CH12 – What. An. Idiot.

The 13th sector was on patrol through the western end of the Mirkwood forest. It had been over three weeks since their departure—longer than normal patrols—but for valid reasoning. The reports of increasing spider cocoons had become a concern. Thranduil wanted to put a stop to it before it progressed to the vile beings completely invading Mirkwood. Therefore, the elves had been slaughtering spider nest after spider nest. Rarely stopping to rest, given that as soon as one was obliterated, they picked up the trail of another. It was clear that the sickness was beginning to spread closer and closer to the Mirkwood castle. Not a good sign.

It was now when they had stumbled upon their fourth nest. Legolas and Rowan had suspected this was the creatures' origin, considering the vastness of coverage and amount of residing spiders. They were breeding. They were building an army. Belanor had suggested that the sector return to Mirkwood in order to get more reinforcements given that a group this size would not go down easily. However, after a long discussion, it was concluded that traveling three weeks home then three weeks back with more elven warriors would be too time consuming—the spiders could double in that time period. Besides, Legolas wholeheartedly believed that the twenty-three elves could kill all the vile creatures with no causalities.

Currently, the members of the 13th sector were scattered across the forest floor, hiding within the brush. Up above them were the hundreds of layers of massive white cocoons—stretching, spreading, spiraling. Each elven warrior could sense the winding motions and curling malice, for it crept upon their skin. A fierce battle was about to ensue and it would not be pretty.

They all separated into small groups as they got into position to execute the battle plan. Arryin, Razela, Belanor, and Edyrm were crouched behind a large section of rocks. They were to be the starting motion for the attack and the other elves would follow in pursuit once they ignited the signal.

Razela passed Edyrm a large stick that was wrapped in winding kindle. The dark-haired ellon began scraping at a small piece of flint to create a spark that would erupt into a blazing torch...and it was taking forever.

Arryin grit her teeth in annoyance for she was itching with anticipation. Edyrm was proving to be even more useless then he already was considered. If it was up to the Ranger, the ignition would spark in less than a second for her own flames were quick and lethal. However, as that thought crossed her mind she could not help but feel her adrenaline begin to boil, for the star within her yearned to be released with the instinctual nature of battle. Arryin desperately closed her emerald orbs and sucked in a deep breath. Control. She needed to maintain control. As much as she wanted to alleviate the pressure upon her, which was the causing the energy build up to churn, she knew she could not. It was vital that her secret stayed intact and withholding the flames was the only way to do so.

It was then when she was drug from her thoughts for the torch was lit.

Belanor pulled back his arm and threw it swiftly. It moved upon the dry the air with aggressive motion before it hit webbing material. The icky goo instantly caught. The flames quickly began to spread throughout the intricate webbing—lighting cocoon after cocoon. Within seconds, the sound of scrambling and screeching spiders encased the elves ears.

That was their cue.

Arrows flew from perched warriors and each speared-weapon buried into a beasts' body.

Arryin leapt out from her hiding place and instantly pulled her twin blades from the sheath on her back. She twisted the silver in her hands as she whipped her head around to pick her first target. It was not hard to choose given that a black spider was scurrying in her direction at a fast pace.

The dark-chestnut haired elf narrowed her eyes at the creature. As it advanced, she pushed off the ground and jumped high. When gravity pulled her downwards, her feet landed on the rough, hairy back of the spider. Arryin was quick to make motion of her position. She raised her blades above her head and forcefully brought them down. The steel sunk into its brain. With a howling shriek, the creature crippled in its place—legs twitching, mouth spluttering, blood gushing.

Arryin scanned the battle field.

Elves were expertly scaling and swinging upon the trees to cut and burn cocoon sacks and webbings. As they went, burning spider carcasses fell from the higher regions and littered the forest floor. The ones that were still alive, desperately attempted to scurry upwards to escape the massacre. However, that did not seem to pan out given that the warriors on the ground sought to end their worthless lives. The Ranger had caught a quick glimpse of Beyla slicing open the belly of a beast and Rowan piercing another. It was going quite well—for the elves that is.

Serves the spiders right for invading Mirkwood.

