CH5 – Never Does Anything Good Come from One-on-Ones with Kings

The healers had re-stitched Arryin's wound, wrapped it in firm dressings, and gave her potions to take daily. She was told that within two weeks she would be healed enough to return to her regular activities—a valued perk of elven medicine.

Arryin now stood, before the light-haired king, in the intimidation of the throne room. But unlike her previous visit, there were no guards or officials witnessing the interaction. It was simply just the two of them. This matter caused the Ranger's thoughts to wind and curve—twisting like the troubles that always inhabited it so. Never does anything good come from one-on-ones with Kings.

Thranduil stared down at her with a gaze as icy as the Caradhras peak. He crossed his legs and leaned back against the wood before addressing her bluntly, "You are a skilled warrior. I want you to join the Mirkwood guard."

Arryin raised her brows for he was rather quick to get to the point, yet she responded with the same tone. "Why? What is in it for you?"

"I gain a warrior," he stated simply.

The Ranger scoffed, "A warrior with unknown loyalty. Why would you want that?"

The King did not respond.

Arryin paused for a moment, letting her curious gaze examine Thranduil, before continuing once again as it was clear he was not going to answer. "Throughout my life, I have met many Kings of Arda and it is never as simple as what you claim. You must benefit in another way or you would not ask."

He smirked, "You are smart to perceive kings in a such a way.

"Well, living as I do, it is about survival."

Thranduil tilted his head, "Survival you say. If it is truly about survival, you will take me up on my offer."

Arryin clenched her jaw and sent him a glare, "And if I refuse?"

Thranduil stood up and began descending the stairs, "You, Ranger, could have a home—safety, food, drink, warmth." He paused, "Or you could find comfort in the dungeons of Mirkwood."

She snorted before muttering under her breath, "typical."

Thranduil rolled his eyes for the comment did not escape his elvish ears.

Arryin stood still for a moment as she evaluated the options. She was always the one to lash out and fight, but in times like these—in arrangements like these—it wasn't about strength. It was about manipulation, deceit, trickery—a war of cunning wit. Of course, she was light on her feet and sneaky, but slipping out of steel bars is never an easy feat—even with such a skill set as herself. However, ducking away from a patrol group wouldn't be so difficult.

The green eyed elleth ground her teeth and chose her words carefully, for Thranduil could not become aware of her scheme. "So I suppose, I have no choice in this matter?"

Thranduil smiled, "You do have a choice: life or death."

Arryin shook her head as a spiteful chuckle sounded from her chest. Asshole.

Her thoughts began to swirl once again. What was the purpose of having a fickle warrior? Why did he care? Was it just such a pleasure to snatch up rangers who wandered into his woods? Or was it something else that implored him to do so? Could it be possible that Thranduil had an incline of knowledge into her past?

Her thoughts froze at that specific notion, for if Thranduil knew of her abilities, she was in trouble; and quite frankly, so was he.

Why else would he want her so?

A clarity struck her as she came to a resolution.

If the Elven King knew, he needed to die.

Therefore, she truly did have to stay, for anyone that was aware of her existence would need to be assassinated. She was already in the kingdom so she might as well do it while she was here.

"Your answer?" Thranduil demanded, bringing out of her internal debate.

Arryin glared at him, "I chose life."

Thranduil smiled sinisterly and spoke with a deadpan tone, "Good. Someone will come to you with more information and instruction." He paused, "I understand from Halafarin that you need at least two weeks to heal?"

The green eyed elf nodded in response.

"Very well. In two weeks you will start training with the sector you will be assigned to."

Arryin raised a brow. "Do I really need training?"

Thranduil sent her a glare, "It is one thing to know how to fight one your own. It is an entirely other thing to fight with others. Not that you, Ranger, would know."

The elleth before him snarled in response, but his expression remained porcelain with no secrets revealed.

...

If Arryin was going to be assassinating the King, she would need to know this fortress inside and out—every crevice, every nook, and every cranny engraved into the maps of her mind. Therefore, she spent the next two weeks exploring the dark halls and shadowy corridors of the Mirkwood castle.

The Ranger had already come across a handful of secret passageways and hidden rooms. She memorized most of the guard's patterns and shifts as well. This allowed her to easily slip out the gates and explore the paths of the forest at night—planning the quickest escape.

