Eirthriel wrapped her arms about her brother's neck, grinning as he swung her around. "Miss me?"
"Of course," Legolas agreed, kissing her forehead. "So much I just about faded away," he teased.
She punched his shoulder lightly when he set her down. "No one should joke about such things!"
He chuckled softly and tucked her against him, walking with her, his head tilted to hers conspiratorially. "Tell me, sister dear, why has Selerind been handing around?"
"Who says he has?" she asked, trying for a tone of innocence.
Having taught her that tone, he didn't buy it. "Eirthriel," he drawled, drawing her name out in a simple remonstration that warned her he would take harsher action if she forced him to.
"Why would he be hanging around, brother dearest?"
"I can think of no possible reason. Have you had any more luck finding one?"
She looked up at him, nudging him with her elbow. "Come now."
He chuckled softly and kissed her temple as they neared the royal table. "Do you like him?"
The tips of her ears went rosy, but she nodded. "Yes."
"Then I shall speak with him."
She blinked. "Legolas," she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.
"I shall simply warn him that if he hurts you, I will eviscerate him. If he does anything more than is allowed," he placed faint emphasis on the word, "then I will assure the she-elves more company in the sewing rooms."
"You wouldn't dare."
He smiled at her breath of response. "Would you have him chance it?"
Eirthriel looked up at her brother and shivered slightly. "Not when you have that look in your eye."
"Look?"
"Cold, hard. Like a predator sizing up its prey."
He blinked as he made a swift comparison. Like Nenya. "Well… I shall speak with him at any rate."
"There's no need for that," an uncomfortable male voice murmured from behind him.
Legolas lifted a brow in mock surprise, not bothering to look behind himself to determine who it was. "Oh, my. Was that Selerind coming up behind me? Eirthriel, you could have noticed him and blushed or something to warn me," he chided softly, his voice gently teasing.
"You know I did just that," she countered, manually turning her brother around, giving him a shove towards the table. "Now go… entertain Nenya."
Legolas laughed at her flustered attempt at an excuse to be rid of him, but went o his place at the table without protest. "Sure you can handle this?" he teased softly.
Nenya glanced up at him, before her eyes went back to flickering over anything and everything. "I shall be forced to leave by the end of the meal," she answered quietly.
"That's an improvement," he murmured, catching her hand. "You are safe here."
"Here is where I am the least safe."
A severe frown brought his spirits down from the heights they had been hovering around to slightly below normal, for him. "You fear here? Beyond the thousands of sensory overloads?"
"Being here makes one vulnerable to an assortment of things."
"Like friendship?" he offered as the meal was set before them.
She was about to answer when she saw Teraien sit down beside Legolas. He smiled at her. She stared back for a moment, then lowered her eyes to her food. She pushed it around her plate, eating sparingly. "That, I have found, one may fall to anywhere."
He smiled slightly and took up his wine, leaning back in his chair as he watched those who danced. Used as he had become to eating smaller, highly filling meals, he found he needed little more than a few mouthfuls to be full, and took the time to study Selerind as he spoke with Eirthriel.
"It seems you may have another in the family before long."
"Perhaps," he agreed softly, watching as the two elves left to dance. "Would you join me?"
"Join you?" she asked, tilting her head towards him.
"Mm-hmm," he agreed absently. He frowned slightly and reached up to touch one of the small braids that kept her hair from her face. "I just realized you only ever braid your hair when we're here."
"I need it out of the way when we're here."
He frowned slightly and ran a hand through his hair. "I've never really thought about it."
"You pull it back before archery," she countered softly.
"True." He settled back in his seat, then looked out at the elves once more and recalled his question. "Well?"
She, having not followed his line of thought, lifted a brow. "Well what?"
"Dance with me?"
"Oh." Her ears pulled back slightly as a serving elf came up behind them to remove their plates. It was something he'd noticed on their hunts. Her ears would draw back ever so slightly when she picked up on a sound behind her. He guessed it came from spending so much time over alert and with wolves, but he wasn't really sure. When their plates were gone she looked out over the dancers. "I'm not anywhere near being decent."
"I saw you dance with my father the first night, Nenya."
"And I stepped on his toes."
"You did not."
She smiled faintly and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Sure you want to test that?"
"Why not?" He rose from his seat, offering her his hand. "I've already been abused today. What's a few squished toes on top of a battered ego and wounded pride?"