Arryin's gaze landed on a particularly massive arachnid creature. It seemed to be guarded by the others, for they scurried around it in agitation. It did not take a genius to figure out that that was their queen.

The Elven Ranger began to climb the trees and bounce off the silky lines with ease. As she drew near the cluster of vile creatures, she pulled out her throwing stars. Her plan was to pick them off one by one in order to get to the leader.

Arryin flicked her wrist, letting the small sharp objects spin into the eyes of three spiders, killing them instantly. However, the sound of scurrying made her snap her head to the side. And, sure enough, a spider was barreling towards her. While balancing easily on the webs, she reached for another throwing star. Her blood ran cold when she came into contact with no metal.

Fuck.

Arryin quickly bent down and grasped the crystal dagger strapped to her leg. As the creature enclosed on her, she held her ground; and at the very last minute, she dropped down—dangling from one hand on the thick webbing. She used her other arm to thrust her blade upwards into the spider's gut. As she did so, she shut her eyes tightly because the vile goo and rotting blood spewed onto her form.

Gross.

And, to make matters worse, it was then when she felt a sudden twang against her chest—causing her body to sway slightly. With a clenched jaw, she looked down to see an elven arrow protruding from her black armor.

"Sorry!" A quick voice called out.

Arryin rolled her eyes and shot the warrior a glare.

If you're going to shoot, make sure no one is in the fucking way. But hey, at least the Mirkwood blacksmith had finished repairing her armor in time for this mission.

Arryin swung her legs and used the momentum to bring her form back on top of the intricate webs. She roughly grasped the wood that was imbedded into her breastplate and snapped it off, for she did not desire it getting in the way.

As she focused back onto her target, her lips parted in surprised annoyance. Legolas, the moron, was swinging from a vine—propelling himself into the cluster of spiders.

Did he really think he could defeat all dozen of them by himself? Yes, he was a skilled warrior—one of the best—but it wasn't as if he had the power of the stellaris within him.

She rolled her eyes again.

What. An. Idiot.

She watched as Legolas twisted and twirled his blades—slicing the vile creatures. He was sure to go for the kill as his blows landed in areas that housed vital organs. However, the Ranger knew he could not last long by himself. Quite frankly, Arryin was shocked that he hadn't been killed yet—considering the odds.

Arryin leaped from the webbing and bounced upon the trees to get closer to the elven prince who, stupidly, put himself into an immediate danger zone.

It was then when a spider broke through Legolas' defenses and lunged towards her blonde friend, but Arryin was faster. She pounced forward and dove a blade into the neck of the spider before it could harm him.

Legolas sent her a brief thankful glance, followed by a double take with a heinous expression upon his brow. "What the hell happened to you?! You look disgusting!"

Arryin slashed at a spider. "Oh shut it, Princeling."

The spiders encircled the pair and they stood, back to back, with their weapons drawn.

It wasn't long before Legolas noticed that he had an opening to the spider queen and he took it. The Prince slid under the legs of one of the spiders and lunged forward. As he was about to drive his blade into the queen's belly, one of her facial pinchers pushed deep into his shoulder.

Arryin twisted her head in alarm when she heard Legolas cry out in pain.

As her eyes captured his form, her breath froze in her chest. He had managed to drive his knife into the beast's body, but at a terrible cost.

"Legolas!" Arryin hollered.

Her heart clenched in complete panic as she watched his body fall through the layers and layers of webbing at a fast speed—his form bouncing against the taught lacework of the vile creatures.

Within seconds, he hit the ground hard.

Arryin's stomach twisted as she starred at his lifeless body upon the forest soil.

Oh by the Valar, was he dead?

The Ranger began to shake as her soul filled with despair.

He wasn't moving.

Her lips parted as memories flashed before her eyes.

How he would smile at her.
How he would laugh with her.
How he would softly touch her.
How he would try to care for her.
How he would treat her with kindness.

An ache that she didn't understand edged its way into her heart.

He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

The Ranger tore her gaze away from Legolas and back towards the remaining spiders that encircled her.

As she looked at them, her rage increased.

They killed Legolas.

