A.N.: Hello, dearest readers, I'm sorry for the delay, seems it's getting harder to post a chapter per week as I intended. I'm into university again, this time studying data science, and I fear my free time will be even less. Yet, this fic is not too far from its end, so, be happy, it will be finished!

The Other Writer Girl, there will be a bit more of a rollercoaster before they find everything out, those orcs were not the only ones in Mirkwood; Mustard Lady, Celebrisilweth, they'll probably survive, even with Legolas' soon-to-be-found-out problems; pallys d'Artagnan, he can't even understand why his chaperoneship is not welcome! Mizz Alec Volturi, amazing is to have readers like you! salwyn77, Legolas' journey into health may be more complicated than expected; will our favourite healer find out what ills him?

Enjoy and review!

=^.^=

Darkening

Tilda slept fitfully for a small part of the night, snuggled against Kíli's chest. Legolas was knocked out like a drunkard, worrying the healer when she woke up for her watch. At first, Kíli made his show of apologizing for waking her up, to what she just rolled her eyes.

"Not this talk again, Kíli. I had at least a bit of rest in the orc camp, whilst you were climbing trees all around to rescue me. You need your rest, too, and you know it."

He took her hand and leaned against it, thanking Mahal she was truly free from those creatures of darkness.

"Promise you'll wake me up at any of sound or sight you get. That filth might be roaming still."

"I will. I'll try to examine Legolas in the meanwhile, I'm sure that shade of green isn't a healthy colour for elves' skin."

"Beware of where you examine him, I'm sure I'll beat him a different shade of green if you're made to touch him improperly in any way."

"Kíli, I'm a professional healer, not a dumb lassie believer of storks' stories."

"Storks?" He asked, uninformed of Human midwives' legendarium.

"I might tell you someday. Now sleep, you ninny wit."

"You forgot something."

"What?"

"Won't you kiss me better before I go to sleep?"

She did. Just like he kissed her good night before cushioning her with his body, granting her a warmth no campfire could match. Tilda enjoyed the novelty of kissing him for real, not just fantasies in her dreams. It was better than her fantasies. The fire of Kíli's lips tasted of desire, and their tongues played an exquisite dance that vouched a future. His hands roamed her body, respectfully yet eager at once, and the woman was sure it would be even better when the need for modesty came to an end. As soon as the danger is far enough, she promised herself.

"Good night, amrâlimê."

Kíli whispered into her ear when he broke the kiss, knowing it would be impossible to hide his predicament if he lost control. Better to hold back, take in deep breathes, and grant their safety before anything else took place. It had to be right, it had to be perfect, it had to be proper, not because of his own honour, deserter that he was, but for hers. She deserved it.

The dwarf closed his eyes, leaning against the tree trunk, considering in his mind everything Tilda deserved and that he would provide her. Love. Respect. Patience. Safety. Pleasure. He was set to make things properly. Courting, betrothal and wedding gifts, braids and beads. He would wait until they had a cosy place to stay, and shower her in caresses and kisses before anything more daring could happen. In her time, not in his.

He would know her body and worship every inch of it. He would treat her like the princess she was. He would…

Sleep overcame Kíli before any brilliant idea could be formed, but the seed was there.

In the meanwhile, Tilda caressed Kíli's temple until his breath was even, restful sleep settled to recover his tired and beaten body. She cleansed some smudges of dirt and ash on his face with her bare fingers, afraid using the dew that formed on the underbrush leaves to moisturize it would wake him up again. Sure that her favourite dwarf was asleep, she turned to her elven charge.

"Hey."

Tilda whispered, touching Legolas' face with professional attention. His skin was clammy and, despite what she claimed to Kíli about its colour, the scarce moon light filtered by the leaves wasn't enough for her to discern if it was more greenish, yellowish or simply sick gray. Tilda didn't see the caged spider bit the elf, but she was in the orc camp only one day and Legolas claimed to be trying to deceive the orcs that the venom was taking longer to leave his body. Considering his performance during their escapade, it could be considered as the truth, but his current condition denounced it wasn't the whole truth.

Legolas woke up with a start, whipping her hand from his face as if it were a dangerous… autumn leaf. His reflexes were slow, and Tilda hoped it could be blamed on his recent awakening only.