"Well met, Legolas. If you must," she sighed softly, allowing him to pull her to her feet and onto the floor.
Nenya cursed herself for giving in. She had forgotten what little she had learned the first night. Hardly surprising, considering this wasn't exactly something she had time to think through. She shook her head and was about to beg off when someone cut in. She stiffened as Teraien took her hand.
Looking up into his dark eyes, she tried to control her anger, but when he began to speak, suggestion obvious in his tone, and tried to dance her closer to the door, she was about to snap despite knowing it was no doubt an unwise thing to do.
Thankfully another hand rested on Teraien's shoulder before she lost control. He looked about ready to argue, but let his father cut in after a moment, during which he struggled internally with the decision to let her go or argue with his father. Nenya closed her eyes in relief and shook her head as Thranduil took his son's place in leading her around the room.
"Perhaps we should return to the table?" Thranduil suggested, his voice ringing with dry humor.
She nodded slightly, trying to avoid his feet if she could. "If you wish," she murmured, already walking back.
Thranduil chuckled softly behind her. "None of them have taught you to dance?"
"They wouldn't dare," she muttered darkly.
Thranduil smiled. "You have your mother's spirit, Nenya."
"But she and I are very different, as well," she countered, looking up at him.
"Are you?" he asked softly, his voice full of sorrow. He glanced distractedly up at the table, his attention then riveted by whatever he saw over what he was about to say. He quickened his pace, reaching the table in a matter of seconds, oblivious to the number of elves he had nearly knocked over in his haste. She had to bite her lip to avoid laughing as so many elves started to reply angrily to the interruption, only to see who had knocked them away, bowing their heads and biting their tongues as they passed even farther from his path. "Legolas? Are you well?" Thranduil's demanding tone brought her attention to the table at the head of the room in an instant.
Nenya was startled when Legolas lifted his head. His eyes were dull, glassy. His skin was too pale, a slight grey tinge to it, sweat standing out on his skin, trickling into his hair. His movements were slight. Sluggish. Slowly he shook his head, wavering slightly in his chair. "I… don't… think… so."
Thranduil rounded the table to reach his son's side. "Come on, son. I'll help you to your room.
Legolas slowly nodded, and tried to stand. His limbs trembled weakly, refusing to support him. He started to ease back down.
"Nenya, his other side," Thranduil barked.
She sped to their sides, pulling Legolas's arm over her head before she straightened, pulling him upright. "Oof! Knock off the waybread, Leaf!"
He smiled faintly, sweat beading on his upper lip. His strength was giving out even as they moved to support him. He managed to put up the pretense of moving his own limbs until they got to the corridor. Then he had no chance, feeling like a weak and helpless child as his father cradled him in his arms even as he barked orders at Nenya as if she was any servant standing around in the halls.
"Gat any of your group and have them find Ponstern. Then tell Eirthriel."
Nenya nodded briefly and left, not questioning his right to command her for an instant—not in this situation. She found Oleydya with Miranol, and told them the name she had been sent to give them. They paled and began asking questions, before they decided haste was the more prudent of choices open to them, and split up to find either the healer or the rest of the group, who would also assist in finding the elf.
Looking around, Nenya's flickering eyes found Eirthriel not far from where the princess had been dancing the last time Nenya glanced at her. Nenya cut through the dance, ignoring the irritated mutters and impatient glances she was treated to. When they stared too long, or stood in her way, she treated them to the coldest, blackest look she could muster, and they always gave way before long, though she could feel their gazes following her across the room.
Eirthriel was engaged in an intimate conversation with the male elf she had been dancing with most of the evening when Nenya strode up and tapped her on her shoulder. The two elves blinked and looked at her. The male forced a smile. "You wish to dance?"
Nenya blinked. She shook her head quickly when realization dawned. "No, I don't," she snapped. She turned to Eirthriel, dismissing the male with a slight move of her shoulder. "Your father bit me tell you Legolas has fallen ill."
"Ill?" Eirthriel asked, paling. "Ill how? When did this happen? Where is he?"
"Calm yourself!" Nenya ordered, holding the distraught elf with her gaze. "Bit your caller a good night, and then come with me."
Eirthriel took a deep breath and turned to her dancing partner, who nodded before she could say anything. He kissed her forehead and sent her off. Eirthriel trotted behind Nenya, trying to keep up with the fast stride. "Well?"
"It was not long ago, and we do not yet know. Ponstern, who I'm guessing is a healer, was sent for."
