CH7 – Disregarding the Courtesy of Privacy

Arryin rode her steed, Atisma, through the forest of Greenwood with a grin plastered across her face. She could hear Legolas calling out for her to not go too far ahead as Razela was already scouting, but she didn't listen for the beautiful woodlands were too tempting. The Ranger let the wind tear through her loose hair as the earthy scents of soil and sap fused with her soul. Her spirits were risen as she was living off the land again—back in her natural element. She finally felt the graces of freedom bound to her form once more and she bathed in that excitement—she had been for days.

The 13th sector was on their fifth day of long-distance boarder patrol. They had come across a couple straying spiders, but that was the only obstacle they had encountered so far. Legolas, of course, claimed that this was a good thing. If the creatures were retreating, so was the darkness. However, the Ranger wasn't convinced. She knew how the orc parties moved through the sickly woods exceptionally well—especially considering the fact that she had been running from them before she was brought to Mirkwood. The simple matter was that the orcs had just picked a different route than the elves.

The Ranger slowed her black horse to a halt as she entered a small clearing. She knew Legolas would chastise her if she continued onwards and, quite frankly, she wanted to avoid ridicule as she continued to mapped out the forest in preparation for her escape. She needed to avoid suspicion if she wanted to succeed without Thranduil's knowledge.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" A voice beside her stated, pulling her from her thoughts.

Slightly startled, Arryin turned to look at the elf next to her who had also dismounted his steed. Rowan stood, with his neck cranked upwards, gazing at the light filtering through the tree tops.

The Ranger nodded as she did the same, "Yeah, it is."

Rowan smiled, "I see why you lived your life exploring the lands of Arda."

Arryin did not get a chance to reply for Legolas and the rest of the sector arrived in the clearing.

"Ah so you were able to stop her before she completely abandoned us!" Legolas called out to Rowan in a teasing tone.

Arryin snorted, "I was already stopped."

However, before any other comment could be made, the sound of thundering hooves echoed in their elvish ears. Every warrior's keen eyes snapped in the direction from which the noise came.

Razela, splashed with black blood, emerged from the trees with her sword raised high about her head. Her breath was quicken and she gripped the reigns of her brown horse tightly. "Orcs—coming our way!" She hollered.

"How many?" Their sector leader questioned.

She shook her head, "Forty, maybe fifty."

Legolas nodded in reply and, with two fingers, pointed to the tree tops. The motion was instantly recognized for the elves promptly dismounted and beckoned their horses into the thickness of the brush. They then went swiftly, scurrying and swinging, up the tree branches until there was no one in sight.

It was only a few moments before the field was swarmed with confused vile creatures.

"Where did she go?"
"I thought you said she went this way?"
"Me?! I didn't say that?!"
"You idiot?! We've lost her?"

At the sound of the beasts' bickering below them, Arryin sent a muddled glance at Beyla. Were these snail brains really arguing over this shit?

The sunshine-haired elf, knowing what Arryin's look meant, rolled her eyes and moved her lips soundlessly in a mocking manner.

The Ranger stifled a laugh.

However, the jeering manner was stopped short at the sound of low whistle.

The two elleth's looked across the clearing to see their sector leader, up a tree, sending them a pissed glare.

Arryin snarkily smirked. Hardass.

Legolas clenched his jaw and raised his closed fist. In response, every elf in the trees raised their bows and notched an arrow. The only sounds that could be heard was the brushing of leaves and quarreling of orcs, for the Mirkwood Guard was preparing an execution. With their breath's held, they waited.

With one small motion of the Prince's wrist, the whistling twang of every bow sounded.

Arrow after arrow thudded into the vile creatures' bodies, producing nasty shrieks and disgusting gurgles. One by one, the orcs began to fall.

The dark chestnut-haired elleth, along with others, jumped down to the ground with weapons drawn. Arryin, with her silver knives in hand, landed right in the middle of two foul-smelling orcs.

"You—" the first one hissed.

The Ranger swung her blade with immense force and the rest of his sentence was never heard.

Without wasting a moment, she whipped around and beheaded the other creature. It's corpse instantly crumbled to the ground, along with it's head. Arryin then began slashing and hacking at every further inch of orc flesh that she encountered. She dove into the fight for revenge that she oh so craved.

