Ashryn felt a dreadful rush of deja vu as she opened the door the next morning, all the hair on the left side of her head sticking right up, to greet the king's son. It was barely the crack of dawn.

"Can I help you?"

Legolas blinked. The rising sun gave him something akin to a halo, and a red cloak flowed from scaled armour resting upon his shoulders. "We… have an appointment?"

Ashryn grasped tightly the edge of the door, contemplating the consequences of slamming it in his face. "It is 6 in the morning."

Legolas clasped his hands behind his back. "We have an appointment."

"I'm sure it will still be morning in a few hours." Ashryn noted duly that her voice had taken on a somewhat whiny undertone. She also noted that it was too early for her to care.

The prince slid his foot into the doorway to prevent her from shutting it (this, Ashryn noted with no small degree of annoyance), and gave her an almost apologetic look. "It's urgent, my lady."

A sigh, and Ashryn stepped back to let him in. "At least you had the decency to bring the patient to me yesterday." Nudging a chair back from the table, she gestured vaguely for him to sit down. "Ten minutes. Make yourself at home."

A bit late for formalities, perhaps, Ashryn realised as she trudged up the staircase to her room, considering that he had already deemed fit to deposit a fully grown and partially dead Ellon upon her dining table the previous day, but princes couldn't be denied. She supposed that she was grateful she was not dealing with a king.

Yet.

Shedding her robe and exchanging it for practical white linen pants and an emerald green cloak to ward against the chill, Ashryn hurriedly braided back her hair (the left side was still somewhat unruly), strapped her hunting knives to her thighs, and grabbed a pouch of herbs to shove into a pocket as she descended the stairs.

Legolas had abandoned her offered chair to stand by the window, utterly still as he gazed into the forests, quiver resting by his feet, but he looked up the moment her feet hit the steps. She had never been the most light footed of elves.

"My father would be ashamed of my behaviour, but I have been told that patience is not one of my many virtues," the prince informed her.

"You will be pleased to know, then, that I don't have the ear of the king," Ashryn replied as she collected her boots from the door, sprawling on the floor to lace them up to her knees. "The meeting last night went as usual, then?"

There was a pause long enough for Ashryn to conclude that he wasn't going to answer. She certainly wouldn't, had their roles been reversed. It was a very perilous time to be the sole heir to a king of dwindling popularity.

"Your uncle served good wine," finally came the response.

Ashryn grunted as she stood, smoothing down her cloak. "If it were truly good wine, you wouldn't be here until noon." And she held open the door for him as they departed.


Ashryn had expected blood and stitches, perhaps a few broken bones or dislocated joints.

Instead, she received a clearing full of expectant soldiers, some dressed in full armour, others in an assortment of leather and mail, all of them glancing uncertainly at each other and the herbs laid out on a mossy green tarp.

Almost tripping in her scramble backwards, Ashryn hurriedly steadied herself against the trunk of an oak. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding," she hissed at the prince, who glanced back at her with an eyebrow lifted in inquiry.

"What were you expecting?"

Waving a hand in the air wildly, Ashryn planted the other on her hip. "Death!"

Legolas flashed his teeth in a smile, turning towards his soldiers. "Your particular expertise concerns poisons, does it not?"

Speechless, Ashryn could only follow.


The councilors were fighting again.

Beneath the soaring, arched ceilings of the throne room, the king sprawled across his seat, chin resting casually upon a bejewelled wrist as he watched the lords and ladies of his realm squabble amongst themselves. Prince Legolas stood at the foot of his perch, arms crossed over his court finery and a stony mask over his features.

"Preposterous, the lot of them," Ashryn's uncle scowled from beside her, "Rohan warns of the threat of orcs and we're here discussing the trade of wine." He gesticulated angrily towards the huddle of men at the edge of the fray. "At this rate, we'll be poor, and invaded before the winter." Setting his jaw angrily, Lord Candor promptly entered the fray himself, waving his arms about aggressively. Ashryn backed away herself from the confrontation, settling against the far walls and chewing her lip as she watched. It was late afternoon – she had spent the morning running through deadly herbs and useful poisons as well as antidotes, and (very generously) donated her lunchtime to identifying spiked drinks. The sun had shifted well past its peak by the time she had shoveled down a loaf of bread, and hadn't bothered changing before accompanying her uncle to court.