"The best healer," Eirthriel murmured softly, racing forward to enter her brother's room. When she entered it was to see Legolas looking worse than ever before, which was saying a lot, for Legolas had never been one to exercise a royal's right to avoid duty in the guard, and often volunteered for extra duty, both of which invariably came with wounds at some point, no matter the skill of the elf involved. "What has happened to him?"
Ponstern shook his head. "Poison, of some kind."
"Poison?" Eirthriel breathed. She dropped onto the bed beside Legolas, taking his hand. "Legolas?"
"He has fallen into a deep sleep, milady."
Eirthriel took a deep breath and looked up at the healer who had tried to save their mother after she was attacked by spiders on a family outing. "Will he wake?"
The healer's eyes failed to meet the distraught princess's.
Eirthriel's eyes widened and she looked back at her brother, the pale skin, the silvery gold hair. She touched his face lightly, reverently. He was slipping away. She could feel it.
Nenya drew Ponstern aside. "What poison?"
He shook his head. "I… can't rightly say," he answered softly, his shoulders slumping helplessly. He looked up at Thranduil before looking quickly away, unable to bear seeing the one who he had twice failed.
Thranduil turned to Nenya, his eyes hollow. "My son…" his voice broke off as his eyes misted.
She sighed softly. "Thranduil, sit with your children. As one of my group, his welfare is my concern as well. I shall look into it, if given leave."
He nodded numbly and looked at his son. He was moving to sit at the incapacitated prince's other side as Nenya left the room.
When she got to the hall it was surprisingly subdued. News of the prince's sudden and suspicious illness had spread through the hall, many leaving while others lingered for any news. The spider group had been milling about near the door, and looked at her eagerly. Somehow they read in her eyes that things were not well. Their faces fell, eyes dropping to the ground.
Nenya looked around the room, her eyes scanning for anything she could have missed. They had been given the same food, the same drink as everyone else, by whatever server had food when they walked by. When had the poison been administered? How? She closed her eyes and thought back over the evening, pulling up their conversation, their dances, her anger as Teraien cut in and…
Then. Someone could have done something then, while they were dancing. She had been looking to Legolas, not to the rest of the world, not as she should have been. She had watched for their immediate safety, of course, but nothing more than that.
Their plates had been removed, but his wine remained. She got to the table just as an elf appeared to clear things away. Nenya took his goblet with a faint smile to the elf, and also managed to grab her own.
Hers hadn't been touched, while his was nearly drained. She shook her head at that odd habit of wood-elves and took a sip of her own wine, before taking a tiny sip of his. She spit it back out, analyzing the remains that tickled her palate—different from what had been in her goblet.
She dropped them both as she recognized the poison, and ran back to his room, an anxious group racing behind her. She burst in, startling Thranduil and Eirthriel. Ponstern had left the grieving family in peace. She stumbled to a stop. What of a cure?
Thranduil looked up, his eyes catching on hers. "You know what did this?"
Slowly she nodded. "Yes. The poison was drawn from the black spiders, when they seek to kill quickly instead of hanging their kills for a time." Most elves died before they could reach a healer, and those that didn't were beyond help, usually, the symptoms appearing merely as slow breath and sluggish heart beats that could only be recognized as something other than the final stages of fading if the cause was already known.
Thranduil turned white. "How quickly?"
"That depends on how much he ingested," she countered, moving to Legolas's side.
"You know how to cure it?" Eirthriel asked eagerly.
Nenya hesitated, looking down at the prince. "I may know something that might work," she hedged.
"Then try it! Try anything!" the princess demanded.
Nenya glanced up at Thranduil. He slowly nodded. "Anything."
She nodded slightly and took the dagger from Legolas's waist. She took his hands and cut each of his palms, before cutting her own. She pressed their palms together, feeling her limbs slowly grow heavy as the poison seeped through the contact into her, as her blood slipped into his veins as well. There had been a few squeaks of protest from Eirthriel at first, but now she looked at them objectively.
"What if it doesn't work?"
"Then he dies."
"And you?" she asked after a moment of hesitation.
"I will fall ill, but I doubt I shall die."
"Why not?"
"For the reason that may save his life," she bit out, concentrating on remaining calm, of not speeding the transfer. A little at a time she could handle. A lot would leave her too weak to continue. Only when she felt the lethargy leave her muscles completely, not returning for a few minutes more did she release his hands. Eirthriel bound their palms without comment.
Then they all waited.