Her eyes began to water as every negative emotion burned through her blood—wrath, rage, fury, sorrow, grief. It all piled up inside of her, fueling the energy within her soul.

She couldn't contain it any long.

Arryin raised her hands and the green in her eyes disappeared behind a glowing, white light. She couldn't control it. She didn't want to control it. A heart-wrenching scream of anger bellowed from her lungs as a tunnel of hot flames extended from her palm—ripping through the air with rage. The fire encircled her, binding around her form. Yellow, orange, and red it was—glaring upon the beasts. It twisted, contorted, and bent into pure white. The hottest of the fires: the fire of a star.

Arryin spun around, directing the white hot flames with her hands. The energy seemingly flowed from her fingertips and into the air around her. It did not stop. It just screamed.

The spiders had the great misfortune of being the ones to face her wrath, for they were the cause of this chaos ejection. Their shrieks shrouded the area in desolation as they burned alive—their queen perishing with them. They were nothing but a crisp of ash and bone. Their webbing joined them in death as the hot air melted the sticky goo. However, the flames did not burn her. The Last Light of the Star stood unharmed amongst the destruction she caused with eyes of white. There was a reason that the legend Elrond spoke of—the warrior of gruesome desolation—was known for immense death and demolition. It was her. She was mayhem.

Slowly, the welder of the flames lowered her hands as a sudden relief took hold. The energy that had built up inside her—the rage—it all faded. Nothing was left but sadness. No longer were Arryin's eyes glowing. No longer were her palms pouring a river of fire. No longer was it at all. Instead, she had settled into the heat around her, hidden by her flames and gazing at the scene below.

The elves were scattered—some fighting off straggler spiders, others limping towards each other. But that is not what haunted her. It was the lifeless body of the Prince. Many stood around him, shock dripping from their features. They were frozen, unsure of what to do. They were too scared to truly find out, for Legolas was always a kind friend and great leader. If they had lost him...Oh by the Valar. How would they tell Thranduil?

Arryin bit back a sob that threatened to escape her throat. It hurt. Her heart hurt. And she didn't understand why. He was just another person that crossed paths with her, nothing more. Yes she supposed some would consider him them friends, but then again she had never had a friend. How would she know?

Arryin swallowed dryly and glanced down at the deteriorating webbing that she stood upon. She was well aware that she needed to move before she made the same fall that Legolas did. Therefore, the Ranger was quick to scamper into the closest tree and make her way to the forest floor undetected by the elves. Then she ran. She ran to Legolas.

Arryin dropped to her knees next to Belanor. With a quivering lip and a shaking hand, she reached out to touch the Elven Prince's cheek.

Her fingertips brushed his soft expression.

If only she was a little faster...
If only she was paying more attention...
If only...

Belanor sadly looked at the Lone Ranger, and it was here where he saw beyond the blood-covered woman's emotional shield. He saw what he had always suspected was there: a deep caring towards the blue-eyed elf.

Slowly, Belanor did what every other was too afraid to do. He placed two fingers on Legolas's neck. Every elf stood silent as they held their breath—praying to the Valar for just one miracle.

As the light-haired elf's hand felt into his lap, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Just unconscious," he breathed out.

Arryin could feel the weight that burdened them all instantly alleviate, for relief washed over herself as well. A tear escaped from her lid as she sat back, sucking in air. She herself did not notice the salty streak, but there was one that did. Belanor caught that moment of complete, utter, emotional vulnerability.

...

The elves had found a small clearing about a three hours north of the battle, but still they could smell the smoke. However, they were too worn-down to care. Therefore, a small fire was lit and most of the beings fell into their normal routine of rest—some already in a deep slumber.

Arryin, however, was not one of those elves. She sat, perched, beside Legolas' unconscious body. His form was propped up against a tree as Arryin tended to his wound. She had previously ripped off the sleeve of his blood-drenched tunic to gain access to the injured area. She then began her work. The Ranger cleaned out the deep puncture with alcohol and various herbal remedies prior to starting the delicate stitching of his skin. As she pulled the thread taught, she was sure to be careful—gentle even—not that he could feel it considering his unconscious state. Still though, she was sure to be vigilant and attentive to the task for a mistake could lead to life-threatening complications. It was now when Arryin began to create a soothing poultice. She ground kingsfoil, echinacea stalks, and adler bark into a thick paste. She knew well enough that this was the best way to ward off any excess bacteria. However, it was difficult to concentrate with the sounds of Rowan and Razela arguing beside her.

