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Chapter Text

Nisathiel jerked awake when the carriage hit a bump and her head thumped hard against the wood of the carriage. Cursing, she pulled back and rubbed the stinging skin of her forehead. Of course, Miluiwen looked up from her knitting and shot her ward a murderous expression. "Mind your mouth, hina ."

Scowling and still rubbing at her head, Nisa picked her book up off the floor of the carriage and sat back in her seat. After a final narrow eyed glance, Miluiwen went back to knitting, the wooden needles moving deftly in her wrinkled hands. "Queens do not curse . "

"I'm not quite a queen yet. Best to get all the curses out now."

Feeling triumphant as the old woman's mouth twitched despite her, Nisa set her book down and focused on the landscape passing by outside the carriage. 

She had heard stories of Eryn Lasgalen, the gnarled trees with trunks as wide as carriages and branches so thick no light could get through. 

"And spiders so big they can swallow you whole!" Maicaheru had dissolved into laughter when he had seen her face pale at that, two of her other six brothers joining in the raucous before their wives had shushed them.

"Do not frighten her," Ranith had scolded Tyelcion, her jeweled hand cradling her swollen belly protectively. "You should be offering your sister comfort before she leaves." 

"We're just preparing her," Maicaheru had continued, no wife to tow him into line. He had dropped his voice and wiggled his fingers menacingly at her the way he had when she was younger and he had snuck into her room to tell her scary stories. "She is to be wed to the Demon King of Mirkwood."

Nisa had tried to roll her eyes at that. He came up with ridiculous names for her betrothed daily just to frighten her, but the stories she had heard and read of King Thranduil, son of Oropher, gave more and more credence to the epithets.

"Every day a village family brings a child for his breakfast," Handion joined in, leaning forward menacingly in his chair at the breakfast table. He grunted like his wife had stomped on his foot, but he ignored her. "If one is not brought, he RAMPAGES through the village!" He had reached out to poke hard a Nisa's shoulder, but she knew him too well and blocked him hard with a utensil. He had scowled at her and pulled his hand away, shaking it vigorously as his wife snorted over her stitching.

"Not even the dragons could defeat him," Maicaheru leapt back in. "His heart was too hard for them to swallow and he fought his way out of their bellies!"

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, Nisa had all but devolved into tremors before Miluiwen had come bustling in, tugging each of the princes’ ears until they winced and grumbled half-hearted apologies to their baby sister.

"Are you thinking of what your brothers told you?" 

Nisa pulled her head from the window to look at a face more familiar than her own mother's. Miluiwen was looking at her from under raised brows, her neck still bent over her needles and hands never not moving. She took Nisa's silence as answer and gave a deep sigh and shake of her head.

"Ridiculous boys. I thought wives and little ones would bring them in line. Pity."

"It's just when it comes to me," Nisa piped up, feeling oddly protective of the witless elleths .

Miluiwen did nod in agreement to that. "Quite true." She smiled fondly. "I remember them crowded over your cradle, so eager to see. They were more broken up to see you go than they let on."

A wave of sadness washed over Nisa and she clutched the fabric of her traveling gown. "I won't be there for the births." 

Eight little ones already and three more on the way, one of the most difficult parts of leaving would be not being there for the births. Both Arnor and Arodalph's wives had tried to appeal to her father for her to stay, to no avail. Even the treasured wife of his eldest heir could not sway him.

"She has been there for all the births," Thennes had argued. "She is the most knowledgeable healer in the palace, if not Elfalia. At least allow me her by my side through the birth and she can leave within the moon."

But her father had been unmovable, as usual. Apologetic, but unmovable.

"She leaves within the fortnight."

Nisa continued to sulk until Miluiwen let out another long suffering sigh and set down her needles. "Be at ease, hina . Your father would not marry you to a brute. King Thranduil is a good man who has protected his people and has had a long, strong rule. I will say, I did not see you having a warrior such as him for a husband, but you will be well cared for and protected as his wife, even if in name only."

Reaching across her seat, Nisa scratched at Hû's ears, discreetly checking his bandaged leg as she did so. The pup cracked an eye and gave her a disgruntled look that reminded her very much of Miluiwen before going back to sleep.

"They will not let you bring that thing into the palace," Miluiwen sighed yet again as she went back to her knitting. Nisa felt a surge of sadness at that. 

