Frost.

A deadly cold covered the land; everything it touched was freezing almost solid. It was an unexpected winter that had snuck in like a thief in the night. Such a strange thing had not occurred in a very long time. The only memory he had of a winter like this, came from a long time ago. Long before he was King of the Greenwood.

He was but a child, still young to the ways of the world; the chill he felt now brought back the memories of the bone-rattling cold he had felt then. With such an event, his people had to retreat into their cavernous homes for a very different reason than they had of late. Whether this winter was a more deadly threat than the orcs and spiders they had become accustomed to fending off, remained to be seen.

If one were to think about it, there was but one benefit to the coming cold. The numbers of attacks to their home had dwindled almost down to none at all. This would make way for yet another anomaly of sorts. It had been a very long time, not nearly so long as it had since seeing a winter take over the wood; the king had not left to wander on his own in almost two thousand years, at the least.

After much contemplation, Thranduil decided it was safe enough to leave for a short time. Readying the great elk, Noroth, he set out to observe the winter for himself. Perhaps, to even discover its source.

Far, far toward the very edge of the Northern border, there laid a very fragile being. The one who was responsible for the growing frost and snow that was covering the land. Long wisps of hair, a color darker than even that of the darkest night sky, spread out on the ground in a pool around her body, strands blowing to and fro around her face. Eyes the color of clear, clouding crystals scanned the area. It was beautiful, all of it. She had not been doing it on purpose, though there it was. It would have brought a smile to her face, if it weren't for the searing pain of arrows stuck in her body. Each time she'd been struck, more and more snow began to spread. Frost filled the air, the temperature dropping several degrees with each new pain that wracked her body.

Her once beautiful dress was now shredded, barely enough to shield her from the inevitable freeze that would bite her skin.

Each breath she took in felt like a sword being shoved into her chest, then slowly being drawn back out. She could not move. For if she tried, her vision would cloud further, subsiding into the darkness that was ebbing at the edges of her eyes.

Slowly, the cold was leaving. Warmth broke through the snow covered boughs of the tree she'd collapsed beneath. Silken rays of sunlight filtered through, bringing a soft light to the darkness taking her mind. With her pain, brought the chill of the world. The pain she endured was projected, transferring itself into a storm not under her control.

With her death, would come the death of the cold. The frost would abade, the snow would melt. The wood of the elves would return to its former state. All, would return to normal.

Darkness clung to her vision, washing over in waves broken only by the sunlight which only seemed to make her feel sick. A feeling of nausea rose in the pit of her stomach. Her stomach lurched- only making the arrow in her abdomen move, being covered in more of her blood than before.

Sounds were leaving her, she could hear nothing, all she felt was pain. Searing, slowly driving pain. Her breaths were becoming distanced, harder to make, and more ragged.

The source of the sudden winter's arrival was no longer the only concern. It was leaving as suddenly as it had come. The grass beneath Noroth's hooves crunched, but in a way that suggested it was healthier than before the frost came.

This brought a crease to the Elf King's features. With the winter gone for whatever reason, this would mean that his people would again have to fight against the sure to soon be returning darkness. He had yet to find the cause of the event; he was only finding that the cold was abruptly melting.

Just as Thranduil was thinking to return home, something caught his eyes. There was a single spot, where the snow remained. It lingered there longer than in any other spot he'd come across. He tilted his head a bit, taking special care to pay attention to the reactions of his steed. Noroth sniffed the air, shuffling his hooves on the ground. If he could speak, he would have said what was crossing thranduil's mind at that very moment.

Blood.

Dark streams of crimson streaked down through the melting slush. The source of the streams becoming apparent soon enough. The sight gave even the king pause. It reminded him of his wife, in a way. He almost wondered if such a fate was what had befallen her when she was taken from him.

The crudely made orcish arrows that rutted out of the frail body before him reminded him why he hated the orcs so much; the hollow look in the female's eyes held him static for a moment. This one sight was a painful reminder of why he had hardened his heart to the wounds of others, especially those who were not their own.

Thranduil thought her a lost cause, so tried to turn Noroth away. Prolonged exposure to the woods would put him at risk, would put his people in danger. This was not something he was willing to allow. Her misfortune was her own.

"Come, Noroth. We must leave this place." Thranduil said beneath his breath, his brows knit further, his stony gaze turning away.

The great elf would not move. This behavior was most unusual for him, he was normally very obedient. There was a long hesitancy, before Noroth finally continued - but forward. He leaned forwards, nuzzling her hair. There was the softest of gasps from her, a word barely even uttered.

"... Help..."

To any other ears, this would have gone unnoticed. Noroth's ears flicked, he turned to look at his master, and grunted heavily. He was not going to move, until the female's request was met. The elk was tense, as well. There was a look in his eyes that only came when danger was around. Noroth stomped the ground, digging at it.

Without any other option, Thranduil cursed to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was bring in a wounded creature, who may already be dead. Part of him did hesitate, though. There was a feeling of great power about her. If she were to be saved, or even simply preserved, whatever power lay within her could be used to keep his home safe. If she were truly the cause of the coming and going of a brief winter so intense, that kind of power could save his kingdom for millennia to come. Perhaps even during the coming reign of his son.

"Very well, Noroth. We shall bring back the female." Thranduil responded coldly to his elk, sliding down the side. Looking the animal in the eyes, he added "Do not think this means I, nor anyone else, will be able to do anything to save her. And, expect not to be receiving any extra carrots for a while - especially if I am correct and she dies."

Turning to the wounded woman, the King picked her up in one fluid motion, as if she were naught but air to him. In truth, she did not weigh much to begin with. Most of the weight, Thranduil assumed to be due to her being soaked in her own blood. That, or due to the odd, feathery appendages protruding from her back. How she got, or, more importantly; how one so small could support such very large wings, was beyond him.

Placing her upon the elk in a way that would keep her from falling, and that would not worsen her already near-fatal wounds, it was mere seconds after placing her there, that the woodland elf was back atop Noroth and heading back towards his home.

Although thankful none of the orcs whom were encamped so close, nor any of the dreadful spawn of Ungoliant, had yet to rear their ugly heads; Thranduil could not help but to think the very last of their supply of Athelas would surely be used up in the attempt to heal this woman.

Their arrival to the gates of his kingdom was swift. A haste to the beast's step that Thranduil had not seen since the last battle he accompanied him in. It was as if Noroth knew the gravity of the situation. The fact that one mere misstep could be what tipped the precarious balance of life and certain death for the fading creature he and his master had encountered.

The gates flew open, the king off of the great elk as swiftly as he had climbed on. "Ready the infirmary. I want every healer that can be spared to come to me - I have something that cannot wait to be attended to."

Although the situation was more one that might warrant panic, or at least a severe worry, Thranduil's voice was as smooth as if he were ordering them to go to the garden and prepare for a feast. There was authority in his voice; one that came from years of a long life, as well the royal blood which flowed through his veins.

The elves around the room were quick to nod, and scurry off to do as the king had ordered. The infirmary was prepared as well as could be on such short a notice. The king was on his way to his own chambers, however. He had much contemplation to do, and would soon see an appearance of his son, he was sure.

The only thought he had which kept repeating in his mind, was a resounding question.

Have I brought a new danger to my people - is she a threat?