"It's her fault—she was the one with him when he fell!" Razela exclaimed as she motioned to Arryin.

Rowan snorted and replied in the Ranger's defense, "Razela, we all know how battle is. Besides, Legolas is more than capable of taking care of himself!"

The raven-haired woman crossed her arms, "Well, who is going to be the one to tell the King?! What if Legolas doesn't recover?! He shouldn't even be alive after a fall like that!"

Rowan rolled his eyes, "Well, it is lucky that the sticky spider gunk slowed his momentum because now we won't have to tell Thranduil!"

Razela rolled her eyes, "Seriously?! How would you know that? You're a stupid, blumbering moron who doesn't pay attention to—"

"Hey!" Rowan hollered in annoyance, "I saw him fall! He will be fine!"

Arryin forcefully set down the stone mortar and interrupted them with an aggravated yell, "Will the two of you shut the fuck up?!"

The two warriors instantly halted their conversation and sunk away from the Ranger's irritable attitude. It wasn't often such anger was lashed upon them—even from Arryin—but alas, tensions were high at the moment.

Belanor and Beyla, on the other-hand, had the better sense to keep their conversation hidden with hushed tones and quiet whispers.

"I have never seen her so distraught," Belanor stated. "I mean, of course, her bitter attitude is normal, but that look in her eyes..."

Beyla smiled sadly in attempt to be comforting. "Yes. She cares for him. I can tell."

Belanor nodded in response, "Indeed she does, but I suspect she doesn't know it."

The dark-skinned elleth sighed. "I've witnessed that as well. She doesn't understand love." Beyla paused, "Which I suppose makes sense when you consider her history. How do you suppose she did survive? I mean, all those years in the wild. She was just so young."

Belanor exhaled and dipped his head in understand. "I know not, Bee." He paused and motioned towards Legolas and Arryin, "But maybe, he will be the one to find out."

The pair of elves looked at the Prince and Ranger.

Currently, Arryin's brows were pulled into a deep frown as she rummaged about the medical supplies. She pulled out various dressings and wraps before gently spreading the paste onto the lesion. She was then quick to wrap the bandaging around his shoulder and secure the poultice. Her skills were indeed advanced. Beyla and Belanor watched as the Ranger tenderly dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a cool, wet cloth—something Belanor had seen him do to her. The second-in-command smiled softly at that, for it was indeed precious. Even though Arryin was still covered in a thousand different disgusting things, she had insisted on taking care of Legolas' wound—even though there were many others willing to do so. It quite obvious that she cares for him. Quite obvious indeed.

Belanor sighed as he stood from his spot. He sent Beyla a quick look before making his was towards the pair.

"Arryin," he stated softly. "You need to rest."

She looked up at him with a frown before shaking her head, "Belanor—"

He interrupted her, "Don't fight me on this. Go clean yourself up. If not for yourself, do it to spare us all of having to smell that stench."

Arryin rolled her eyes at his words before sending one last reluctant glance at Legolas.

"Arryin, I will watch over him."

She sighed as she leaned back on her knees and nodded. Belanor, accepting this as agreement, grasped her hand and helped pull her up. He watched for a moment, as she made her way in the direction of the river.

Belanor then grabbed a blanket from his pack and gently draped it over his unconscious friend. Staring down at Legolas, he spoke quietly, "Rest, mellon (friend). May sleep heal you."

At that moment, Legolas's blue orbs snapped open and he, jolting forward, gasped for breath.

Belanor, who was quick to react despite the surprising nature of his friend's wake, gently placed his palms upon the Prince's arms to hold him still.

Legolas' head was whipping around in panic as a whisper strung from his lips. "Fire—there was a fire."