At the centre of the rabble, Lord Candor shook a raised fist at what looked like Lady Lithuin, who was standing with both hands planted on her hips and yelling right back at him. Between the two, the prince looked wearily at the scene before him, while his father reclined leisurely above them, appearing to be quite amused.

"My lady, forgive me, but if we do not open our borders and initiate trading with other partners, we will never refill our royal treasury! Laketown will find some other source for their wine, the dwarves will refuse to ever bridge the widening chasm, and as a result?" He gestured dramatically at the lady's glistening earrings. "You will never, ever, find a matching necklace of moonstones for those earrings."

Lady Lithuin tilted her head up. "My lord, forgive me if the court struggles to come to your view – especially after the unmitigated disasters your past proposals to this kingdom have been."

There was a low murmuring of support amongst the crowd, and Candor's gaze darkened. "Because you damned conservatives insisted on changing the plans! Last I checked, this is the fourth age, and not the second!" He spun on his heels and took several steps towards the foot of the king's throne, and the onlookers hushed as the guards put their hands upon the hilts of their swords in warning. "My king, you must -"

"Yes?" Thranduil's voice was silken steel. "What must I do, my lord? Do you presume to lecture your king?"

Candor met the king's gaze head on. "Not lecture, your majesty, but provide my honest council, as one of your councilors." A pause that was almost challenging. "Am I not still your loyal subject and advisor?"

There was a long silence as Ashryn sucked in a breath, moving around the edges of the crowd closer to her uncle, her stomach tightening in apprehension as she watched the stone cold features of the king. His eyes were chips of ice upon Candor, and the court seemed to stop breathing.

One of his guards shifted to show a strip of naked steel poking outside the scabbard. A gasp escaped her throat and Ashryn stumbled forwards towards her uncle, reaching out to pull him back and out of the reach of the sword should Thranduil give the command in his rage –

She stumbled over her skirts as a firm hand wrapped around her arm and wrenched her away unforgivingly, her own fingers grasping only empty air. "No, Ashryn," came the hiss in her ear as the prince drew her back, keeping her firmly in her place. "Are you mad?"

"Let me go!" Ashryn whispered back harshly, lashing out with her free hand towards Legolas, which he also stopped with the practiced strength of a warrior veteran, jaw tight with warning.

"Take him from my sight," Thranduil's order came imperiously from above, already turning away. "And do not let him back within it until he learns the error of his actions. I will not suffer the words of insolent fools."

The crowd parted obediently, the guards took him by his biceps, and marched him from the hall, thrashing violently. "You call me a fool? Me?" A laugh that was almost manic, as Ashryn went limp in the prince's grasp. "Wait and see! You and your court of frivolous, dancing clowns, don't come crying back when you wake up and find that your halls are barren, your robes threadbare, and yo -" The door slammed, and the guards tossed Candor bodily from the hall.

Silence followed, and Ashryn barely registered the release of pressure from her upper arms as she turned, along with her fellow courtiers, back to their king. "I think that concludes today's session. My Lady Lithuin, please remain. The rest of you -" He waved a glittering hand, and the court filed obediently from the hall.

Like a group of ducklings following their mother, Ashryn thought bitterly as she turned from the prince pointedly and went after her uncle.

"Ashryn! Ashryn, wait, Ashryn!"

Stopping so suddenly that Cassian almost fell in his haste to comply, she whipped around, cloak swirling around her ankles. "What do you want?"

"What are you doing?"

The rage in his eyes took Ashryn by complete surprise as she faced him, almost unable to find the words. "Excuse me?"

Cassian gestured towards the violent hoofprints in the mud where Lord Candor had galloped away on his horse into the forests, grey eyes cold. "What are you trying to achieve? You've never cared what your uncle does in court, and now you're making a scene trying to protect him and -"

"I made a scene?" Ashryn demanded, confused at the attack Cassian was mounting, but now furious. "I made a scene? After what happened, that's what you're so obsessed with?"

"This is the first time you've ever done something like this in court -"

"Oh, I'm so sorry I haven't had a prior opportunity to try stop my uncle from being decapitated in front of a crowd!"

"All I'm saying is -"

"I don't care what you have to say! He's family!"

"And you've never cared before!"

Unable to help the gasp that escaped her mouth, Ashryn took a step forwards, voice low. "How dare you." Slamming a palm into his chest with enough force for Cassian to take a few steps back to steady himself, she shot him a look so venomous that he retreated even further. "You can plot with him as much as you like, but he is my family and you don't get to decide what I do. You understand?"