However, reconnaissance was not the only thing she did within the Mirkwood walls. Never had she had access to such finery—knowledge, food, drink, decent shelter—for a long period of time. The library was filled with maps of middle earth and history accounts of the many different races. Here, Arryin allowed herself to pour over these archives for she suspected she would come across something useful for her travels. And, quite frankly, she enjoyed it. It was calming to feed her curiousness with comfort and stories—even if it was originally intended to help her upon her way. It reminded her of home, but alas those memories were now tainted.

Another thing the Ranger enjoyed immensely was the food. She had always been scavenging for scraps or paying for cheep meals at various inns. Therefore, being surrounded by the finest meats, cheeses, fruits, and breads wasn't a bad thing. Often Arryin found herself in the Mirkwood Kitchen snatching from cupboards and pantries alike.

Currently, in the late hours of the night, Arryin was doing just that. She had taken some sort of bread and began making a cup of tea.

The Ranger hadn't had tea in centuries; quite frankly, the last time she did was when her mother used to make it. But alas, those times were far too long ago and far to painful. Yet she could not resist the sweet smells of dried leaves, petals, barks, and herbs that sought to bring that familiar comfort to her heart. Being here, living in union with elves once more, reminded her of such times...times before the ashes.

Arryin swallowed dryly, stopping her thoughts there for she couldn't bare to relive it...again.

The dark haired elleth folded her emotions away within her soul as her body thoughtlessly began to boil water over the ever-burning fire. She wrapped the dried small pieces into a tea cloth and tied it with a thin string—just as her mother had done. Arryin reached forward and, with a deep ladle, scooped the hot water into a ceramic mug. As the sweet smell of citrus and hibiscus enthralled her nose, she watched the color of the liquid alter—changing from light yellow, to orange, to pink.

A voice chuckled behind her and lighthearted words followed, "So you are the one diminishing the stash of herbs and dried leaves."

Arryin whipped around rather quickly as her trance was broken—her hand instinctively slipping to her knife strapped upon her thigh.

The Prince of Mirkwood eyed her cautiously before speaking again, "My apologies, I did not mean to startle you."

Arryin shrugged as her emerald eyes quickly flickered over his form. His blonde hair was not in the usual warrior braids, for it laid gently upon his shoulders and back. Furthermore, it was not scouting clothing that clad his body, instead only a simple light tunic and trousers. He looked relaxed and at ease for no weapons littered his form. He was not a threat...currently.

Arryin turned back to the jar of honey as she answered his first statement. "Well, I haven't found the alcohol yet so tea will have to do."

A light laugh flowed from his lips as he moved next to her, reaching for another ceramic mug. "From what I understand you will be here for a while longer—I suppose that gives you time to find it."

She rolled her eyes, "I assume your father told you?"

"Yes, the sector you will be joining is mine." Legolas stated as he began the process of tying dried leaves into the tea cloth.

The elleth nodded in response before she picked up her hot mug of tea and piece of bread. She began to make her leave to her chambers but froze when Legolas called out to her.

"Arryin."

She turned her head to look at him.

"Tomorrow morning in the training fields—be there just after first light."

The she-elf nodded again and was about to depart once more when a thought struck her. "Did you ever find out how the orcs gained entrance here?"

Legolas seemed taken aback by the question but he responded after a moments pause. "Yes. My father has dealt with it."

"What was it?"

The Prince sighed, seemingly reluctant to tell her, "One of our warriors did not report for duty—leaving the South Gate unguarded.

Arryin rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, one of yours?"

The elf before her frowned, "Unfortunately and Ada wasn't quiet happy about that. But I assure you, Edyrm has been reprimanded."

The Ranger's brows pulled together as uncertainty encapsulated her thoughts. Seemly speaking a string of consciousness, deep from her analyzing mind, more words tumbled from her lips. "How did they find their way through the sickly forest? Anything other than an elf would be misguided."

Legolas grimaced at her pondering notion for that question still lingered among his own concerns. The incident did indeed justify Thranduil's worries of a spy—likely why he assigned Arryin to be in his son's sector. Yet she was asking questions that would reveal any spy. If she had the intention of deceiving them, she would not say such things. Legolas opted not to speak his speculations for she was still unknown. Instead, "That is still unknown to us," was what he simply replied. After a pause, his tone changed to one of softness for he felt inclined to speak again. "But you are safe here."

The Ranger chuckled and shook her head. She spoke with a tone full of annoyance and confusion, for she didn't understand why that seemed to be important for the elf to tell her. "You keep saying that."

Legolas tilted his head as his blue orbs pooled with perplexity. He was studying her. "You don't believe it so, do you?"