They had found the pup halfway through their journey, wounded and whimpering on the road. It had taken Nisa much too long to lure him into the carriage, Miluiwen and their driver grumbling all the while about making it to the next village before dark. Bread and cheese had eventually done the job and he had left only a few bites on her hand as she bandaged his bloodied leg. "I'll sneak him in my bag. It will be fine."

"Eru help me," Miluiwen implored, looking pleadingly into the sky even as her needles continued to move.

Both women looked up when the carriage came to a sudden halt. Miluiwen frowned. "Are we there already?" The door opened and Satardil poked his head in, looking slightly put upon. "We've been barred from crossing the bridge to the front gates."

Nisa and Miluiwen exchanged glances, both moving to step from the carriage. Satardil stopped them with a hand up. "Let me speak to them first, my lady."

As he pulled his head back, Nisa poked her head out, blinking at what she saw and feeling familiar anxiety rise in her stomach. What had to be over a dozen armored elves stood sentinel in front of what Nisa thought to be a precariously thin stone bridge. Spectacular wooden doors stood firmly shut beyond, flanked by strong stone pillars.

One of the elves broke formation to meet Satardil a few paces beyond the carriage, the hard eyes of his fellow soldiers following his every move. The elf glanced at the carriage and locked eyes with Nisa and Miluiwen, who put a hand protectively on Nisa's back. The elf looked at Satardil again before nodding tightly and turning to speak to his regiment. They suddenly and gracefully broke formation and surrounded the carriage on either side as who Nisa figured to be the unit's leader moved swiftly across the bridge and ducked inside.

Satardil reopened the carriage doors, still looking uneasy. "We must enter on foot, my lady," he explained, holding a hand out to her. "A precaution."

         "Insolent..." Nisa ignored Miluiwen's grumbling as she took Satardil's callused hand and stepped from the carriage just as the wooden doors creaked open and a strikingly handsome elf stepped into the open.

Chapter Text

Sharp jawed and bright eyes, the elf stepped between the sentinel of guards, the warm smile on his face making Nisa release her grip on Miluiwen's wrist, even if only a fraction

The blonde male stopped a few feet from them, his boots crunching against fallen leaves and the bow at his back glinting in the scarce shaft of light. 

"Queen Consort Nisanthiel of Eryn Lasgalen, Princess of Elfalia," he greeted in a shockingly strong voice. "Welcome. I am Legolas, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen." He gave a deep, respectful bow, his silver hair nearly brushing the stone ground. The guards followed suit and Nisa nodded courteously before dipping gracefully into her own cutesy. Of the many things that tended to escape her mind, Miluiwen and her mother made sure royal protocol was not one of them. "Thank you for your gracious welcome."

When Legolas raised his head, the guards following with a powerful clang of armor, she could see for the first time a worried crease in his brow. "We regret that we could not greet you with the appropriate fanfare, but we have been dealing with recent...troubles on our borders. It is why my father is not here to greet you."

Turning on a heel, he made a sweeping motion toward the open doors, his warm smile still in place. "Shall we?"

Nisa opened her mouth to respond but stopped and looked back toward the retinue of carriages that arrived with her, Miluiwen and Satardil still standing back near her personal carriage. Satardil had wisely closed the door so Hû could not poke his head out.

"Do not be concerned, your majesty," Legolas responded to her worried look. "Your companions will be brought to their quarters and your things will be brought to your own chambers."

"The medicine and plants are very delicate," she interjected quickly. "Many of them..."

"They will be well cared for, your majesty," the prince interrupted again, his smile still never wavering. "Do not be concerned."

With one final look back, Nisa bit her lip against further questions and turned to Legolas with a smile. "Of course." She took his offered hand and they strode across the bridge and into the open doors of the Elvenking's Halls, Miluiwen trailing a few paces behind.

The sun disappeared as the doors were pulled shut behind them with a near deafening creak and heavy thud, a massive lock slaming into place with an ominous clang. Nisa felt that damning sound in her heart, feeling like her own ribs were clattering around in her chest. Suddenly her gown was too tight, Legolas's hand over hers too warm. She felt the beating need to snatch it away, clench the fabric of her dress until her chest felt less narrow. Knowing she could do no such thing, she focused instead on where she was. It did not take long, the castle truly awe inspiring in both its majesty and ingenuity. A whole world inside the hollows of great caves, thick spires and pillars holding the rest of the world above them. Candles and lanterns lit their way as they crossed ornately carved bridges that led them deeper into the palace.

