Chapter 04

The Infirmary

The next morning, just as Thranduil anticipated for himself, he returned to the infirmary. However, he was disappointed to learn that the eccentric elf was still fast asleep. But he took his time to see her; the wounded right wrist she had was neatly bandaged. Her cheeks had scratches and on her arms were bruises; and he wondered how she could still talk in singsongs in such a state. Her heavy tunic was replaced by a lighter one; her boots and vambraces placed on top of the table next to the bed.

"She is quite the cheery elf," said one of the healers as she entered the room, finding Thranduil standing absentmindedly in the corner.

"Ah, Santien," Thranduil said nonchalantly, addressing the auburn-haired healer. "How are the others doing?"

"They are well," Santien answered, putting down a basket of freshly-picked herbs. Her hazel eyes regarded the elf prince thoughtfully, though piercing at the same time. Thranduil shuddered; those eyes were always too sharp, too knowing for its beholder. "The minstrel heals fast. It is unbelievable. She is unbelievable."

She began to rummage through her basket, slender fingers working gently on the herbs. Thranduil watched closely, almost feeling the brush of those fingers on his skin whenever Santien massaged the weariness off of him. The auburn hair cascaded like a curtain, all the way down to the slender hips, curling and bouncing at each movement of the elf. Her green silk velvet covered most of her olive skin, the sleeves flowing past her hands. She had to roll the sleeves up to keep them from her duty.

"Erestor should be up soon," he chuckled, looking over to Erestor's bed. He was sleeping and his armor was completely taken off. Like Erynlith, he had bruises all over his arms. Thranduil had known Erestor for a very long time now, being there when the Sindar moved out into the East. He was younger back then, but he respected Erestor for his valor and strength in battle. Not only was he powerful, he was also very knowledgeable, making him one of the most skilled elves Thranduil knew in his lifetime.

However, ever since their arrival in the Greenwood, the elves were sundered and they almost never had dealings with each other. Elrond would send messages every once in a while, inquiring of either daily lives or alliance, whatever he deemed worthy. But no matter how much he had known about Erestor, how come he did not know about Erynlith? Even his father Oropher did not give him the details last night.

Thranduil walked over Erestor's bed, leaning against the edge of the table. Catching glimpse of something beneath the pillow, he pulled and examined it. He unfurled a small green pennant, showcasing an emblem of green tree and three silver stars, an Elvish name embroidered on its corner. His eyes widened at that name, him wondering how Erestor could have acquired such old Sindarin heirloom.

"Are you going to stare at them the whole day?" Santien impatiently asked. Her hazel eyes were glaring at him.

He jerked up and quickly returned the pennant underneath the white pillow. "Alright, already," Thranduil sighed and held up his hands. "I'll go now… Go back into my usual boring routine… with no one to talk to, no one to spend time with, and…"

"Really, Thranduil!" Santien said exasperatedly, flailing her hands. "Enough drama for today! Get out! I still have work to finish!"

He laughed heartily. "Yes, I am going!" As he left, he poked his head by the doorway and added: "If anyone of them wakes, preferably the lady, tell me as soon as possible."

Santien shrugged. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Tell me as soon as possible, you hear me?" Thranduil demanded playfully.

"Yes, Thranduil! Now, get out!"

The doors of the King's study room were opened. But the King did not look up; he was very much engrossed into attending on his duties. The newcomer slipped into the green couch in front of the King's desk and dropped his bow on the table.

"You haven't heard, have you?" Amroth asked the King, raking dirty fingers through the pale golden locks. He had recently returned from hunting on the northern borders of the forest. "I mean, the marchwardens were talking about an attack in the High Pass. Some claim that the surviving elves escaped into Greenwood. They saw a black horse carrying two wounded passengers."

King Amdír looked up briefly and said, "There is nothing that would catch my interest if it has nothing to do with me, ion nin." With that, he returned to his work, reading reports from his trusted captains.

"Maybe…" Amroth muttered. "I have this tingling sensation within me, Adar. What do you think could have happened? No elves cross the High Pass, other than Elrond's heralds."

The King began scribbling. "What are you suggesting then?"

Amroth shrugged. "I do not know. Like I said, I have this strange feeling of worry. Do you not think those elves are from Rivendell? What if Elrond had sent them out for a message again? You know who leads Elrond's heralds…"

"Let us discuss more important matters, shall we?" Amdír groaned. "The events in Greenwood do not concern us. Not unless it perks my interest whatsoever." He returned to his writing.