"We must move."

His sluggish words were followed by uncoordinated actions, like his legs trying to make his body to stand up whilst his hands grabbed the roots beside him.

"Legolas, wait." Tilda put a resolute hand on his chest, keeping her patient where she needed him to be. "Kíli just got to rest after a day and half rescuing us and escaping with us. Dwarrow can be dour, you know..." And here she had to put a finger on Legolas' lips as well. "…not despising elven obstinate good will, mind you; but dwarrow can be terribly stubborn and he wouldn't take a break before we found a place to rest that wasn't exposed to any orc, goblin or warg en passant. Now he must rest and I'll address your health."

"There's nothing wrong with my health, I'm just a bit poisoned, that's all."

"Are you a healer?"

"No, but…"

"Then shut up and let me examine you."

At least he preserved some good sense, in her opinion, or had some bad experience with riled up healers. Whatever it was, she thanked Estë and proceeded to assess Legolas' state.

The dim moon light was less than she would be happy with, but it had to make do. Dismissing the colour of his skin, obviously wrong but impossible to determine, she started with his temperature. To have a dwarf close by whose natural state was like fever to a human was a bonus to her diagnosis ability, and the knowledge that elves should be like men in this aspect allowed her to judge there was probably some fever going on, yet not high enough to worry, for the time being.

His eyes held a sheen coherent with the fever hypothesis; dilated pupils could be due the lack of light, yet elves had better night vision than ordinary men, so she stored that up for further consideration.

"What are you feeling different from your customary health?" Tilda asked while assessing his pulsation at the wrist.

"Nothing."

"Nothing my fishnet. What are you feeling?"

Legolas heaved a sigh and sought for an explanation of what he felt.

"You know when you accidentally hit your elbow a certain way and it feels like tiny fire ants decided to bit your arm from the elbow up and down to the hand?"

"Aye. We call it paresthesia. Similar to when you sleep over a bent leg and it wakes up tingling."

"I feel some of it from my neck down to my shoulders, now and then. Nothing noteworthy, but you asked for anything different, so…"

"Splendid! Now you're being helpful, really. Anything else?"

"No, don't worry. I'll keep you informed if anything changes."

His voice had lost the sluggishness while they talked, and Tilda deemed it had really been only due to waking up.

"Now, the stings."

"What stings?"

The woman resisted the urge to roll her eyes and resorted to some sarcasm.

"The ones inflicted by the spider, Mister Oblivious."

"Oh, they're fine. Completely healed, I'm sure. It's been three days since I took the last one, there's nothing to worry about."

Realising her resistance was forfeit, Tilda rolled her eyes. Why, oh why had all males to be that stubborn?

"Shirtless. Now." Legolas' bewildered face at her words was priceless, but she shielded her humour at it with her best business brazenness. "I've seen the tears in your shirt, I know where they are." He made to open his mouth for a reply but was cut short. "I've seen enough bare patients to not blush at your hairless torso, so… Shirtless. Now."

The elf untied the lace of his shirt, annoyed, avoiding Tilda's eyes all the while. Curiosity took the best of him.

"Why do you think my torso is hairless?"

"Sure as the Moon follows the Sun, as dwarves have beards, and as men are doomed to die, so it's reckoned that elves have no beard, do not die and follow no one… and have no trace of hair on their chests. So. Shirtless. Now."

Surrendering to her indisputable logic, Legolas obliged.

The result was less than pleasant, for both of them.

For the elf, tearing the fabric adhered to his skin was quite painful, even if he hid his grimace behind a fold of the shirt. For the woman, the sight of the pustular sting marks, in different stages of healing, made her glad she didn't have anything to eat in the previous twelve hours. She swallowed dry instead.

There were at least half a dozen sting marks, scattered all over his back. Black and purple bruises spread from them in a three inch radio, or more, fading to green and yellow as they covered more skin. Blotches of pus marked the middle of each one, and even aware elves weren't doomed to die due to infection, it was obvious it hurt. How long can you live in pain when the cause of the pain doesn't kill you? Despite her vows to save lives, Tilda knew there were extremes when saving someone from suffering didn't exactly mean preserving a life. The moral dilemma was, which life was the one to be saved, the one of the body or the one of the mind? What if both couldn't be achieved?