Ever her equal, Cassian squared his shoulders, jaw working furiously, right hand clasped on the hilt of his sword. "Make up your damn mind, Ashryn. You either support us, or you don't."

Twisting her palms and unsheathing a knife just enough for Cassian to hear the scrape of steel, Ashryn bared her teeth at her oldest friend. "Don't tell me what to do." Not bothering to turn sideways, she barged past him with her shoulder and headed for the stables.

The forest was blanketed in velvety night by the time that Ashryn reached her uncle's estate at the foot of the mountains. Lights shone from the upper level windows, and she could make out shadows flitting past.

The stables were full, she observed with no small amount of apprehension as she tied her horse by the paddocks, murmuring a thanks and foraging around until she found a small basket of apples. Laughter filtered faintly through the air as she listened to the crunches of the stallion, leaning against the fence to catch her breath. Cassian's response had shaken her more than she would have liked to admit, and perhaps that was why Ashryn lingered out in the dark, almost unwilling to enter her childhood home.

She stayed until the basket was empty and the stallion began nudging at her shoulder for more, and with each passing minute the likelihood of Cassian appearing for what obviously was a meeting of her uncle's friends and allies increased, so with a sigh of trepidation, Ashryn gathered up the folds of her cloak and headed for the doors. They swung open silently at her gentle push, closing just as efficiently behind her. Gentle flames illuminated the path up the stairs, piano music descending to greet her as she climbed.

She could hear the telltale 'clink' of glasses even through the heavy wooden doors leading to the formal dining hall as she steeled her nerves, raising a hand to the ornately carved handles – breathing in deeply – and pushing it open just wide enough for her to slip through.

A party.

A quartet of musicians sat in the far-right corner, right beside the grand piano dominating the end of the hall. Ashryn counted around just under a hundred or so guests, many of them notable members of the nobility or military, mingling about the large space and surrounded by several smaller tables lining the edges of the hall.

Plush red velvet marked Lord Candor commanding the attention of a small group of elves, many of them sporting shiny medals upon their chest, sitting at a table as close to the center of the hall as possible. Ashryn bunched the skirts of her cloak in her hands as she approached behind her uncle, waiting for the rapturous laugher (it appeared that Lady Esmerelda had conveyed a particularly humorous remark) to die before gentling tapping him on the shoulder.

"Ashryn!" Spots of red in Candor's cheeks and the sheer enthusiasm which he greeted her showed that he had, once more, broken out the good wine. "Darling, won't you play us a suite? It is such a wonderful evening for wonderful music -"

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to you, uncle," Ashryn cut him off, something she rarely dared when he was sober. A general across the table raised an eyebrow.

The lord was surprisingly steady on his feet when Ashryn tugged insistently on his elbow, waving good naturedly at his companions as she drew him just out of earshot. "What is it?"

Ashryn bit her lip hesitantly before fixing Candor with a serious stare, still gripping his elbow. "You need to be careful, uncle."

That did the trick. Candor met her gaze steadily. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Ashryn."

"I am not implying," Ashryn snapped, seeing the clear surprise which registered at her remarks – reproach had never come from his niece concerning his political stances and actions before. "You need to be careful," she repeated concisely, "the next time you say something like that to the king, it's your head on the line." She heard distinctively above the plucking of the harp in the background a shrill scrape of metal, again and again.

Candor appeared unsure at how to respond to Ashryn's sudden interest in his political decisions. "I know what I'm doing, niece," he replied with patronising fondness alongside just a touch of frustration.

"Really?" The challenge burst from Ashryn's lips before she quite realised it and had to fight the urge to step away. "It didn't look like you did earlier today."

Anger. Wrath. "I will thank you," Candor said softly, every syllable lined with fury, "to refrain from criticising that which you know naught of."

"I know what it looks like before someone is about to be executed for treason," Ashryn retorted. Waited for the remark to sink in. Watched the rage properly pronounce on her uncle's features, as the word treason floated through the air.

"Are you calling me a traitor?"

"No, but you are acting as foolishly as one."

Candor's hand slashed through the air towards her as Ashryn ducked instinctively to avoid the blow she knew was coming –

But it was not the sound of the slap against her skin which drowned out the music, but the resounding crash of the doors being flung wide open.