Belanor spoke calmly, "Mellon Nin (my friend), yes there were flames, but that has passed. You suffered a fall, slipping into unconsciousness."

At Belanor's words, the Prince leaned back against the tree. His chest rose and fell and his eyelids fluttered closed as he tried to regain his bearings once more. A groan then came from his mouth as the pain settled in. "I—I remember." He paused for a moment, but his eyes widened as a new thought struck him. "Where—where is Arryin? She was with me when..." His sentence faltered as his frantic gaze did not capture her form. "Is—is she—"

Belanor interrupted his alarmed notion. "She is by the river. She is fine."

Legolas sighed in relief before speaking. "I—I need to see her."

"Relax, Legolas. You need rest. She will be back soon enough."

The Prince shook his head as he pulled his aching form upwards.

"Legolas—" Belanor hissed in agitation. "You mustn't—"

The Prince ignored Belanor's warnings as he rubbed his temples with another groan. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Legolas then stood still, focusing on the ground, as dizziness swirled his vision and the pounding in his head sounded loudly.

Belanor sent him a sideways look before questioning him cautiously. "Are—are you going to throw up?"

The Prince squinted and shook his head. "No, no. I am alright."

"Legolas, you almost died! Please just—"

However, the Prince paid no attention as he began to make his way, stumbling and bumbling, though the trees—towards the river.

"Legolas!" Belanor called out once more in defeat.

...

It wasn't long before Arryin arrived at the thick stretch of glimmering water. She knelt down upon the bank and dipped her hands into cool liquid. Instantly, a sigh escaped her lips for it felt good upon her skin—it was refreshing.

Arryin looked down at her clothing and, for the first time since the start of the battle, she realized just how much of a mess she was. She was covered in dirt, spider guts, webbing, and blood—Legolas's blood.

Slowly, she stood up and began to strip her armor from her body—unclipping and unlatching all her weapons as she went. She placed her pile of steel on the sandy bank beside her as she moved to kick off her boots. Quickly, she tugged off her tunic and let her trousers fall to the ground. Slipping out of her undergarments, she stepped into the cold water.

Arryin sucked in a deep breath at the chilly sensation, but still she allowed the liquid to envelop her. The grim elements of war began to flake off her form and the smooth nature of the water brushed upon her skin. It danced lightly against the minor scrapes and cuts upon her body, but it did not sting. If anything, it was calming. The Ranger let herself relax into it all, for it was an appreciated gentle lull after the flames. She was tired, she really was.

As her lungs began to tighten, she pushed her head through the surface. Arryin sucked in a deep breath of fresh air as the breeze nipped at her. However, it was not uncomfortable. The moon swayed upon her skin and the stars fluttered upon her ancestral makeup. She finally felt at ease after a day full of turmoil.

Unknown to her, it was then when Legolas' blurred gaze first stumbled across her form. He stood on top a cliff as the river came into his sight. While his feet moved aimlessly, he grasped onto a tree for support—not wanting to fall. As he steadied himself, the blonde elf looked at the figure standing within the water.

Legolas watched in awe as the young woman ran her hands through her wet locks of hair. The normally messy strands now smoothly tumbled down her back like the beads of water that dashed across her shoulders. Trails of liquid continued to race across her skin—curling and turning with her toned muscles and womanly curves. The once clear droplets, now grey with dirt and grim, were hasty to enter the river once more. Legolas let his eyes continue to wander further down. The contorting ripple of liquid wadded around her hips, hiding her lower half from view. But still, her beauty could not be completely concealed. However, her form was not all he was mesmerized by. The moonlight danced on the surface of the liquid, reflecting light upon her being. It was her bare back that was facing him and this revealed bright, white markings on her tan skin. These tattoos seemed to cover her entire back in an intricate tribal pattern—swirling lines and twisting dots. It was beautiful.

He narrowed his eyes at the scene before him as his vision became unfocused for a moment. Legolas frowned. He could have sworn the markings on her back began to glow. Maybe it was just the way the light reflected upon them? Maybe it was just his concussion? However, the Prince didn't have enough time to tell for sure because it was then when she turned her body to the side.