Legolas must have sensed her uneasiness because he cleared his throat and released her hand to point at nothing in particular above them. "My father was inspired by Thingol's halls of Menegroth in Doriath during the First Age."

"Yes," Nisa interjected, appreciating his effort to engage in a conversation. She was also appreciative that he had let go of her hand, whether it was intentional or not. "Dwarvish work."

He looked surprised at her knowledge. "Yes, how did–"

"There is some written history of your home," she continued, seizing the opportunity to discuss history and other things she had read, was confident in her knowledge of. "I read as much as I could before I came."

He quirked a brow at that. "I was unaware of that." 

"Yes. Eryn Lasgalen has a colorful history; it is quite fascinating." 

As they chattered, Nisa began to relax, grateful there was at least one person in Eryn Lasgalen she could have an easy conversation with.

It seemed to take both hours and no time at all for them to reach the doors of the queen's chambers, carved with delicate fawns and blooming flowers.

"Your lady's maid will have the chamber next to yours," Legolas explained as he pushed open the doors to her new rooms. A soldier appeared at his side suddenly and murmured something into his ear. His face became vacant, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in distress. He nodded to the guard before turning back to Nisa with a tight smile.

"Unfortunately, I have to leave you. If you have any concerns, please ask anyone." His face became even more serious and he stepped forward to speak to her in a low tone. "And when you are ready, please join us in the council room. You will be escorted."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, flanked by three guards. Nisa silently watched him go, disquiet blooming in her stomach. So focused was she, she didn't hear Miluiwen ease up behind her. "Strange place this Eryn Lasgalen."

Nisa started and held a hand over her now pounding heart. "Y-Yes," she agreed. Miluiwen was looking around the hall with a scowl. "I do not like its feel. There is something dark here."

That made Nisa let out a shaky breath. She had no idea how old Miluiwen was, had been cuffed on the ear for asking, but she knew she was ancient. Ancient enough to have had many lives before settling in Elfalia, where even the king often went to her for counsel. Rarely did she speak of the dark things she saw in her past lives, but when she did, she had the same haunted look in her eye she did now.

Suddenly she looked at Nisa, seeming to come back suddenly to the present. "Freshen up and I will help you dress. We must not make them wait." With that, she turned and swept into her own rooms.

Her already crowded mind rushing a mile a minute, Nisa moved into her own room where maids were already unpacking her many things. Mumbling to herself and pulling roughly at the pins in her hair, she went to the bathroom.

Not ten minutes later, Miluiwen was bustling in and dragging Nisa sputtering from the water and scolding her for nearly falling asleep and drowning. Sitting her at a grand table with a mirror, she pulled her hair into a complex twist after donning her in a flowing gown of blue and satin slippers. The minute the last pin was in her hair, there was a firm knock at the door and three soldiers entered, two of them armored men and the third a beautiful female with auburn braids and a bow at her back. The woman bowed deeply, but the firm look on her face did not waver.

"Your majesty," she greeted. "I am Tauriel, captain of the king's elven guard. I am here to escort you to the council room."

Nisa bowed her head in greeting, knowing Tauriel was deserving of respect past even what her rank required. "Captain, it is an honor. Your bravery during the War of the Ring has been well documented." 

Tauriel seemed to blush at the compliment and smiled softly. "Thank you, your majesty. I am flattered by your praise." 

Chafing at all the formality, Nisa stepped forward. "Please, call me Nisa."

The captain blinked, obviously startled by the informality. "I could not..."

"I will refer to you as Tauriel if that eases your worries. With your permission of course."

There was a short silence before Tauriel nodded. It was not much, but Nisa felt as though she had come out the other side of a great battle.

Stepping aside and sweeping out her arm in much the same way Legolas had outside the palace, Tauriel beckoned her toward the outer hall. "I am to escort you to the council room."

Nodding and sensing the urgency, Nisa moved past the guards into the hall. Looking back, she watched as Miluiwen made deliberate eye contact with Tauriel and gave a slight lift of her lip. Much to Nisa's amusement, Tauriel returned the look right back before beckoning the other two guards with a terse jerk of her head.

The five of them walked in silence, their footsteps echoing on the stone walls. Feeling the telltale signs of anxiety crawling across her skin, Nisa tugged at a strand of her hair and cleared her throat, looking to Tauriel. "Is there anything you can tell me as to what this meeting is about, Captain?"

