Legolas looked down at his palm, at the line cut fresh there. As if sensing his study, Nenya turned back and paused, allowing him to catch up. Her eyes caught his for a moment, but they said nothing, just turned together to continue their journey.

He still couldn't believe it. He'd been poisoned three times while at home, and each time Nenya had had to save his life. The most recent time she had spared him the embarrassment of collapsing somewhere. She had sipped his wine as if absently, spit it back into the goblet, and then dragged him into a different room just as the chills began to seep through his limbs. She had caught it early enough, with a small enough amount in his system that only one of their palms had to be reopened to clear his blood of the poison.

Her eyes had been a starless night as she looked at their palms that third time. She clenched her other hand into a fist and shook her head. "We cannot continue this," she murmured, slamming her fist against the table beside them, making the water pitcher jump and rattle in its basin.

He had agreed wholeheartedly, tired of seeing his father, sister, and friends concerned about him. Tired of feeling like a child just learning to stand, to walk. She had sent the group to wait for them, and the next evening they left without word to anyone. Not even his father.

That had caused him a twinge of uneasiness, but Thranduil had placed control of him in her hands, and so he couldn't very well complain when she practiced that control. Especially considering the circumstances.

Now they were walking back to her flets, back to the wolves, back to the place he didn't have to wonder if his food or wine would make him ill. Back to another place where the person over him refused to speak on secrets, even when they could well be entwined with his life.

He sighed softly and shook his head.

"What troubles you?"

He snorted softly. "Shall I construct a list? How about I have a feeling the secrets you and my father insist on keeping are tied up with this entire business—the spider attacks, the reason you shy away from elves, the attempts on my life… I don't know whether to laugh or cry, so I go dumbly along with whatever you or my father propose."

She lowered her eyes and sighed. "You are correct. Unfortunately, you are probably correct on all counts. There is no proof, yet, and without it we cannot speak on it. If we were wrong, it would be worse than if we are right."

"We?"

She smiled ever so slightly. "Very well. I. If I am correct. But since my actions or inactions are tied up with the kingdom, I think it best I keep Thranduil in mind."

"You know Gandalf, don't you? Forever speaking in riddles, not quite stating anything simply enough it can be understood plainly."

"I do not know him, save from stories you have told me at night. To speak plainly is to be entirely certain of what you speak. I am not. Therefore… riddles. Deviations from the path of utter truth, or at least, the truth as I see it."

"Yet you must know things you could tell me. Maybe someone you suspect, or something you suspect. Anything at all?" He sighed softly when she didn't respond. "Need I worry about my family being poisoned?"

She was silent for a long moment, but he could tell it was in consideration, not as a reply. He was about to think his heart was going to climb out of his chest when she spoke softly, frowning. "I think they are safe. At least for now. Should the one in question succeed in destroying you, then they may be in grave danger. But I am with you, and with my blood in your veins so are all those you believe would as gladly kill you as look at you."

"What?" he frowned at that.

They will recognize that you carry some of me within you, and will accept you as if you were me. Your welfare will become as important to them as their own is."

"But this will wear off."

She shook her head slightly. "Not entirely. Never entirely. Subtle changes may appear."

"Changes?"

"Such as being able to keep up with me without trying?" she suggested.

He glanced down, saw he was keeping up with her, and that she wasn't going slower than usual so he could. "Huh."

She smiled slightly and continued on.

"So, does this mean I have resistance to the poison now?"

"That is more unlikely. I said subtle changes, not monumental ones." She chuckled at his disgruntled expression. "You will likely be slightly more resistant, yes. Very slightly."

"You're a fountain of good news today."

"As any other," she agreed softly.

He smiled slightly and looked around. "The mountains?"

"A few more minutes."