Féoras and I had searched the wood all afternoon and late into the night, stopping every now and then to kill off a few more Orcs and sleeping only momentarily. My slumber was fitful and rife with nightmares of Orcs burning our lands and other evils I could not bear to remember. When I awoke, I found myself lying next to Féoras, who was sleeping gently with his sawdust-colored head resting on his arm. I tried to shake the visions from my head, ignoring the sudden fear that Legolas would have some sort of dangerous journey ahead of him. I tried my best to forget the image of Legolas fighting a real war against an immense army of Orcs and other creatures, bigger and more skilled than imaginable; I shook Féoras awake, and he blinked his pale eyes in wonder of the light. We stood up together, silently resuming our search, but Legolas could not be found.
By the late afternoon, my long hair was pulled behind my head in a bun and my hands were nearly brown from all the dirt and Orc blood, but Féoras and I kept looking. Again night crept over the trees, threatening to end our search when suddenly, I stumbled over something almost invisible, covered in dirt. I fell roughly to the ground with an "oomph!", catching myself with my hands just in time to save my head from a stone beneath me.
"Uhn…" came a moaning from the ground. I sat up immediately, ears perked, eyes wide. Féoras ran over to me, seeing the lump I had tripped over.
"Leaf?" I whispered frantically, crawling on my knees to wear the body lay. No answer came. I recognized the cloak almost immediately; he was face down against the earth, his hair no longer a shiny blonde but rather a dull brown, mixed with grime and, to my horror, dried blood.
"Legolas!" Féoras exclaimed, bending down to turn him over carefully. My breath caught in my throat when I saw an arrow protruding from his right side. My hand instinctively flew to my side as well, remembering the sharp pain I had felt in exactly the same spot just a day earlier. Blood had crusted around the wound.
"Leaf!" I said again more urgently, begging him to open his eyes. As if on command, Legolas' honey browns fluttered open; they were filled to the brim with pain that threatened to overflow down his gritty face and onto the earth beneath us. I tried hard not to notice the fear that coupled the pain, but the sorrow of the moment forced a tear from my eyes that landed on Legolas' dried, pale lips.
"L…L…ain…a," Legolas whispered in a husky voice. It was the last thing he said before the light exited his eyes and his eyelids fell.
"No!" I exclaimed, looking up in dread at Féoras. He had been hovering over us and I could see him working something out in his mind before he took action. He nodded and pushed me out of the way a little, gently taking Legolas into his arms like he was cradling an infant. I swallowed hard, standing despite the weakness in my knees and the blur of my vision, and followed Féoras into the night.
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Luckily, Féoras and I had started our search further from the halls and, when we found Legolas, we were not far from them. We hurried in the right direction, and I cannot say I remember much about the walk back. Everything had been a haze of emotion since I had seen Legolas on the verge of death. There were so many things I needed to tell him, and so many more moments we needed to share together; I had always thought we would have forever, until recently—Varda damn those Orcs for ruining so many things. For the past week we should have been gallivanting around, hiding from the tittering fools at the halls and meticulously finding a new Elven maiden for Legolas (and, it would not have hurt to look for myself!). We should have been reading tasteless poetry in a peaceful wood, not hunting Orcs, defending our halls, and fearing for our lives. What was Arda coming to? Why were there so many Orcs about, and what was happening with the Ring of Power? Had Sauron found what he was looking for? Would Middle-earth fall to his reign? Too many unanswered questions were lingering on my mind as we passed through the trees on the way back to the halls. The two people I needed most to talk to were unable to talk—Aragorn, whom I had not heard from in years (though something told me he was alright and thinking about me every now and then), and Legolas. Mostly, I yearned for Aragorn to return on some mission to Mirkwood, just to assure me that he was still the same Aragorn I had always known—but he never came, and I was left to wonder whether or not I would ever see him again. More tears fell down my cheeks until I began sobbing uncontrollably, not willing to take anyone's help to clean myself up.
When I finally roused myself from my thoughts, I found Féoras and me sitting side-by-side in chairs in the hospital wing. A brown-haired healer was assuring Féoras that everything would be alright.
"What?" I asked finally, my voice groggy and unpleasant.
"The Prince will live, of course," the healer repeated, smiling congenially. I raised one eyebrow at him as if to be certain. "I promise," he said, nodding. "The arrow wound is minor, Prince Legolas had simply lost too much blood and too much sleep, but he is resting now. You will be able to visit him tomorrow; he should be awake by then." With that, the healer turned to leave and I sat, dizzy, next to Féoras, who had taken my hand and was stroking the back of it gently with his thumb.