The elven guard was silent for a long moment, an obvious battle on her face before she took a breath. "There is not much I can tell you outside the privacy of the council, your majesty, but...you have not arrived in a time of peace for Eryn Lasgalen."

Having had her hand slapped away from her hair by Miluiwen, Nisa clenched her gown in her hands, ignoring her maid's disapproving grumbles. "Consequence of Sauron?" 

The name seemed to hang heavy in the air and another long silence followed, but Nisa had never found ease in tiptoeing around what needed to be said. It had often seen her kicked out of conversations and sent to bed without supper. It had confused her for a long time, as she never had malice, nor ill intentions, but the discomfort of not saying what needed to be said was unbearable at times. It was why she enjoyed spending time with the healers, botanists, and librarians of Elfalia. They always spoke to her in facts and information, things with no double meaning.

The group of them suddenly stopped and Nisa looked away from Tauriel's face to the doors in front of her. As grand as the rest of the palace, they stretched to the ceiling and were flanked by two standing lanterns so bright they illuminated the entirety of the dark hallway.

Tauriel turned to face Nisa, her eyes glowing eerily in the light. "I cannot say anything else, your majesty. But I can say we are happy that you and your knowledge are here."

Nisa only had a chance to gape at her before the doors of the council room creaked open and Tauriel beckoned her inside with another nod and sweep of her arm. Her eyes landed on Nisa's clenched hands and she looked back into her eyes with raised brows. Nisa quickly forced herself to drop her skirts and gave a nod of thanks before raising her head, squaring her shoulders, and moving into the council room.

Suddenly, she was an elfling again, sneaking into the council room amongst her brothers, most all of whom were grown enough to swat at the sister trailing behind them. She would dash among the robes and finery of the gathered council members, aiming to hide under the table and listen to what seemed to her at the time sacred secrets. Only a handful of times did she manage to escape notice long enough to listen in, but she was never privy to anything important. Most of the time, she was chased out before anything important could happen. When she did manage to hear something, it was usually of no interest to her.

Now, entering the low ceilinged room, Nisa could not quite summon the courage to speak loudly and authoritatively as she had been taught. It was simply not in her nature and never had been. Instead, she inclined her head at the gathered members and willed herself not to gather her gown in her fists again.

It was a tall male with dark brown hair and a simple circlet around his head was the first to step forward. "Princess Nisathiel of Elfalia," he pronounced loud enough for the room to go quiet and turn toward her. "I am Celomen, first advisor to King Thranduil. I welcome you to his council." He bowed deeply and most of the council members followed suit, others simply nodding in greeting. Some looked at her with open suspicion, their eyes roaming over her as if they could read her intentions on her skin. Maybe it was because she looked different, her hair thicker and her skin darker, or maybe it was because her home kingdom was small and insignificant compared to others. Or it could have been that she was only queen consort and had been married to their brave king in a rushed marriage by proxy.

Before her mind could take off, another man stepped forward, this one visibly older than many of the others with lines forming around his mouth and an intelligent glint in his eyes. "And I am Amarher, your majesty." A hand to his chest and a deep bow. "We are honored to have you."

Curtsying in greeting, Nisa stayed silent as the other council members introduced themselves to her, some bowing and smiling, some biting out their names and nodding tersely.

"We were just ending our meeting," Celomen explained. "We have...much to tell you." Solemnity fell over the room like a shroud, the muttering council members falling eerily silent. Celomen looked over them and jerked his head toward the door. The council members shuffled from the room until only she, Celomen, Amarher and an intimidating white haired woman who had introduced herself as Feindil remained.

Celomen gestured toward the dark wood table centered in the room. "Please, sit." Nisa did so, taking the time to finally look over the room. Low ceilinged, a twisted black chandelier lit the stone walls that were covered in ornate tapestries depicting visions of battles and peace alike. Nisa slid into one of the wooden chairs next to Feindil, feeling the woman's sharp gaze on her face.

Celomen seemed to collapse in the chair to her left, his eyes closing for a long moment. It was Amarher who leaned forward to speak from Celomen’s left. "You have come to our realm in a time of strife, your majesty. And while we are grateful you are here, we feel the need to prepare you for what is to come." Nisa didn't say anything, but she clenched her gown hard beneath the table, a terrible feeling growing in her stomach.

