A/N: Hello again...

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Aderyn

The healers did not deny my request to join them.

But the workload they entrusted me with? Far from ideal.

Belweth, the head healer (who also happened to be Belwen's older sister,) needed someone to cover the infirmary's graveyard shifts, and while it was most unlikely that I would be receiving patients during these god-forsaken hours, I was nevertheless expected to produce and preserve whatever remedies in need for the infirmary stores.

The very thought of concocting medical ingredients from scratch terrified me, as I was a nurse—not some pharmaceutical manufacturer. My skillset included administering medicine, not creating it, and had told Belwen as much.

Mercifully, the elf maiden neither laughed nor scorned me out of her sight after such an admission. "You'll learn," she'd said, unconcerned.

She then spent the next few days tutoring me over what kind of plants, vegetables, and roots were used for each treatment, and I was amazed at her vast knowledge of the elvish healing arts. It was a fascinating subject, really. One that would come in handy when—if—I return home.

With a tired sigh, I set down my pestle, flexing my aching fingers.

It had been three months since I beheld Travis's wonderful face; three months since I'd felt his strong arms around me. Being separated from him had been hard enough in the military.

But this?

I brace my hands against the smoothed top of the work table.

My sudden disappearance would surely raise questions. I needed to return home, and fast. Travis did not deserve to spend the rest of his life looking for me, let alone wondering if I was dead.

Or worse.

"Where is Hastriel?"

Startled, I whirl around, my eyes widening at the sight of the elven warrior leaning awkwardly against the doorframe of the storage room, his right arm injured and bleeding profusely.

"Are you deaf, woman?" Harnon snarls. "I asked you a question!"

"She's on maternity leave." I rush towards him. "What happened to your arm?"

"Never mind that," he growls, his face slick with sweat. "Just... help me."

"You forgot the magic word," I mutter under my breath.

"What?" His brows furrow.

"Nothing."

I examine the gash in his arm, which extended from the inside of his wrist all the way down his forearm, before guiding him towards the single stool in front of my table. "Wait here," I tell him.

After retrieving the items I needed, I return to Harnon's side, dipping a clean wet rag into a small bucket of water before carefully wiping away the sticky blood around his wound.

Once finished with that particular task, I place his arm on the table and hold up a large bottle of Dorwinion wine. Harnon raises a quizzical brow, which is quite comical, considering his pained expression. "Drink," I order, uncapping the bottle.

He obeys, albeit reluctantly, and without warning, I snatch the bottle away from him and dribble its warm contents all over his seeping injury.

"Argh!"

"Hold still," I press his arm down against the table's smooth, wooden surface.

After a few more pours, I set aside the bottle and begin drying the skin around his wound before stitching the laceration with some thread and needle.

"A salve would've worked just as fine," he grits out between clenched teeth. "Less painful, too."

Oh... right. We had those, too.

He gives me an irritated glare. I stare him down, daring him to make a scene. With a scoff, he glances away.

"What happened?" I ask again, keeping my voice soft and gentle.

For a quiet while, Harnon watches as I work methodically to seal up his wound, careful to keep his arm still for me. "Training accident," he finally answers, his voice gruff.

I hum in understanding. From what I'd observed at the training grounds, the irascible elf was quite capable of holding his own with a sword and knife. "Be grateful that your wound isn't worse than it could have been."

"I've had worse."

I glance up at him. As both an immortal elf and soldier, he'd probably suffered his fair share of injuries over the last few centuries, if not decades. "I was a small child the first time I ever needed a stitching," I say. "Fell headfirst onto my grandmother's glass table and split my forehead wide open."

Harnon looks at me then, his grey eyes landing on the faded mark against my temple, and smirks. "And here I thought you'd obtained such a scar from some glorified battle."

I chuckle. "Afraid not; I was running around like a headless chicken when it happened."

His responding snort is not one of derision.

~xXx~

"There you are."

I glance over my shoulder, watching as Legolas approaches me from within the stables. "Good morning," I greet in Sindarin.

Legolas grins. "Belwen said that I'd find you here."

I stare at his immaculate appearance, wondering how he could possibly look so refreshed after patrolling the forest all night. It was quite unfair, really, as I'd would often resemble a walking zombie after completing my fair share of twenty-four guard duties while in the military. "Figured I'd lend a helping hand," I tell him.

Alagon, the Prince's dappled stallion, shifts impatiently from beneath my immobile touch, which in turn prompts me to continue brushing his slick coat. The spoiled brute.

Legolas shifts his cerulean eyes to the young-looking stableman, who was meticulously grooming a silver mare at the far end of the stable. "I see," he says. "And how long have you been doing so?"

"Why bother asking such a question if you already know the answer to it?" I keep my eyes trained upon Alagon and my work.

As a captive mortal within his kingdom, my daily rituals and interests were often reported to him by my guard.

"Given our respective workloads, we haven't had a decent conversation in days," he says, stepping close to me. "Humor me, if you will."

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Apart from his well-blessed looks and comical idiosyncrasies, Legolas was quite an easy person to talk to. "Have you spoken to your father about Lake-town yet?" I ask him instead.

Allowing me visitation to the small town on the edge of Mirkwood's borders would only be possible under Thranduil's permission, and because I was regarded as a Haradrim spy in his eyes, the chances of me leaving his halls alive were probably slim to none.