Legolas felt his breath hitch when she moved in that direction. Her arms were wrapped around her chest—covering her breasts—and her wet hair fell to frame her face gently. The Prince knew this was incredibly inappropriate, but he could not tear his eyes away from her. He was awestruck.

Nevertheless, Legolas was soon snapped out of his trance, for the sound of Beyla's distant soft voice brought him back to attention.

Instantly, his cheeks heated and turned light pink, for the realization struck him—he had been watching Arryin bath. He shouldn't have witness such a scene. He had no intention of seeing it, of course, for he did not think she would be naked when Belanor told him she was by the river. But alas, his brain was covered in a thick fog.

Legolas, abashed and embarrassed, quickly turned from the river and started walking briskly towards the sound of Beyla's voice.

The Prince almost ran directly into her as another swirl of nausea struck him and his vision tunneled.

"Did you find her?" She questioned.

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut as he grasped onto a tree branch near him. He opted to lie for the increasing shame and self-consciousness rose.
"Nay, I didn't get that far."

Beyla frowned, "Legolas, my friend, you do not look so well."

He released a pained chuckled, "I don't feel so well."

The Prince gently moved his hand to his bandaged shoulder as a dull throb took hold. He knew this, along with his head, was where most of his pain was stemming from. He had taken a beating alright.

Beyla, seeing his motion, spoke softly. "Arryin wrapped it for you. It will hold well until we arrive at Mirkwood."

Legolas nodded as he remembered what happened in battle. The spiders, the flames, the fall—it was burned into his mind. It haunted him, it truly did. He should be dead.

Beyla gently pulled on his wrist. "Come. Get some rest."

...

The sector arrived at Mirkwood after two weeks of travel. However, they did not come baring joyous smiles and large grins. Instead, they came with swirling emotions of anxiety and panic.

Legolas had been in a fair amount of pain when he first got injured, but throughout the journey it continued to increase. His skin had become pale and clammy while his eyes had become sunken and shrouded with dark circles. No normal injury would have such an effect. At first they thought an infection had taken hold, but the expertly crafted poultice would have warded that off. So, upon unwrapping the wound, they discovered a black, vein-like spread—poison. Spider venom was a tricky killer indeed, for it did not present itself until days later. And when it finally did, it hit hard.

Currently, Arryin and Belanor were rushing towards the healing ward with the Prince passed out in-between them. His arms were draped over his two friends' shoulders as they carried his limp body through the halls.

"Move!" Belanor hollered at an elf that was idly walking by.

The elf, surprised at the rude language, scowled. However, his expression changed to worry when his attention captured the injured Prince.

As Belanor and Arryin twisted and turned down the corridors, with Legolas, curious elves stared in shock. They did not move or make way to help. Instead, that stood still with wide eyes and parted lips.

Belanor was the one to snap at them in anger. "Are you all just gonna stand there? Someone tell the King!"

At his words an elleth quickly scurried in the direction of the throne room.

When the group arrive at the healing-ward, Belanor kicked open the door and they, very unconventionally, bustled in.

One of the healer's eyes widened at the sight of their Prince limp and unresponsive. However, she had more sense to actually act. Instantly, she called out to them with instruction. "Quick, put him on a bed."

Arryin and Belanor hoisted Legolas' deadweight onto the nearest cot as the healer began scrambling around them.

Upon hearing the commotion, Halafarin emerged from behind a curtain. His normally calm expression instantly melted into one of urgency. "What kind of poisin is it?"

Arryin answered him, "Spider venom."

He nodded and immediately begun pulling various jars from shelves and yelling orders at the other scurrying healers. Amongst all the tumult, he turned back to Arryin and Belanor. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Arryin opened her mouth to protest, but she was immediately interrupted. The sound of Thranduil's fearful voice strung through the room.

"Where is he?! My son?"

The Mirkwood King pushed through the healers quickly—not that it was hard, they basically jumped out of the way.

When his gaze landed on the Prince, his expression softened. He bent down slightly and gently stroked Legolas' locks that were identical to his own. "My son," he whispered gently. "My child."