"Stop scaring the child," Feindil suddenly snapped, her voice so strong Nisa almost jumped. They looked at each other, Feindil’s gaze unforgiving. "You were chosen as wife to our king for your own kingdom's bountiful resources," she started, her straightforwardness a surprising relief among the riddles Nisa had been subjected to since she arrived.

"As you well know, Elfalia boasts some of the best healers in the realm, as well as medicine and medicinal herbs not found elsewhere in Middle Earth. We find ourselves in dire need of those resources." Her gaze became even harder as she stared at Nisa with a contempt she didn't understand. "Of course, nothing comes free. We need your resources, your father needs our troops to secure his borders. The perfect use for a daughter." Nisa blinked at her honesty, unsure as to whether she was somehow being insulted.

"Not just a daughter," Amarher cut in, shooting Feindil a stern look. "A healer in her own right. You trained directly under Lord Elrond?"

"Y-Yes, for a time. But I am not a healer in the common elven sense. I am more of a scholar. Please do not mistake--"

"We have need for more than common elven healers," Celomen finally spoke in a weary tone and a dismissive wave of his hand. "They have tried and failed."

Feeling herself reach the end of her tether, Nisa sat forward and placed her hands flat on the table, feeling the smooth surface beneath her skin.

"Failed at what? I need more information than you have provided me thus far. I cannot help if I do not know."

The room fell silent again, so silent Nisa could hear a draft rustle the tapestries on the wall. Finally, Celomen closed his eyes and leaned his head against his steepled hands. "Bring him in."

"Celomen." Feindil snapped his name, her eyes narrowed furiously at him.

But Celomen ignored her and stood as the door opened and two healers came into the room carrying a covered stretcher, their white robes brushing the floor. 

Amarher and Feindil stood as well, Feindil still looking furious and Amarher looking heartbroken. Nisa stood as well, the tension in the room palpable. She could see Celmon's hand shake as he reached over and drew back the blanket shielding the figure on the stretcher. His face was haunted as he met her eyes.

"This, your majesty. Please forgive me."

When he pulled the blanket away, Nisa gasped and stumbled back.

Chapter Text

Nisa stumbled back against her chair, nearly collapsing into it as she looked at the figure on the stretcher. 

It had been a child. A young male elfling. 

Now...she wasn't sure what it was.

His body was small but grotesquely contorted, his spine arched to an impossible angle, his legs tucked beneath himself. Even the muscles in his toes were locked in a painful flex. The corpse's neck was distended far from his shoulders, his face pointed toward the heavens.

His face....

His final expression had been one of agony, his mouth open, teeth bared. His eyes were wide, the whites shot with blood, skin pulled unnaturally tight over the bones of his face. They had been blue.

As disturbing as his posture was, it was his skin that made her hesitate to get closer. 

It was black and blistered, cracked like coals on a dying fire.

Never in her life, in centuries of study and experience, had she seen anything like it.

"You may touch him," Celomen murmured at her pause. "He passed nearing seven days ago and his ailment is not contagious."

Stepping slowly forward, Nisa reached out a single hand and ran the tips of her finger along his skin. Despite the length of time the boy had been deceased, his body was warm, reminding her again of a dying fire. The skin did indeed feel like coal, abrasive and grainy beneath her touch. She slowly ran a hand up his arm to his neck. He was hard as rock.

"I haven't..."

No words came to her amidst the shock and awe of what she was looking at. Never in her life...

"Nor have we," Amarher responded to her unsaid words, stepping closer to her and looking down at the elfling with a devastated expression. "I have walked this earth for over eight millennia and I have never seen anything the like. It only affects elves under the age of 50 and they are dead within a fortnight. Little pain is felt the first seven days, but the skin begins to grow charred and dark, the body temperature rising. On the eighth day, the muscles begin to tense and lock and the skin begins to burn like a growing fire. At the eleventh or twelfth day, the child cannot walk and his body temperature has become hot enough to overheat the brain, causing delusions, slurred speech, and the like. By the thirteenth day, he is screaming in pain, his skin is burning like fire, and his body is going into uncontrollable spasms. He is dead on the 14th day."

"Every time?"

"Every time."

Nisa stared down at the little boy in silence, suddenly wondering if he had been a willful or shy child. He couldn't have been more than 20 years of age. He could sing and dance and hold intelligent conversation, but his body was not yet mature.

"How...How many so far?"

"Four."

Her hand went to her chest, the beads of her gown hard and cold beneath her fingers. A devastating number for an elven village. Elves did not have many children, did not have endless fëa to provide multiple offspring.