The vile beasts continued to charge at her from all angles, but that was their mistake for the Ranger was death's messenger. She buried her weapon into an incoming orc's chest, ignoring the warm black blood that splattered onto her skin. The creature released a wretched, howling, yell before it too fell to the earth.

In anger for their fallen friend, three large orcs closed in and surrounded her. They instantly began their attack—throwing lashes with their rusted scythes and mud-covered axes. Still, they were no match for her. Arryin swung her blades back and forth, slicing and cutting at every exposed body part. As the sharp edge of her knife danced against the first orc's throat, it collapsed.

The other two were not discouraged by their comrade's death, if anything they were even more infuriated. Therefore, they continued to advance with raised blades. Arryin rolled her eyes at their expressions for they clearly were too confident. She sprung off the ground and soared above the two idiotic beasts. As gravity began to force her elven body downwards, she angled her blade with precision. Her form descended onto the first large orc, but it wasn't her weight that killed him. It was the sharp silver that dug straight through his brain.

As the Ranger rolled off his crumpling body, she yanked her weapon from his oozing wound. Just as she turned to look at the last beast, a sizzling pain erupted under her breast. The evil creature began to laugh gleefully at the clean cut that he created, but Arryin didn't even acknowledge it. She kicked him in the shin and head-butted him hard. She then took that moment of his confusion to drive her large knife through the vile creature's jaw—until it poked out the top of his head.

Arryin huffed while she wiped her duel knives on her thigh; and as she did so, she surveyed the bloodbath. No elf was slain for rarely they were, but still the once beautiful field was littered with contorted orc bodies. The wretched view sucked the previous serenity out of the place. However, at least there was a place left. If Arryin had been on her own...well, there would be nothing but bones.

The friendly voice of Beyla pulled the Ranger from her thoughts. "How did you fair, Mellon Nin (my friend)? From what I saw, this isn't your first time slaying orcs."

Arryin snorted in response and replied roughly, "Of course not." Without another word, she grasped the wrist of the nearest dead beast and begun to drag it towards the newly forming pile or corpses.

The light-haired elleth frowned at the Ranger's sudden change in attitude, for she was quite playful before hand. Yet then again, Arryin always seemed to be fickle with her moods. Besides, the battlefield was a gruesome position indeed. It wasn't her place to question the new member's ideation of it. Right?

...

After setting the pyre of orc bodies ablaze, the 13th sector rode until they discovered a large enough clearing to make camp for the night. They made sure it was a fair distance away from the most recent massacre, for no one wanted to sleep with the sent of burned flesh upon their nostrils.

As the colors of the sunset faded into darkness, the tired warriors began to wind down and settle into the comfort of nature. The horses were cared for, a stew was made, and various wrappings for wounds were passed around. By now, most of the elves had already tended to their small cuts and bruises; therefore, they were already resting on their bed rolls or perched by the fire.

Prince Legolas was one of these elven warriors siphoning heat from the crackling flames. He sat upon a large log with a half-finished bowl of stew in his hands. The members of the guard beside him were talking amongst themselves and enjoying their meal, but the blonde elf was scanning the camp. As sector leader, and prince, it was his duty to make sure his men—and women—were situated and comfortable, especially after a battle.

As he surveyed the area, his gaze fell on Arryin and his blue orbs immediately widened in flustered shock. The Ranger was leaning against the base of a tree at the far end of the camp. The bottom of her shirt was held up by her teeth, exposing her rigidly scarred torso and the soft underside of her breast. The reason behind this rather immodest state was an angry, bloody laceration directly under the soft tissue. The black-haired elleth held a needle and thread in her hand as she careful stitched her own wound.

Legolas stood up rather quickly as fear and concern encased his heart. Without removing his gaze from the injured elleth, he let his bowl clatter down upon the log.

The other elves looked at their sector leader with worry, for a sudden outburst like this was unlike him. Yet, it didn't take long for them to follow his line of sight and have the similar feelings of embarrassed bafflement take root. Their gaze shifted uncomfortably and their lips parted in shock at the amount of nudity—not to mention the fact that she was sewing her own skin back together, which was gruesome and painful. Of course the elven warriors were accustomed to seeing crude battle wounds and tending to each others' when necessary, but they were always cautious for elves were modest creatures. In simplest terms, it was not a common custom for elven women to expose their breasts—even in such circumstances of unintention and injury.

