13 – Time to Stop Wiggin Out About Everything

Legolas spent the next couple weeks recovering from the spider's venom. At first, most of his time consisted of sleeping as he was entirely worn-down and exhausted. However, as he healed, he was permitted to forgo bedrest. Still, he was told that under no circumstance was he allowed to do any physical activity besides walking. This, much to his dismay, was an instruction he had to abide by. It did seem it was working though. The wound was starting to close and his other cuts and bruises were fading quickly. Furthermore, the intense pain within his head had dulled drastically thanks to a special potion prescribed by the Halafarin. However, with all this free time, Legolas found that he often got bored.

Currently, Legolas was browsing through the library. This is where he seemed to hover nowadays, for he could not do much else. But, it did give him time to think. He had seen many of his friends throughout this process as he still ate with them and they would come find him after patrol and training, but he had not seen Arryin. It seemed that she was avoiding him. The Ranger was still pissed at the Prince for the entirety of the spider incident. Of course, she was right. He had in fact been rash. But one could not change the past. Throughout this long term of contemplation, Legolas had come to a conclusion pertaining to the fury-filled elleth. Yes, Arryin's harsh attitude was unexpected, rude, and insensitive, but it showed him how much she truly cared for his well being. If she was not concerned about him, she would have had a very different reaction. Legolas considered this as a step forward. He was well aware that she lacked the ability to create deep relationships due to her long time in isolation. However, it seemed her stay at Mirkwood was changing that. She was making friends—her walls were beginning to come down.

As his thoughts focused on the Ranger, they drifted to a different aspect—to when he saw her in the river. That memory was burned into his mind, but not for the reasons one would think. Instead, it was the thought of the glowing tribal pattern upon her back that tormented him. Quite frankly, Legolas was unsure if it even was real. There is a high probability that the sight was a hallucination, for never had he been so delirious and uncomprehensive. The pain and venom influenced him greatly at the time, so it was not unusual to assume that a fragment of his imagination had been playing a trick on him. However, those markings still would not leave his thoughts.

If they did exist beyond his delusional state, were they native to a certain tribe? Why were they there? Where did they come from? Where did...she...come from?

Legolas sighed in frustration. He wasn't even sure if what he saw was real. So, why should he let it take up so many corners of his mind? Why was he even investigating the markings without the knowledge of their actual existence?

He shook his head as a way to snap out of his pestering thoughts. Legolas knew that he often focused on things that did not need it so. Beyla was always telling him to 'relax' and 'stop wigging out about everything.' And, quite frankly, it was time he listened to her.

The Prince, desperate to occupy his mind, continued weaving his way through the maze of paper-filled towers, until he came upon the history section. His calloused hand gently stroked the spins of every book as he strolled through the aisles. As he went, his brilliant blue eyes wandered across each title aimlessly, for nothing seemed to catch his eye.

It wasn't until he came across a section far in the depths of the knowledge-filled room that his dark brows furrowed. Tucked away in a corner, was a shelf covered in dust and cobwebs—likely not touched for thousands of years. It was rickety and almost bare. It was lonely and forgotten.

The Mirkwood Prince reached outwards, towards the few books that laid upon it. One of them, small, beaten, and brown-colored, stuck out to him. It appeared the oldest. It was well-worn and shoved underneath another. It was indeed hidden in its own unremarkability.

Legolas' lips parted as he read the title.

'Núr -o Gilgalad (People of starlight).'

He picked it up gently, for those words sounded familiar—familiar but faint. They danced upon the layers of his mind back to his childhood. A distant memory it was of his grandfather, Oropher. The Prince vaguely remembered the old Greenwood King telling him the legends of the stars—the legends of the sky-fire's people.

Cautiously, the blonde elf opened the book and began to flip through the pages. Upon doing so, Legolas nodded to himself. This leather-bound book seemed to bring promising intent—something to occupy is mind. He made his way towards the front of the library and settled down upon a soft leather armchair by the ever-burning fire.

He began to deeply examine it, for he was entirely intrigued. It was more like a journal than anything—various scribbles and sketches of dark colored ink littering the pages. And his interest only grew as he went; the book seemed to have been left for his curious thoughts.

The sketches were quick and simple, crude and short, but still decipherable. It held depictions of battle and war being fought by elves with hands of fire and eyes of light. The book contained diagrams and drawings of tribal indications and marking—ancient identifications of the elven race blessed with the gifts of the stallaris. Swirling ancient Quenya was scribbled among the pages at well. It spoke of the meanings of each sketch and diagrams. It was messy. It was complicated. It was fascinating.

Legolas frowned as a thought crossed his mind.

Could it be? Could the markings upon Arryin's back be recorded in here?

Yet, after hours pouring into this book, he found none.