"I am just worried," said Amroth, standing up and collecting his bow. He went for the door again. "Either way," he called back, "whatever it is, whether big or small, I feel the need to see what it really is."

King Amdír looked up. "Is it a hunch?"

Amroth nodded. "Positive."

Erynlith was the first to awake from the deep slumber. She rolled above the soft and warm bed, white blankets limiting her movements. She felt refreshed. She had never felt like that for centuries. The sunlight from the window blinded her momentarily; she had almost forgotten that it was autumn. Outside the window, she could see trees and birds and flowers, and these things brought smile to her face. She tried to sit up and winced at the pain.

Now that, she had almost forgotten.

She lifted her wrist, eyeing the bandage with curiosity. Then, she looked around. The room was green in hue, walls and ceilings etched with vines and leaves. Many beds were lined up on the sides. A single door was on the other side. Again, she looked around, trying to sink in the image of the unfamiliar place. As soon her eyes were laid upon Erestor's bed, seeing his motionless form, she quickly crawled out of bed and rushed to his side.

"Erestor?" she called out to him, running shaky fingers on his cheek. "Erestor, brother?"

He did not answer. But another voice did. "Do not interrupt his sleep," Santien sternly said, almost demanding. Erynlith blinked at the stranger. "He is not fully healed yet. Maybe you are, so do not interrupt him."

Hearing that, Erynlith returned to sit on the edge of her bed. "Where are we?"

"In Greenwood's infirmary," answered Santien, her voice far from friendly. "The Elven-guard found you in the woods. You are lucky to be found alive. The forest could have taken your life swiftly."

Erynlith furrowed her brows. "Greenwood… never been here before, tra-la," she muttered under her breath, left hand combing through her umber hair. She was surprised they were no tangles. The other healers must have combed it while she slept. "How long have I been out?"

"A whole day," Santien replied. She was mixing and pounding herbs, and then poured hot water in it. She walked towards Erynlith. "Here, drink this," she said, offering the herbs in a cup. "It will help soothe your system. You must be hungry, but solid foods will take harder to digest. Drink that for the moment." Then, she stood up and went back to her work.

Erynlith smelled the cup and quickly drew it away from her nose. "Valar! What is that smell? It's awful!"

Santien did not appreciate that. "Herbs to help you live longer," she said sternly. "Drink that and it will make you feel better."

The other elf cringed. "Ugh, just look at it! It's too green and slimy and smells really bad, tra-lay. Are these vegetables?"

"Yes." Santien rolled her eyes. "Now, drink that. I am making one for your friends as well."

"Oh, don't bother," Erynlith said, putting the cup down on her bedside table. "Erestor can drink mine, tra-lo…"

"No, he will not," the healer insisted, ignoring the singsong. It was obvious she was losing her patience to this younger elf. And Santien did not even know her name, not that she wanted to know anyway. All she wanted to do was do her job as the King trusted her to do, and then get these trespassing elves out of the forest. Their gears and weapons and armors did not match that Greenwood had, and it made some of the Silvan folk uncomfortable.

But Erynlith ignored her as well. She ran her hand on Erestor's forehead, lovingly stroking the dark hair and pale cheeks. Then, she began to sing softly, as if coaxing a child to sleep:

"To sleep would be folly,

To sing would be jolly,

Erestor, wake up now.

Let's ride to the meadow,

And be back for dinner.

Please listen to the singer…"

She could not go on longer; sadness filled her heart as Erestor laid bedridden in front of her, utterly indisposed. Leaning over, she kissed him on the brow, and then on both cheeks.

For a moment, Santien felt sorry for their fate. "Drink that already so I may tell the King you have awoken," the healer suggested, her stern voice fading.

"King?" Erynlith echoed, turning back to her. "I didn't know Greenwood is run by a King, tra-la."

"Well, now you know. Speaking of kings, it reminded me of something…" Santien looked directly at her, hazel eyes thoughtful again. "Someone wants to meet you. Be careful though; he is quite an annoying elf, that one."

Thranduil was bored out of his mind. Here he was, minding his own business in the almost-empty library. Almost. On the other side of the room, a librarian was quietly stacking the books back into the shelves. He groaned quietly, seated on the corner.

"My lord," the librarian said in a soft whisper.

Thranduil did not look up; rather, he did not hear the librarian's voice. He was focused on his work at present, a sketch he had been working on absentmindedly. His chin was propped under his left hand, blue eyes staring lazily at his work, as his right scribbled randomly on the paper. Then, he yawned, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His mind was still bothered by that pennant, years from the old West coming back to him.