Without a word, Legolas swiftly made his way towards the green eyed-elleth. He positioned his form in front of her own to obscure any curious onlookers before he spoke with anger and frustration. "Arryin, why didn't you tell me you were injured?!"

The Ranger looked up from her needle and thread; her shirt falling from her teeth. "Why would I?" She snapped back defensively.

Legolas sighed, for he recognized that he had been too harsh with his tone—especially considering whom he was speaking too, for Arryin always pushed back with twice as much force. Slowly, he crouched down in front of her and lifted her shirt to reveal the wound—careful not to expose anything else as he examined it.

This time, when he spoke, his voice was soft. "Dilthen Er (little one), I know you are not entirely accustom to our ways yet but you must tell me, or at least someone, of your injuries so we can assist."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "I don't need help, I can stitch a wound perfectly fine."

Legolas let out a long exhale as a way of subtly releasing frustration at her lack of cooperation. He allowed her tunic to fall over her form once more before looking up at her face again. Legolas tilted his head as his blue orbs locked onto her angry green ones. A sudden feeling of sympathy and tenderness washed over him for a sad understanding took hold. She didnt want to be vulnerable; and, to her, a lack of independency was defenselessness. It was weakness. It was a vulnerability.

Forgetting the warriors behind him, Legolas tentatively reached outwards. He gingerly placed his palm upon her cheek and a light pink hue instantly spread across Arryin's skin. She quickly averted her eyes from his gaze and pulled away from his touch, for the unfamiliar affection surprised her so. The blonde elf observed this shyness, but he didn't retreat from his position. Instead, he gently pulled her face upwards in attempt to force her to look at him. In the same soft tone as before, he spoke again. "You might not need help, but you do not have to do everything on your own. You are not alone anymore."

At the sound of his words, Arryin instantaneously yanked her face out of his gentle grasp and squirmed—trying to get away from the situation. However, the Prince placed a hand on her shoulder and lightly pushed down to stop her from getting up. When it became apparent to the Ranger that Legolas would not let her leave the conversation so easily, she settled on simply refusing to look at him in hopes that that would be enough to drive him away.

It was not.

He spoke again, this time with a gentle, but strong inflection. "Arryin, let me help you."

Slowly, the Ranger looked up into his ocean eyes. Curious they were, pooled with concern and worry—something the Ranger never saw in another's gaze upon her.

Arryin's brows pulled together as she studied this strange manner for she was unsure exactly how to react. It seemed Legolas understood this for he made no motion to push. Instead, he let her process her thoughts—giving her the time and freedom to consider his offer.

The Ranger looked away from him and slowly nodded, granting him permission.

Legolas carefully took the threaded needle from her hand as she leaned her head back against the tree trunk. The Prince watched as her eyelids fluttered closed and her jaw clenched—preparing for the uncomfortable tugging of her skin. He cautiously lifted the fabric of her tunic once more and continued the previous stitching that she had started.

This entire moment did not go unnoticed. Belanor, Beyla, and Rowan had watched the interaction from their place at the fire; while disregarding the courtesy of privacy, the conversation was easily overheard.

Belanor had an amused smirk plastered on his face as Rowan chuckled loudly and shook his head. Though, Beyla, the kindhearted elf she was, smiled sweetly. "Do not laugh, I think it is a beautiful bond."

Razela, who scuffled towards the fire at that moment, grumbled and rolled her eyes at the amicable elleth's words. "Beyla, that girl is nothing but trouble. Don't encourage her assimilation with us."

The dark-skinned warrior scoffed in disgust as Razela stalked away with a second helping of stew. Beyla looked at her two friends, who seemingly ignored Razela's words, with bewildered shock.

"Don't listen to her, Beyla. I like Arryin too," Rowan stated. "Besides," he paused to shovel a spoonful into his mouth, "I think she's good for him. He needs to loosen up and relax."

Belanor chucked at that comment before adding his own thoughts to the conversation. "He seems to be the only one she is responding too. If anyone else tried to stitch a wound for her, she would probably put a danger between their eyes."

"Belanor!" Beyla chided. "Do not speak like that—she would never kill one of us."

The two boys grinned at Beyla's disagreement with Belanor's joke, while the irked elleth shook her head in unamused annoyance. Beyla and Arryin had become decent friends, but still, they hadn't bonded the way Legolas and the elven ranger had. Today Legolas got Arryin to let down her walls for him...well, to an extent that is. It showed growth in the defensive newcomer. Maybe, just maybe, this angry facade would fade.