"I have," Legolas replies, mercifully ignoring my purposeful deflection of his question.

"And?" My heart flutters inside my chest.

Agent of the enemy or not, Legolas was—possibly—my only hope of putting this kingdom far behind me.

Legolas stares at me in silence, and my brows furrow in disappointment, until... "We ride out at first light tomorrow."

The curve of my lips stretches upwards into a wide grin, and I throw my arms around his neck in excitement. He stiffens within my grasp. "Thank you," I whisper into his neck.

Slowly, his arms band around me in a tender hug. "Think nothing of it," he murmurs back, holding me close.

~xXx~

The journey to Esgaroth took half a day by horseback, and while I'd relished both travelling through the expansive beauty of the Woodland Realm's forest and Legolas's intimate knowledge of it, a part of me could not help but be a bit disappointed by Lake-town's lack of appeal upon our approach.

"Discouraging, I know." Legolas rides next to me as we head towards the small settlement on the lake. "It's a shame you weren't around to witness Dale in all her wonderous glory before the downfall."

My eyes follow his gaze to the snowcapped mountains of Erebor, where a half-ruined citadel sat upon a hill not a mile away from our intended destination. "What happened?"

"The desolation of Smaug," he answers, his tone low.

"What?"

"Nearly two centuries have passed since the great fire drake descended upon the city of Dale and its denizens," Legolas says.

I abruptly pull my mare to a stop.

"What's wrong?" He too halts his horse.

Istonion, who rode a good ten feet ahead of us, promptly turns around.

"Dragon." My voice is dull, lifeless. "There's a living, breathing dragon in this land."

"You've nothing to fear," Legolas assures me. "So long as it stays asleep."

I couldn't leave Middle-earth fast enough.

~xXx~

We are careful to keep our hoods up as we make our way towards the only inn near the center of the town. After travelling all morning, I'd successfully managed to convince Legolas in allowing us to partake in a bit of rest and food before we began our excursion of the marketplace. Mercifully, the Silver Trout proved to be an adequate enough establishment.

"Here we are." Istonion opens the door for me to my bedroom as I enter with a tray of fresh fruit, cheese, and pitcher of wine within my hands.

I set the refreshments down in front of Legolas at the small, round table and pour my guard a full chalice before handing it over to him along with an apple. Istonion nods in thanks before returning to his station outside the door, which he closed softly behind his tall, lithe figure. "Eat."

Legolas complies eagerly as I sink down into my chair across from him. "Enjoying your stay thus far?"

I snort, knowing full-well that he was only jesting due to my nauseated expression while both witnessing and smelling the town's less-than-appealing tourism. "Your father must be having a good laugh at my expense right about now." I pour Legolas a drink and hand it over to him.

No wonder the Elvenking wasn't hesitant to grant me such a visitation.

Legolas chuckles behind the rim of his cup. "We could always head back home once my business with the Master has been concluded."

"What sort of business?" I nibble on a piece of fruit, ignoring the wine entirely.

"Trade discussions."

"What sort of trade?"

"Imported wine and such."

"Ah." He'd been kind enough to warn me beforehand about the ridiculously strong potency of their elvish wine. "How often do you or your kin visit Lake-town?"

"Twice a year, perhaps? It really depends." He takes another long sip of his drink. "Are you fond of travelling?"

"Absolutely." As a child, adventuring across the country for the summer holidays had been one of the greatest highlights of my life. "But after my parents' death, I was pretty much stuck on the farm with my less-than-conventional uncle."

"Less than conventional?"

"Let's just say he was a bit different than other people," I explain.

"I see." His right eye twitches, though not out of irritation or anger. "Did your uncle enjoy travelling as well?"

"Absolutely not." I chew on some cheese. In spite of my persistence, Lon had refused to leave his beloved state for any reason.

"And your husband?" He sharply jerks up his head as it begins to droop.

My heart clenches at the mention of my beloved Travis. "He loved it."

Legolas nods, his arms bracing against the table as he suddenly slouches into it. "Aderyn—"

I jump at the sudden crash from outside the bedroom door. My tablemate, on the other hand, does not even flinch at the abrupt disturbance. "Aderyn," he repeats, slurring my name. "I don't..."

Without warning, Legolas slides weightlessly out of his chair and onto the floor below, completely unconscious.

Hands shaking, I quickly jump to my feet and gather my things. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my eyes trailing to the Prince's immobile figure. "But it had to be done."

After securing my possessions, I reach for Legolas's bow and quiver of arrows from against the wall. Given the unique list of creatures in this world, let alone the nefarious mortals who dwell within it, I was not about to leave myself defenseless.

I yank open the door and grab Istonion's equally-motionless prone form by the ankles before dragging him into the room. With any luck, I'd be long gone by the time they've regained consciousness from their drug-induced state.

Taking a deep breath, I glance at the elvish prince once more.

Legolas had been nothing but kind and attentive to me since my arrival in Middle-earth, and while I'll always cherish the friendship that had developed between us, the desire to return to my beloved husband outweighed my growing fondness for Greenwood's heir apparent.

~xXx~

That bit about Aderyn falling headfirst onto a glass table actually happened to me when I was a little girl.

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