"This is why you are here, child." Feindil's voice was still pitiless, and when Nisa looked away from the boy's body and into her face, it was as hard as the stone that surrounded them. "For the past three months, we have searched to the ends of Middle Earth, brought forth dozens of the most talented healers in the land, tried endless medicines and remedies, and we have found nothing. With your marriage, you have brought us materials and wisdom we have yet to attempt."

Celomen waved his hand and turned away, the blanket being thrown back over the body before the stretcher was carted away.

The three other elves were speaking, but Nisa was not listening. Their voices sounded distant despite the low ceilings of the council room. Wrapping her hand around her throat, she wandered back over to her chair and slowly sat again. She felt hollowed out, like everything she had learned and studied, the years of experience and practice, had never once crossed her mind. For the first time in decades, she felt woefully inadequate. Finally, she looked at the three elves in front of her. All of them had been staring expectantly at her for she did not know how long.

"Why me? Elfalia has many healers that are more qualified than myself."

"Lord Elrond has spoken highly of your skill and uncommon approaches to enigmas such as this. Your knowledge extends beyond basic medicine to botany and the history of healing, among other fields many healers do not bother with."

"Lord Elrond--"

"Is not in a position to join us or offer us aid," Feindil interjected. By her sharp tone, Nisa could tell she had certain feelings about that fact, but she wasn't sure if she was upset at Lord Elrond for his refusal or her for inquiring. 

Amarher pulled a chair close to her own and sat, reaching out to take her hands in his. In any other circumstances her body would have resisted the intimacy, but it was strangely comforting at this moment. He reminded her a bit of her father.

"Our children are suffering," he murmured to her in a tone so low she was sure she was the only one who could hear him. "They are dying. We have largely kept this from our people, but no secret can be kept forever. If things get worse, we will have to tell them for their own protection. We are placing the last of our hope with you."

Nisa would have swallowed if her throat hadn't seized at his words. 

We are placing the last of our hope with you.

The four of them sat in another long silence, the gravity of their situation its own presence in the room.

Finally, she looked to Amarher and gave an ungainly nod, no words seeming to suffice.

In her periphery, Celomen visibly relaxed and Amarher gave her hands a squeeze and a pat, much like her father would have in similar moments.

"I am glad to hear it."

Nisa didn't respond. 

Had there been any other choice? Was there any other answer she could have given? Could she have devastated these people, who were obviously suffering and on their last threads of hope? Did they expect a miracle? Grace from the gods?

She thought back to the first time she had lost a patient, a young human woman who had passed in childbirth. We can only work with gifts the gods have graced us with, hina . " Miluiwen had murmured those words to her as she stroked back her hair and let Nisa sob into her lap. Some are far beyond our earthly aid. You cannot defeat ambar . Miluiwen spoke often of fate.

What did fate have in store for her here in Eryn Lasgalen? Was she fated for failure? For triumph? Only one seemed remotely possible.

"Your majesty?"

Celomen touched her arm and she flinched away, taking a shuddering breath and closing her eyes for a long moment. "Take me to the infirmary. And I will need healer's robes."

Mind still racing, Nisa stepped from the council room and was immediately enclosed by a fussing Miluiwen. "You are pale, hina." The elder elf frowned in concern and reached up to place a hand to Nisa's forehead. "What did they say to you in there?"

Reaching up, Nisa gently pulled Miluiwen's hands from her face and gave her a tight smile. She thought back to Celomen's final words. Few others are privy to this information and we would prefer to keep it that way. Please be mindful of the information you divulge to others.

"Nothing of interest, Miluiwen. I am tired from the journey." 

A single raised brow told Nisa her lady's maid saw right through her lie. "I have all but raised you, hina ," she retorted with a pointed finger. "I can read every blink of your eye and I know a lie when I see one."

Nisa saw Tauriel over Miluiwen's shoulder, her posture rigid and her hands tucked at her back. The captain lowered her chin and held Nisa's eye. She was definitely one the privy few Celomen mentioned.

Before she could respond to Miluiwen, the older woman waved a disinterested hand. "I'm sure I will find out soon enough. When you have lived as long as I have, you learn everything eventually."

Glad to have that conversation out of the way for the time being, Nisa pulled on the neck of her gown. The caves were suddenly uncomfortably hot, the fabric of her gown coarse on her skin. She longed for the spacious healer's robes.

