Aradan knelt before his king as the latter bowed silently. It was better that Thranduil let some of his grief out. Thoughts of Erienne, his Queen, still brought sharp pangs of pain to his chest and he knew that it would be much worse for Thranduil, so deeply had he loved his mate. A skilled healer and an accurate marksman, her shrewd assessment of any situation and advice had been invaluable to them, given her sharp political acumen and unfailing assessment of individuals. It was not just Thranduil who had lost a loving mate, the Woodland Realm had lost an able Queen as well.
Yet, Aradan could nothing with which to comfort his King and dearest friend. Helpless, he remained beside Thranduil as the latter composed himself. "We have much to see to, Aradan. Sauron's army is ruthless. This threat has not ended; it is merely lying in wait." Standing up, Thranduil cast his eyes in the distance as Aradan waited patiently. "Sometimes, I wonder if it is time for me to sail. And can I dare hope that Erienne would one day join me there?" Aradan bit his lips as he heard his King's, his friend's wistful longing and gnawing pain.
They heard a soldier waiting nearby, awaiting their attention and turned. Thranduil looked at his camp buzzing with activity. Soldiers were packing up, gathering wood and food. Despite the situation they were in, they did not appear tired or forlorn. Thranduil met his Commander's eyes and both knew what the other was thinking. It was not the time for despair or longing. They had a land to protect, elves who trusted them to lead and show the way.
Aradan signalled to the soldier who had apparently come to deliver a message. "My lord," he said, bowing, "the prince is feverish. Healer Erudraithe has requested that you come as soon as it is convenient for you." Both elves rushed back to the tent where Erudraithe was wiping the Prince's forehead with a wet towel. "It is not totally bad, my lord," the healer said, "the fever could release the heat but we have to take care that the wound is clean."
Thranduil turned to Aradan and the latter left the tent quickly. He did not have to be told. He would see to the packing and safety of the camp as well as the soldiers whilst the King stayed by his son.
Night had fallen when Aradan returned to see his King still sitting by his elfling's side. Beside him, Tauriel had drifted off to sleep. Just looking at Thranduil told Aradan that Legolas had yet to regain consciousness. He moved over to the prisoner, though she was hardly that now. Legolas was still drawing breath, thanks to her. "Her condition is worse than the Prince's, Commander. We might not save her." For some reason, that news brought a terrible weight in Aradan's heart. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he moved over to Thranduil. It was no point asking his King to eat. He sat down beside them, doing the only thing he could, pray.
Two days passed without any news to gladden their hearts, save for the fact that nothing had worsened. Thranduil had been without food and drink and it took much coaxing from Aradan before he eventually agreed to go out to wash up and have a drink. Aradan sat beside his Prince, gently wiping his forehead. He was nearly his elfling as much as he was Thranduil's. They had brought him up from young, motherless as he had been. Much as he had been angry with the child, he prayed with all his heart that Legolas would recover. Erienne was gone, the Woodlands did not have the strength to take another loss. Would not their Iluvatar realise that?
As Aradan looked at the wet cloth, he saw that it was dirty and went outside to find Erudraithe for new supplies. When he returned, he halted at the entrance of the tent. Their mysterious captive, was awake and had struggled up. Aradan was about to go to her, when her actions stayed him. She had staggered out of her bed and had gone over to Legolas. Aradan was surprised that she had regained consciousness. Obviously, she was strong, in body as in spirit. She had had to be for her to have survived what she had gone through. Though, he did not believe that she would harm Legolas, Aradan stood cautiously, ready to strike if needed. Intertwining her palms over his, her forehead bent over his, she was muttering something. Then, she reached for the water beside him. Aradan saw her look through some of Erudraithe's herbs and mix them in the drink. Slowly, she raised Legolas' head and fed the drink to him.
Aradan did not know why but he did not stop the elf. She could be poisoning the prince but it was senseless, for without her intervention, Legolas would have died on the battlefield. As soon as she had fed Legolas, she stumbled back to her bed, unaware of Aradan's scrutiny. He saw her curl herself up and lie down and sensed that her latest actions had caused her much pain. He saw her start as he entered the tent and felt her eyes on him as he went over to Legolas. The prince appeared slightly better for some colour seemed to have returned to his cheeks. It was not unnatural for Aradan to wonder if his mysterious captive was responsible for this improvement. When Thranduil returned, Aradan left to return to his other duties.
When he returned much later, he was met with the joyous news that Legolas' fever had broken. He was still weak but he had regained consciousness and the danger had passed. Thranduil's relieved face was apparent as he greeted his commander. "He is better, Aradan," Thranduil's relief was apparent in his voice and his teary eyes. He watched as his King stroked his son's hair. "Legolas, ionin, can you hear me?" Legolas stirred a bit and mumbled something. Thranduil listened and though his face fell, he turned to Aradan, "Where is Tauriel? He is asking for her." Aradan pressed his lips. "She has gone to see to the dwarves' burials. She asked for permission. I could not deny her."
Thranduil shook his head. "'Tis not your fault. Could you get someone to get her?" Aradan turned towards a soldier, who was quick to bow and exit the tent.
He turned his attention back to Legolas who was now clenching his fingers tightly. "Would he be in pain, Erudraithe? Is there anything we can give him?" Erudraithe hesitated and looked at the herbs. Someone had mixed some herbs together and given them to him but he did not know who and confessed so to his King. Aradan looked up from the prisoner's side of the bed. "It was her, Thranduil. I saw her feeding something to him. I did not stop her for she had already saved him twice and she appears to be learned and powerful. It was a chance I took. Pardon me if I have wronged, my lord."
Thranduil looked at his commander. So the prisoner had won his commander's trust, partially at least. It was not something easily gained and Thranduil respected his commander's instincts and perceptions. "Is she better? We could ask her," he asked instead. Erudraithe looked up, now apparently confused. "She is very ill, my lord. Taken by fever," nervously, Erudraithe continued, "my lord, by what the Commander has said, she has taken his fever away but in doing so, she has been further weakened herself. It must have been the herbs as well as knowledge of spells. She must be a learned and skilful elf, my lord. And powerful too, if she was able to take his pain unto her in her weakened state and ….still live."
Nervously, the healer waited as he saw his King draw in his breath deeply. "See to her then. I am personally in her debt." Standing, he left his son's side and went over to the prisoner. She was pale and shivering with fever. Thranduil looked at her, remembering her mutilated and tortured body. His intake of breath was heavy as he reached out to take her hands in his, "Whoever you are, I am forever in your debt. As long as I draw breath, I will let none harm you."