The tender moment was a shock to Arryin, for she had always seen Thranduil as harsh and cold. Never did she imagine he was capable of such affection. Of course, she was well aware that Legolas and his father had many disagreements and fought often; however, now she was being shown that, even though Thranduil's heart was ice cold, there still was something that could melt it: his son.

Thranduil then whipped his head around to face Belanor and Arryin.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" He roared in anger.

Ahhh and there it is, she thought.

Belanor spoke, "He was poisoned by a spider's venom, My King."

Thranduil's eyes flickered with rage. He took a step closer to Belanor, then another, and another—until he was in an uncomfortable proximity to the warrior's face.

"How. Could. You. Let. This. Happen?!" Thranduil sneered.

Belanor leaned back slightly. "It—it was entirely out of my control, My Lord. We had been separated and—"

"You are supposed to protect him from these kinds of thing. It's your duty!" The King hollered.

Arryin ground her teeth. It was not Belanor's fault in anyway. If anything, it was Legolas'. The dumb Princeling had put himself in that position. He had put himself in a cluster of a dozen spiders. But here was the Mirkwood King, blaming Belanor without any knowledge of the situation.

Arryin decided to interject, "It wasn't his fault."

Bad idea.

Thranduil turned his wrath onto her. "Are you disrespecting me? I am your King—"

Halafarin was the one the interrupt Thranduil. "My apologies, My Lord. We need all of you to vacate this area so we can work."

Thranduil's demeanor suddenly changed, for he was snapped out of his anger. Nodding, he spoke with a solemn tone. "Of course, of course. I just—" he paused. "May I stay?"

Halafarin sigh as he looked into the King's worried eyes. It was his child after all. "Very well, but they have to leave."

Belanor exhaled slowly for he didn't want to leave his friend's side, but he knew he had to. He turned around and tugged on Arryin's arm, for she as well was reluctant to move from her position. The two elves walked out of the room begrudgingly, praying to the Valar that Legolas would make it.

Thranduil, on the other hand, kept his gaze glued to his son. The King stood off to the side as he watched the healers set to work.

They cut off Legolas' tunic, leaving his toned muscles exposed. He was completely covered in a cold sweat, for perspiration dripped down his neck and upon his collarbone. His hair stuck to his pale face and his eyes were closed shut. His lips were discolored and parted as the sound of his wheezing breath rung through Thranduil's ears.

For a moment, the King had to look away. He hated seeing his son like this. He hated it. His child was the only thing he had left of his family and he could not bare to loose him. He was his everything.

Thranduil knew he had been hard on Legolas, but that was only because he knew his son needed to be prepared to eventually ascended the throne. However, in times like these, Thranduil questioned if he was too hard on him. Was he doing the right thing? Was this the best way to protect him? Was teaching him this hardened manner of life right?

The King blinked away a tear as he looked upon Legolas's face again.

By the Valar—please save his son.

The healers pulled off the bandage that was already wrapped around the wound. As they wiped away the healing paste that was previously there, they revealed the spreading venom—manifesting through his skin. Gnarly couldn't even begin to describe it. It was dark and oozing, liquified and clotting. It was bad. Really bad. Thranduil watched as Halafarin cleaned it out again. Healers rushed around him, handing him various pastes and poultices, which he gently spread upon it. Once he had finished, the head healer wrapped it in a white dressing once more to keep the apothecary elements in place.

However, that is not all that was done.

A female healer came to the bedside with a purple mixture in a small tube. Halafarin lifted the Prince's head as she gently poured the liquid through Legolas' lips.

She then turned to Thranduil, "My Lord, the potion will combat the venom. He will be alright."

The King released a breath of relief for the tightness of his heart was now relaxed.

The healers then began to disperse again, like shadows fading into the walls. But Halafarin stayed and approached Thranduil.

The head healer was wiping his hands upon a towel as he spoke. "Whoever originally took care of his wound did a great deed. Strange how they did so though."

Thranduil frowned, "What do you mean?"

Halafarin sighed, "They used kingsfoil, echinacea stalks, and adler bark—an unusual combination. Not one that I would think to use. But by mixing those three elements together, they saved his life. Without it he would not have made it to us in time."