Arryin clenched her jaw and starred at him with a fierce angry look, for she knew the reality of the world. "No one is safe...ever."

...

Arryin sauntered onto the lush green training fields just as the cool morning rays began to fade into the heated ones of the afternoon sky. She stood still with crossed arms, letting herself examine the compound as she searched for ocean eyes and blond hair. Yet her gaze first captured the various layers of motion in front of her. Perfectly crafted arrows flew from sharply carved bows, burrowing into the intended targets. Steel, modeled by the finest elven forges, clashed with immense force—echoing upon her ears. Various carefully placed punches and kicks pounded against each other as hand-to-hand combat was practiced by the elven warriors preparing for their next battle. This indeed was an army training for war.

Arryin's vision soon landed on Legolas. He stood, alongside an amber haired elf, at the front of a rather large crowd. It seemed that the two were demonstrating a sparing move. The elf, armed with a sword, came at Legolas swiftly; yet the the blow still missed the Prince for he shifted his center and rotated his form out of the way. As the other elf stumbled from the force of this motion, Legolas grasped his arm, throwing him even more off balance, and rammed his own elbow into the back of the elf. The two then reset to do it again, this time at a slower pace.

With her ever present scowl, Arryin observed this combat move. It was a move she had done herself many times to avoid bungling orcs. Simple and smart, yet pretty basic. Not to mention that the Prince was a rather good instructor. As the group paired off, Legolas examined each elven warrior. Although he was in a position of power, it seemed he treated each elf as an equal, for he genuinely wanted them to succeed. He gave tips and suggested mild changes in their movements to allow for a more graceful motion.

It was then when those blue eyes looked up from their teaching task, for he sensed another's gaze. His expression turned into a disappointed and annoyed scowl when Arryin's lip pulled into a smug smirk.

He made his way towards her, "You're late."

Arryin shrugged, "Guess it didn't escape your attention then."

Legolas's frown deepened, "Of course it did not." He paused, "And your reasoning?"

She snorted, "Because I didn't want to come."

The Prince gave her a stern look and sighed in irritation. Arryin responded with a satisfied grin, which only caused Legolas's brows to pull together more.

"This is the last time you are late. Come."

Arryin rolled her eyes at his rather unrelenting desire for rules, likely drilled into his mind by his father. Yet she followed him to the group of elves that he had been instructing. It took only seconds for them to notice the presence of a newcomer. Each one slowly stopped their practice and glanced at their sector leader with question.

Legolas cleared his throat before speaking loudly, "This is Arryin, she will be a member of the Mirkwood Guard."

The 13th sector gave skeptical glances at the small elleth, for they were wary of strangers. And she indeed was unknown to them, which was quite unusual considering their isolation due to King Thranduil's strict regime.

A raven haired she-elf, with a grimace on her face, spoke up, "She doesn't look like much. Where did you find her? On the outskirts of our furthest village?"

A couple snickers sounded from the group. And the woman continued with a snarl. "Does she even meet the requirements and skill level?"

Arryin's jaw tensed and a devilish smile formed on her lips as she drew her long silver knives. "You want to find out?"

Before Legolas could even try to get a word in, the other woman pulled her sword from her scabbard and leaped at the Ranger.

Arryin easily side stepped her blade and turned to lift her knife against the next oncoming swing. With strength that was not known to be there by the others, until now that is, she forced the woman back with a harsh kick to the stomach. The Ranger paused for a moment, giving the woman a moment to recover, before sending a taunting grin in her direction.

"Razela. That is enough." Legolas called out sternly, but the woman didn't listen.

She growled in frustration and lunged at Arryin once again. Yet the Ranger was quick, and she slid between Razela's legs. Arryin latched her feet onto her opponent's ankles and twisted her own body—bringing the dark haired warrior to the ground with a loud thud. Within seconds, Arryin was straddling Razela and held a blade to her throat.

The Ranger leaned in and spoke in a whisper, "First lesson of combat: don't underestimate your opponent, otuuk fèsagin xhan (warg kissing bitch).

The observing elves, including Legolas, stood with parted lips and frozen expressions for shock stole their words. No one dared to speak such threatening profanities—especially to Razela, for she was one of their best warriors with an unyielding personality.

The Ranger turned to the elves, stood up, and crossed her arms. "Anyone else want to question my ability to fight?"

No one spoke.

The green eyed elf sheathed her weapons, "Very well." She looked at Legolas, "then let the training begin."