CH8 – You Have Pretty Hair

The elves had traveled fifteen days through the Mirkwood territory, slaying orcs and spiders alike. The most recent battle took place on the outskirts of the boarder, near a human town. Within this settlement, the Brenin Inn was quite popular. Often, when the elves were on this far patrol and strayed close to the town, they would spend a night there to obtain a hot meal and warm bed. The Inn was quite accustomed to hosting them every so often, so much so that they even kept elven ale in storage given that human made alcohol had no effect on the immortal creatures. Though, it was like a secret pack between Legolas and the Mirkwood Guard, for long journeys and harsh battles did take a toll and one night of comfort was well welcomed. Besides, if Thranduil ever found out, they surely would be chewed out and punished—especially Prince Legolas.

The 13th sector made there way to the establishment and trusted their horses into the care of the stable keeper before entering. As their feet crossed the threshold, they were instantly greeted with all the elements of the tavern. The wooden walls were dimly lit by candles and lanterns while the stale air smelled of ale and three days old piss. Furthermore, the room was filled with intoxicated, dirt covered travelers who sent the sector looks of annoyance—not the most appealing of types. But alas, it was better than the bone chilling coldness of outside.

The inn keeper glanced at bruised and battered elves with raised eyebrows. He easily assumed that they recently slayed some creatures before turning up on his doorstep. He turned away and muttered under his breath, "Gonna be dealing with drunken elves tonight."

Arryin grinned for she overheard his statement and intended on living up to the old man's expectation. She loved taverns and drinking. She hadn't had any alcohol since her arrival at Mirkwood, so she was quite deprived from the ensnaring numb sensation it provided.

The Ranger stalked towards the bar and tossed a coin onto the counter, "One pint of the good stuff."

The innkeeper peered at the orc-blood covered woman with raised his eyebrows, but he did not question anything for he often saw strange elfling warriors. He then plucked a large glass from the shelves behind him and generously poured a tall tankard with bitter elven ale. He slid it across the counter towards her and she offered a quick thanks.

It was not long until all the elves started drinking. Legolas only had two pints, making sure he was still sober considering someone had to be the responsible one. The others had five or six, which was a relatively normal amount. Arryin, on the other hand, was on her twelfth pint. She didn't start showing signs of being under the influence until the tenth. This showed Legolas that she had quite a tolerance, surprisingly so if one took into account her small stature.

Currently, she was up on the top of the table dancing and laughing with Beyla, who was significantly less drunk, while old tavern songs echoed against the walls. The two elleth's arms were locked and they were swinging around and around uncontrollably giggling. It was amusing to all onlookers really.

It was then when Beyla nodded in Legolas's direction. He was sitting at the bar talking to one of the humans for he always was the curious quiet type. "Arryin, what do you think of Legolas?"

Arryin stumbled and let out a loud belch before slurring out, "He's sssuper tall."

Beyla grinned, "No he's not, you are just really short."

A confused look crossed the ranger's face for a second before she giggled again. "Oh...right." She then called out the the elves sitting below her, "PASS ME ANOTHER PINT!"

Rowan immediately handed her another one and she took a big swig from it.

With his elf hearing, Legolas listened in on the conversion. He couldn't help but smirk at the drunken stupidity of the ranger and the carefree spirit the alcohol seemed to bring out. However, as soon as he heard her call for another pint he knew he needed to interfear. She was incredibly intoxicated and adding another drink to that would not be smart. Legolas left his stool and briskly walked towards the table of his friends.

Arryin's grin widened when she saw the elven prince, "Legolas!"

She let out another giggle as Beyla said, "join us!"

Beyla then insisted that he join their dancing and Arryin released another giggle, but the moment was interrupted as the female Ranger lost her footing and fell forward—off the table. She felt her body smack against something firm that smelled of pine and honey. Quite strange for something that smelled so good to be in this less than tasteful place. She squinted in puzzlement as the world around her distorted; it was upsidedown, twisted, warped.

A roar of laughter came from the other elves.

What was going on?

Arryin's gaze landed on bright blue eyes that stared down at her with uncertainty. That's when the realization hit her. She was in Legolas's arms. She frowned...and her tunic was soaked wet? The alcohol must have spilled out of the tankard that she had been holding. She lazily examined Legolas and a giggle escaped her lips when she realized he was also covered in the ale.

Arryin continued to gaze at the blonde elf who was evaluated her drunken state. She laughed again. "You have muscly arms," she stated with a slur.

Legolas sighed. "All right," he said as he put her down, "You're done." The last part of his sentence sounded stern, commanding, and showed that he was slightly pissed off—not that the drunk Ranger could pick up on that.

Legolas didn't understand how she got so careless to drink this much while on patrol.

The Elven Prince took the half filled pint from her hand and passed it to Rowan. Legolas then grabbed her arm and slightly tugged her in the opposite direction, but she reached out and snatched the unfinished pint from the amber-haired elf. She quickly took another big gulp before Legolas pulled the tankard from her hand once again. He firmly set it down on the table and shot Rowan a glare.

He pulled the grumbling elleth by her arm, more forcefully this time, to the innkeeper. "One room key please," Legolas stated.