The Prince slammed the leather closed as he clenched his jaw.

By the Valar—what had he been thinking?!

There was no way Arryin could be Núr -o Gilgalad (People of starlight). These people never even existed. They were just legends...stories.

Legolas was letting his hallucination get to him. He was letting it haunt his thoughts. Obsession was never a good thing—especially when it was over something seen in a venom-induced delusion.

...

The members of the 13th sector were piled upon the benches in the dinning hall, like many others, for an early morning's breakfast. Training was soon to begin and one most definitely did not want to so with an empty stomach.

Legolas was currently speaking, "I have once heard legends but never believed them true."

Arryin sat down next to Beyla with a frown. She spoke after taking a bite of her green apple. "What are you discussing?"

At the sound of her voice, Legolas turned to face her with parted lips. This was the first he had seen her since their argument—if you could even call it that. She was dressed in black with her weapons clanking about her form. Her dark locks, like always, hung loosely and messily around her face. But it was her emerald eyes that caught his attention. Tired, they were, laced with dark circles and a lack of energy. Legolas wanted to ask her if she was feeling well—if something was wrong—but before he could speak, the sound of Rowan's voice filled his ears and took his attention.

The amber-haired elf answered Arryin's question. "The myth of the Núr -o Gilgalad (The People of starlight)."

The Ranger almost choked on her apple as her heart raced and her anxiety swelled.

How could this be?
How could they know?
She had been careful! She had been safe!

But before she could even begin to process the matter, Legolas, nonchalantly, spoke again. "According to this book, they were an ancient elven race who were blessed by the Valar with the power of starlight."

Beyla rolled her eyes and snatched the book from his hands. Sifting through it, she added her thoughts to the discussion. "Look at the writing and pictures in this—it is a compilation of the ramblings of a scribe who lost his mind."

At her words, Arryin relaxed slightly. This was clearly a pointless debate sparked by the discovery of a stupid journal—it was just a coincidence. It had to be.

The Mirkwood Prince shrugged. "My grandfather used to tell me stories of them. But even if they did ever exists, they are long gone."

Rowan frowned. "Why is that?"

Legolas sighed, "Apparently, they were persecuted for their abilities and grace centuries ago. They were all killed by servants of darkness."

Arryin bit her lip and glanced down at her crystal dagger strapped to her thigh. It was only thing left from home—only thing left from her people.

She knew the story all too well of how the Núr -o Gilgalad (People of Starlight) were hunted and killed. Her direct ancestors were the only ones who escaped and took refuge in the hidden pathways of forestry. There they stayed for years as they were protected by the world's lack of knowledge of their existence. However, nothing could last forever. That concealment ended soon enough when the orcs found her village, and she witnessed that massacre. She lived through it. The scent of burning flesh was engraved upon her mind. The sight of her family, bloodied and obliterated, was burned into her skull. The fear, anger and panic was imprinted within her soul. Arryin was the last one alive—the last light of the star.

Beyla picked up a piece of warm bread, "well it is a good thing it is just a legend, is it not? No one suffered."

Arryin sucked in a deep breath and clenched her jaw.

No one suffered! NO ONE?!
She saw all the pain and anguish—she saw it all. She experienced it.

The Ranger closed her eyes and exhaled slowly in attempt to shift her mind. She knew she had to think rationally. Her friends believed, much like everyone else in the world, that the Núr -o Gilgalad did not exist. A story. A legend. That is all they were. Nothing more, nothing less. And that is what everyone needed to continue to believe. That lie was her survival. She had to cling to it.

The black-haired elleth opened her orbs and gazed upon her friends, and it was then when an unrelated thought occurred to her. She frowned. "Legolas? Why are you here? You are not permitted to train with us until you heal."

He turned towards her and smirked. Maybe now wasn't the best time to tease her but he figured she would respond to it. "I myself might not be allowed to train; however, I am most certainly welcome to watch and criticize you as you fall over your own feet!"

Belanor, Rowan and Beyla all chucked at the teasing comment, whereas Arryin just rolled her eyes.

She snorted as she stood to make her way to obtain more food. "When have I ever been know to trip over my own feet?!"

When the Ranger turned, Legolas quickly stuck his foot out in-front of her and Arryin instantly stumbled over it.

A loud roar of laughter erupted from the elves, for they clearly knew what the Prince had done.

Arryin, on the other-hand, smacked the back of Legolas' head. "Watch it, Princeling! I can and will kick your weakling ass!"

Legolas raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh you wanna bet, Dilthen Er (little one)?"

Arryin narrowed her eyes at him. "You see, I indeed would. However, some idiot decided to get himself infected with spider venom. Therefore, it wouldn't be a fair fight."

Another roar of laughter filtered from the table of elves as the Ranger stalled off. Clearly, she had won that banter.