updates: New chapters are added every week. See the pinned "Schedule" post on Patreon for the full update calendar.
👉 Join here: patreon.com/Kingdom1Building