She pressed the side of the least infected, earning a stifled grunt in response. Yellow secretion oozed from the wound.

"We should drain this and cauterize. If we only could make a fire…"

"Just drain it." Legolas demanded with a wince. "It will heal in time."

"We have nothing to bind it, or even to cleanse it properly."

"Then it won't be bound, and won't be cleansed. We must move from here as soon as possible."

"Maybe my healing supplies are still at our camp. When we reach it…"

"Aye, when we reach it we can make good use of them. Now…"

"Now you rest too." Tilda handled the shirt back to the elf. "I'll hold watch and wake you both up at first light."

"Call me first."

She frowned, but curiosity was stronger.

"Why?"

"Can't allow you two together without supervision. I'm your chaperone, after all."

She muffled a giggle. He was more than knocked out the last four or five hours, she was sure anything could have been done in the meanwhile, even considering her own inexperience.

"You're our auto-proclaimed chaperone, you mean."

"All the same. Your honour comes first."

The woman looked down at her lap, fiddling with the sigil on her cloak while he donned the tattered garment. Was it the right moment to spill the beans to Legolas? Wouldn't it be better to have this talk with Kíli awake? Would the elf support or betray them?

The elf mistook her silence for shyness and tried to comfort her, in his own particular manner.

"I can even state nothing happened whilst under my sight and have Kíli ask to court you in front of your father and Dale's court as if it were the first time it ever happened. I mean, nothing did happen, did it?"

She laughed silently, not to disturb Kíli in his sleep, amused.

"No, nothing happened." Not that she didn't want it to, she added in her mind, not a bit guilty about it. "Just… I'm more worried about your spider poisoning than other issues."

"We escaped from the orcs, what else could go wrong?"

With these calming words, the elf retreated to his tree-root alcove, and went to sleep at once. Tilda spent the next few hours in silent watch, pondering about how to make Legolas help them, or at least to swear secrecy. When at last the sky was turning from black to purple, she decided it was time to wake up the lads and keep on moving.

Despite Legolas' admonishment, she woke Kíli up first, to his delight. Only a moment to hold her and share a chaste kiss, both knowing they were still in danger. Waking up the elf was another problem. The dwarf noticed her frown and asked.

"What's wrong?"

"He is feverish, more than before. Running nose, too. Like a flu."

"Elves don't get sick."

"Well, this one is."

"Legolas." He shook the elf's shoulder, less gently than Tilda. "Legolas, wake up, you don't want to be mocked by a dwarf, do ya?"

"Adar…" The blond mumbled, restless. Kíli shook him a bit more roughly.

"C'mon, forest fairy, we have no time for fluttering eyelids and mysterious gibberish!"

The last shaking, if not the last phrase, had the elf awake at last.

"Ad…" He cut his word short when finally focused on his companions. Wiping his running nose on the sleeve of his tunic, Legolas considered the surroundings. "We must go away from here. I must return home."

"So we believe, my friend. How're you feeling?"

"Cold. Too cold. And…" Here his voice dropped to a whisper. "In pain. It's the poison. I'm sure it's the spider poison."

"It might have been, previously." Agreed the resident healer. "Yet it's been days since you were poisoned last. It should be wearing down."

"It should. But the poison is the only possible cause. I must go back home. My father… My father found the counter-venom centuries ago. I must go back home."

Tilda and Kíli exchanged worried looks, nodding at each other in silent agreement.

"We will do our best. Just point the way, and we'll make it." Promised Kíli.

"But first to our camp, to retrieve anything still useful. We have no waterskin, no food, and my medicine bag may be there still."

"Aye. Northeast from here, then. Legolas, are you able walk?"

The elf stood up with a grunt, leaning against the tree trunk.

"I must be. Let us go."

Watchful for the need of steadying their sick friend at any moment, Kíli led the way, hoping against hope that they could be silent and fast enough. Silent to avoid the orcs, and fast enough to save their self-entitled chaperone. To his own surprise, not for the first time in his life, he prayed for the life of an elf.