He looked at the state of the drunken elf and chuckled, "Good luck with that one."

Legolas tugged Arryin to the crooked, wooden stairs and motioned for her to go up. She glanced at the step and let out another giddy laugh before lifting her leg. She was able to climb up a couple steps before falling back against Legolas chest. He easily caught her and held her waist until she regained some balance. She again lifted her foot but immediately stumbled. Legolas shook his head in frustration, bent down slightly, and scooped her up in his arms. He began to assend the stairs as she whined to go back for another pint. The elf's ears turned light pink as he heard his friends snickering at the current situation he was in. He chose to ignore it for someone had to do this.

Legolas opened the door to the small room and sat Arryin down on the bed, her legs dangling off the side. He poured some water from a pitcher on a towel and turned back to the drunk elf. He gently wiped her face with it, making sure to erase the small bit of dirt and dried blood from the outdoor adventure.

He watched as Arryin's eyebrows furrowed and she tried to pull away from the cloth. "Cold, cold, cold," she grumbled like a child.

Legolas sighed, "Dilthen Er (little one), do not make this difficult."

She groaned once more before letting out another giggle. The blonde elf raised his eyebrows in question.

"You," She slurred, "havve prettyyy hair."

She then reached her hand out and grasped a handful of his blonde locks, "Can youu braid mine like that somee day!?"

He chuckled, "Maybe." Legolas then reached upward and carefully untangled her fingers from his hair for he was fearful that, in her drunk state, she would end up getting them stuck in it.

The Prince had dealt with a lot of intoxicated elves in his life time and they often acted like children but Arryin's behavior seemed to be even more amusing. Although he was still angry at her lack of self control when it came to the decision to drink or not, it was hard to not smile at her drunken actions and words. This was the first time that she looked truly happy. It was the first time that she let down her harsh facade and gave into joyful moments. He half thought that maybe now was the time to ask her questions, to pry, but he decided against it for he didn't know how she would react. Besides, it would be a form of trickery and the Prince did not want that. He wanted her to speak to him on her own terms.

The blue eyed elf's hands made their way to her hair. He gently took the tie out and unweaved her braids to allow for her black locks to cascade down her back.

"Arryin," Legolas started.

She let out another giddy laugh.

Legolas sighed, "What is it now?"

"I thinks I had too many alcohols."

Legolas smirked at her improper grammar, "Yes, indeed you did."

She let out yet another giggle.

The Prince cleared his throat, "Arryin, may I check your wound? I would like to make sure it is healing properly."

She closed her eyes and nodded, "uhhhm."

Legolas was shocked by her compliance given that she usually fought and resist him on everything—battle plans, training styles, basic guard duty responsibilities. He assumed that she was just too drunk to really process what was happening, which was not necessarily good. If he was being honest, it was leaning into substance abuse.

The Prince sighed and knelt down to her level. He then began to remove her countless weapons. This took a fair amount of time because every time he thought he had gotten the last blade, he would come across another buried in the crevices of her clothing. He just thanked the Valar that she wasn't wearing armor because surely that would complicate this process. However, her lack of steel protection was the cause of this wound. He would have to speak to the Mirkwood blacksmiths about making the task of finishing of her set of armor a priority so this wouldn't be a reoccurring problem. Legolas had insisted that she wear some of the extra pieces they had, but she refused. Apparently, "that fancy Mirkwood branding" was were she drew the line.

Legolas pulled, what he hoped to be, the last throwing star from her form. He then gently lifted the fabric of her tunic and began to unwrap the white gauss he previously secured onto her form. As the fabric fell, he let his fingers trail lightly over the stitches. They were raised to the touch and a little swollen, but that was to be expected. Each one was still intact with no leaking and that was the important part. It was healing well.

Suddenly, Legolas felt a weight on his shoulder. Tearing his attention away from the cut, he smiled softly. The small elleth's head rested against him, her eyes were closed and her breath was steady. She had fallen asleep.

The Prince pulled the wrappings around her form once again and let her tunic fall down. Carefully, he put his hand on the back of her head and slowly lowered her down onto the bed. He pulled the blanket up around her body and made his way to the door.

Legolas took one last glance at her sleeping form, "Goodnight, Dilthen Er (little one)."

...

The Ranger stumbled down the stairs to the tavern. She was rubbing her temples and groaning with every step. Her head pounded like drums, the light blinded like white fire, and everything was just too damn loud.

Arryin noticed that the elves were sitting around a table across the room, most of them with the same problem as her. She began to make her way towards them. As she went, Legolas unexpectedly appeared next to her. He chuckled as she walked past him, "Feeling better?"

She sent a death glare in his direction and grumbled in response. She plopped down on the bench across from Rowan and next to Beyla.

Beyla nudged the elven ranger, "Do you have any memory of last night?"

Arryin groaned, "Why? What happened?"

At that moment, Belanor, with a big shit-eating grin on his face, slid onto the bench next to the green-eyed elf. He spoke with a tone filled with taunting amusement, "Legolas took care of your drunk ass."

Arryin groaned again at that statement and put her head on the table.

Of fucking course.