Tauriel took a step forward, coming to stand at Miluiwen's side. "Your majesty," she said, her eyes wary, as if she was unsure how much Nisa knew. "I am to escort you and Lady Feindil to the infirmary."

If it had been at all appropriate, Nisa would have grumbled at that. Social etiquette was not her strong suit, but she was intelligent enough to deduce the Lady Feindil did not hold a high opinion of her. For whatever reason that was, Nisa was unsure. 

As if she had heard her name beneath the door, Feindil swept from the council room, looking so put together Nisa wondered for a moment if they had witnessed the same thing in that room only a few moments prior.

"Captain," she spoke directly to Tauriel. "We are to show the Lady Nisanthiel the infirmary." She cast a glance at Miluiwen. "Alone."

Miluiwen slowly raised a brow at that and Nisa quickly put a hand to her arm. "You can return to your chambers, Miluiwen. I will join you for supper this evening."

An initial hesitation before Miluiwen nodded, casting Tauriel and Feindil both suspicious glances. Feindil watched her go, looking laughably put upon, most likely at Miluiwen's lack of deference to her. Miluiwen had decided many millennia ago that tedious royal protocol had taken up too much of her lifetime. Especially when shown to those who are undeserving .

"Shall we?" Tauriel interrupted the tense moment, obviously sensing the growing storm between the two women.

Nisa leapt on that. "Yes, Captain. Please lead the way."

The three of them headed down the hall, four guards following at a respectable distance.

"I imagine that was quite a bit for you to take in," Feindil finally spoke up, her voice characteristically offhanded.

"Yes," Nisa conceded, not sure what else she was to say. Tauriel was silent behind them except for the click of her boots.

"It is much for all of us to take in," Feindil continued. Another silence stretched out until Feindil suddenly stopped and turned to face Nisa, who had to stumble to a surprised stop and turn to face her before she found herself a few steps ahead.

"For the sake of honesty, I do not have much hope in the resources you have brought from your homeland."

Nisa blinked at her, again unsure how to respond. Feindil kept going.

"We have brought the most talented healers from Middle earth to Eryn Lasgalen, elves, dwarves and Men alike, tens of thousands of years of experience between all of them." She narrowed her eyes and Nisa was suddenly aware the other woman was a few inches taller and could look down her nose at her. "I do not think a young elf who has not yet reached 2000 years of age can achieve what they cannot."

Tired and still reeling from the events of the recent meeting, Nisa managed to raise her chin, even as she clenched her jaw against words that would benefit no one. Suddenly, Feindil looked vulnerable, her eyes softening.

"I know you think me cruel. The years have taught me many difficult things and one of those things is there is no use in holding my tongue against the truth. We are not in a time for false words and pretty pleasantries. It has not been five months since Sauron has fallen and we are suffering yet another calamity. I do not think you have brought a cure with you, but I do believe you have the potential to bring us closer to that cure than the others have." They started walking again, though Nisa did not take her eyes from Feindil's face.

"We were not lying when we said Lord Elrond spoke highly of your skills in the ways of traditional medicine and your ability to see things from an angle different than that of others."

"Is that why the king married me?"

Feindil's lips curled in a sardonic smile. "The king married you because that is the deal your father struck. I truly did not think little Elfalia's king had it in him to barter in such a situation."

Nisa was not surprised. He had lived a long life and had acquired the great wisdom that came with that life and its experiences. He was not the callow, wide-eyed elf of a tranquil kingdom many thought him to be. He was a shrewd ellon who could strike a difficult deal when needed.

"What were his exact terms? I only know what I saw, and that was very little."

"Your hand and enough resources to service the entirety of Eryn Lasgalen three times over in return for five companies of soldiers to secure his borders. A very beneficial deal indeed." Feindil cast Nisa a narrow eyed glance. "You did not come at a bargain, princess."

No, she couldn't imagine she did. Her father had a shocking six healthy sons, anomalous for the elven world, his last daughter a pleasant surprise that was doted on in the palace. But she did not for one second believe he would treat her any differently than he had his sons, all of them precious pawns for the security and longevity of his kingdom.

Before she could respond, Tauriel interjected. "We are here, my Ladies."

A set of doors stood before them, not as grand as many she had seen in the palace thus far, absent of intricate carvings or ornate handles. The pale stone was engraved only with simple lines and given sturdy handles. 