...

Night had long since shrouded the elves and most were asleep by now. However, three stool still upon the edges of the camp, making sure no evil lurked nearby while their fellow warriors rested. Belanor and Legolas were not among these guards, but still they sat awake by the fire in silence.

Belanor looked at his friend with concern, for the Prince's eyebrows were furrowed as he sat upon the log, fiddling anxiously with a small dagger.

The grey eyed elf followed his friend's gaze and, quite frankly, he wasn't surprised to see that it was locked onto Arryin's sleeping form. Her vibrant, green orbs were closed gently and her breath was steady, but the long silver knife in her grasp contradicted that calm notion.

Belanor gave Legolas a knowing look, for he understood where the Prince's thoughts were; and Legolas, sensing his second-in-command's gaze upon him, turned with raised eyebrows.

Belanor nodded in the elven ranger's direction, "She is worrying you."

Legolas exhaled slowly, "Yes." He paused before speaking again, for he wanted to pick his words carefully. "Does she not understand that she is safe with us? She need not sleep as if she is being hunted. We protect our own."

Belanor looked towards Arryin and sighed. "Well, she has been on her own for a long while and we know not what she experienced. We must give her time and show her that we can be trusted, Mellon (friend)."

Legolas nodded in response for her knew his friend was right. Belanor was just confirming what Legolas already knew. The Prince stared intently at the weapon he continued to fiddle with. He cleared his throat before speaking again, "She doesn't want us to think she's vulnerable."

Belanor dipped his head in agreement. "Yes, she is quite independent, but she did permit you to stitch her wound. That is progress, is it not?"

Legolas sighed, "Yes, I suppose it is."

Belanor stood up and walked towards his friend. He lightly patted Legolas's shoulder while speaking, "Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow."

The elf continued on to his sleeping pack for he as well needed to regain his energy; and soon enough, Legolas followed suit.

The Prince had set his belongings down next to Arryin's when they first arrived, so he made his way towards her—careful not to step on a single dreaming elf.

As he laid down, he turned to face Arryin's unconscious form. He studied her for a moment. He came to the conclusion that if it wasn't for the blade in her hand, she would have looked peaceful— tranquil even—which was very uncommon for her normal temperament. Before he could stop himself, Legolas reached forward to pull the weapon from her clutches. However, as soon as his fingertips brushed against her skin, her eyelids flew open. She pounced on top of him, pushing the dagger against the soft flesh of his throat harshly.

He could not help the hushed gasp that slipped through his lips, for he was not expecting such a reaction. Additionally, Legolas made no notion to move for the pressure against his neck was growing, and quite frankly, he wanted to keep his life.

It seemed to take a moment for the elven ranger to register that Legolas was the one that she was threatening considering her panting remained heavy and quick.

"Jukkete (fuck)," she breathed out in annoyance.

As the Ranger rolled off of him, an angered whisper chimed in his ear. "By the Valar... what the hell are you doing?!"

He sat up, stunned, and turned towards the woman who was nonchalantly rearranged her sleep pack as if she didn't just try to kill him.

Legolas took a moment to regain his bearings before responding. "You need not sleep with a knife in your hand. We have members of the guard on watching shifts."

Arryin snorted and responded with venom in her tone, "As if I am going to trust your so called night's watch."

She turned her back towards him and laid down upon her side, wrapping her arms around her chest.

Legolas drew in a long breath, "Arryin, you are one of us now; you have a home, a family—"

"My family is dead," she interjected roughly.

Legolas lips parted in surprise. He knew this fact, of course, but the tone she barked was filled with more than the usual roughness. It was angry and encased with pain. It was a warning—a warning to stop prying.

Legolas closed his ocean orbs as he racked his brain on what to say. He wanted to say something—anything—but the truth of the matter was that if he did, she would just lash out at him again. The Prince exhaled slowly as he laid down and closed his eyes, letting the scene replay over and over in his head. He frowned, for he swore that when she pushed him down her gaze brought forth a white light; but then again, maybe that was just from his head being slammed into the soil. Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose as a means of getting his heart rate to settle for he would not get any rest with adrenaline in his system. Once thing was clear though, he had fucked up. He was finally making progress and this incident totally just annihilated it. Great job, Legolas. Great job.