Thranduil nodded. "I must remember to thank them." He looked at Halafarin. "Yë diola lle, Mellon Nin (and thank you, my friend)."

The healer smiled softly before placing his hand upon his heart and extending it towards Thranduil. The King did the same in response.

...

The next morning when Arryin awoke, she made way straight to the infirmary. The sun was just beginning to peak out from the tree line but she cared not. She wanted to check on Legolas.

Cautiously, she opened the door and she was a bit surprised by the sight that met her eyes. Sitting in a chair next to the still unconscious Prince was the King. He was gripping his son's hand tight and staring upon him with worry. Thranduil looked utterly exhausted. His eyes were bleary and red while his brow pulled tightly. His demeanor just seemed so...lifeless.

Arryin inwardly cursed herself because ofcourse Thranduil would be in here. Why wouldn't he?

Not wanting to invade, she leaned against the wall near the door. Her arms were crossed and lips pulled into a line as she observed her sector leader. Legolas was already looking better. The color returned to his face and he no longer glistened with sweat. His expression was relaxed—gentle even. He did not look as if he was fighting for his life, only resting it in a mere slumber. Furthermore, a soft blanket pulled upon his form keeping him warm and covering most of his skin. The only parts of his body revealed were—collarbones, shoulders, and arms—what needed to be in order to keep an eye on the dressings.

Arryin decided to speak. "He seems to be recovering well."

Thranduil did not turn to look at her, but he bobbed his head in response. "The healers said he would not pass from this world. The potion is working well."

Arryin nodded, but after a moment Thranduil spoke again.

"It was you wasn't it—the one who made the poultice?"

The Ranger sighed and stepped further into the room. "Yes, it was I."

Thranduil turned his ever present stare from Legolas to the she-elf; and nothing could have prepared her for the words that left his mouth. "Thank you."

Arryin bit her lip slightly and nodded again, for she did not know what else to say.

The room eventually settled into an uncomfortable silence for what seemed like hours, but neither Arryin or Thranduil moved. Luckily for them, it wasn't long before Legolas began to stir.

The Prince groaned lightly as his eyelids fluttered open. Everything around him seemed to swirl and twist. His reality was perplexing and unnatural—swaying at the seems—for his vision was blurry and his eyes were heavy. However, he could still make out long blonde hair and blue eyes hovering intently above him.

"Ada (father)?" He questioned weakly.

Thranduil gently stroked Legolas's cheek, "Lá, Iôn Nin. Nányë hí. (Yes, my son. I am here.)"

Arryin felt awkward, like she was invading a private moment. But she knew she couldn't leave now, for that would just be even more strange. Besides, she wanted to see if he was alright, didn't she?

As Legolas' vision began to settle, he noticed her presence. A gentle smile crossed his lips. "Arryin."

She walked closer, until she stood at the foot of his bed. With crossed arms and a clenched jaw, she spoke. "You're an idiot."

Thranduil's lips parted in shock and Legolas frowned. "Not what I was expecting to hear when I first woke, Dilthen Er (little one)."

She snorted and shook her head. "By the Valar, what were you thinking, Legolas!?" He opened his mouth to respond but Arryin continued. "Did you really think that swinging into the center of a dozen spiders guarding their queen was a good idea?! You almost died!"

Legolas smirked weakly. "Now you are the one chiding me for being reckless? Our roles have switched drastically."

The Ranger did not even bother to watch her tone or limit her profanity use around the King. She was too angry at Legolas. "If it wasn't for me saving your princeling ass you would be long gone." She pointed a finger towards him as her tone darkened. "Do not ever do that shit again!"

With that, she stormed from the room, letting the large wooden doors slam behind her.

Thranduil was appalled by Arryin's disrespect. He knew the Ranger spoke her mind, but there was a line and she clearly crossed it. However, now was not the time to reprimand such issues. Instead, he turned to face his son with raised his brows. "Like I said: fiery temper, Legolas, fiery temper."

Legolas groaned as he leaned into the pillow. "I am well aware, Ada (father). I am well aware."