Once again, the librarian called out to him, her voice louder. "My lord Thranduil," she said.

His chin slipped from his palm and he jolted awake, looking up to the dark-haired librarian. "Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"Lady Santien has asked for you," the librarian politely said. "She mentioned something about the guests in the infirmary…"

"Ah, yes." Thranduil moved to stand up. Finally, he thought. He murmured his thanks to the librarian. He looked at his work; a random sketch of his father's throne was the product of his boredom. But he thought the sketch looked well; perhaps he might show it off to someone later. He exited the library he had been hanging around for a few hours. He made a mental note not to finish his duties when it was still very early.

Few elves greeted him on his way to the infirmary. Clad in silver brocade and dark trousers, he did not look like royalty at all. His pale golden hair was combed back neatly; his gem-studded rings were not present. He only had a silver brooch upon his collar, studded with emerald. He descended the intersecting staircase in the palace's foyer and then passed by a small fountain. He reached the infirmary in no time, and before he entered, he made an effort to fix his brocade and dusted off his trousers.

When he entered, Santien was glaring at him.

"What?" he asked innocently, closing the door behind him.

"I am not obliged to watch over a little elf if that is what you meant by 'what'."

He blinked again, unable to grasp her meaning. "…What?"

"Really, Thranduil!" Santien groaned exasperatedly. "Have you lost your mind somewhere?! Have you any idea how to keep track of that… that elf?! She has left the infirmary without my knowing and now I cannot find her! The King will get us both if he finds out about this!"

"Oh," he said in realization. He looked around; indeed, Erynlith was not there, only the sleeping Caladhir and Erestor. How could she leave her friends just like that? Shaking his head and avoiding Santien's glare, he went off in search for her.

He asked the Silvan elves he passed. Apparently, none of them saw the elf in question. Thranduil had described her as "an umber-haired elf with bright eyes and strange manner in speaking". However, none of the elves still saw her, and they do not even know why their prince demanded to know. In Thranduil's part, he understood the worry of Santien. They were both entrusted by the King to attend to their injured guests; should Elrond find out that his people were treated otherwise, a conflict may arise between Rivendell and Greenwood.

And the girl was supposed to be injured. He kept that in his mind. What could an injured elf do outside the infirmary? She was still just a newcomer in the forest. She knew nothing about the places she could visit. Thranduil gritted his teeth; he had reached the foyer once again, but no sign of the girl.

Now what?

As if reading his mind, the Captain of the Elven-guard walked up to him, a recurve bow on hand. "Looking for someone, Thranduil?"

Thranduil turned to see his dark-haired friend, clad in thick green tunic and breeches. The Captain was tall and lean, walking in such grace that he was envied. His dark hair was braided in two plaits behind the pointed ear, and a smile ever graced his youthful face. But he was no youth; he had known Thranduil back in the Elder Days.

The elf prince nodded and walked toward his friend. "Yes, Raithon. You remember the girl I rescued yesterday? She has left the infirmary without Santien's knowing. I was asked to find her."

"Oh, yes, I remember," Raithon chuckled, grey eyes showing interest in the matter. "She passed by the outpost earlier this morning, and greeted me and the other guards. When I asked about her, she mentioned something getting something for her brother. I do not know but she speaks really strangely, you know… Always trailing her sentences off with 'tra-la' or something like that. She seemed friendly and innocent. Anyway, she went that way, past the outpost and possibly in field beside the river."

"And you did not stop her?!" Thranduil asked in disbelief.

The captain shrugged innocently. "How should I know? She looked really well anyway. I thought she wanted to get some fresh air."

Thranduil groaned and walked away. "Fresh air," he snorted. "If something happens to her, I am blaming you!"

*Santien – Daughter of the Garden

*Raithon – He who strives

Next Chapter: Thranduil finds Erynlith, and well... things happen between them.

Author's Notes: Hooray for another update! *throws confetti* Sorry for the lack of Thranduil/Erynlith for now. I wanted to establish some character relationships before proceeding. I hope you like the chapter; we've got some crazy Santien and Thranduil things going on here.

By the way, Amdir and Amroth were the Sindarin monarchs of Lothlorien (previously called Lorinand) before Celeborn and Galadriel. :)

Many, many thanks to the reviewers last chapter: xSiriuslyPadfoot, SimplySupreme, DeLacus, Rousdower, and Jahzara! I am glad you guys like Erynlith so far! I promise to make the next chapter more interesting for everyone who reads this story.

Until next update! Please review; opinions and suggestions are always welcomed!~