As the doors opened, Nisa saw the inside was equally as simple, but well equipped for its purpose. The infirmary was both long and wide, readied with many lofty beds for the sick and counters covered in bottles of medicine and salves, bandages, tools and other medical implements. Windows covered one wall and looked out over a forest that bloomed reds, oranges, and yellows.

"Magic," Tauriel murmured into her ear. "The infirmary is deep underground for safety, but the healers have found sunlight to be beneficial to the healing process."

Nisa nodded in agreement to that observation. Depending on what village healing house she was providing service to, she herself had walked patients through countless gardens, forests, lakesides, and beaches. No matter where she was, the sun beat the same, a force every species could turn their faces to with relish.

Two white robed elves approached them, one a broad male with warm eyes, the other a slightly shorter female with a long face and aquiline nose. "These are our two lead healers," Feindil explained. "Healer Thendor..."  - the male bowed deeply - "...and healer Oriel." The female followed suit. "They are leading our...crusade against this plague." Thendor spoke first. "It is an honor, your majesty. You are spoken highly of by many across Middle Earth."

Nisa smiled and bowed her own head in greeting before looking around the infirmary. It was strangely empty. Every other infirmary she had worked in had been bustling with life and urgency. "Are you the only two?"

The four elves she was with exchanged glances that immediately put her on edge. She was tired of secrets and looks she did not understand. Feindil then nodded at Tauriel, who looked back over her shoulder and motioned toward the guards behind them. With practiced precision, the six guards filed out of the infirmary, pulling the door firmly shut behind them. 

"As I'm sure you have been told," Oriel started, her voice as lovely as a songbird's, "Many are not privy to this matter, and we are doing our best to keep it that way. Please, follow us."

Feeling ready to explode out of her gown, if not her skin, Nisa did as she was told, walking after the healers and ahead of Feindil and Tauriel toward the back of the room. When they reached the towering bookshelves leaning against the back wall, Thendor reached out and ran his finger along the spine of a red leather book, his lips moving silently. The air shifted around them in a nearly imperceptible way, and the bookcase swung slowly away from the wall. Thendor looked over his shoulder at Nisa. 

"One of the first healers of the palace put this enchantment into place and only healers may access it. I will teach you the incantation in time."

He and Oriel stepped through and Nisa took a breath before following, Tauriel and Feindil close behind her. The room they entered was much like the infirmary, but less than half the size and with no windows. Four healers occupied the room, two bent over hospital beds and the other two at separate work tables. Oriel cleared her throat and they all looked up, almost as one. Spotting Nisa, they all bowed, again, perfectly in sync.

"There is where much of our energy is focused," Oriel explained. "We have many more healers, but they have been released these past few months to provide aid elsewhere after the battle against Sauron."

As the four healers turned back to their work, Thendor and Oriel began leading her through the small infirmary. "The victims of this new disease are few at a time, so we find that the six of us suffice. Gwaeniel!"

A petite elf with pale red hair scuttled toward them and dropped into a haphazard curtsy. Nisa immediately noticed they were about the same age.

"This is Gwaeniel, the apprentice healer we have kept here while the others are absent. You will be working closely with her." Gwaeniel dropped into another curtsy, holding her robes away from her legs. "It is an honor, your majesty. I've read and learned much about your work."

"Gwaeniel, fetch the queen consort a set of robes. She will be joining us within the day."

The young elf curtsied for a third time and scampered out into the main infirmary, quick as a doe.

"Who is that?"

Nisa started when a small voice piped up from a bed in the far corner of the room. A bright head was peaking around the back of another healer, an inquisitive frown on the pointed face.

The healer moved aside to reveal a small boy in a white dressing gown, a wooden horse figurine clenched in his small hands.

"Nitya," Oriel said, her tone scolding. "That is not how we introduce ourselves. Especially not to the king's wife."

The elfling shot her a stubborn look, but straightened his back nonetheless and bowed as much as he could in his spot on the bed. "Hello, your majesty. My name is Nitya."

Nisa couldn't help the twitch of a smile on her mouth before she donned a mock serious expression and dropped into a curtsy so deep her knee brushed the stone ground. "Hello, Nitya. I am Nisanthiel, Princess of Elfalia and Queen Consort of Eryn Lasgalen. It is very nice to meet you."

The boy gave her a suspicious look. "You can't be a queen. Queen's don't come to sick rooms."

"Well," Nisa took a seat at the end of his bed. "I am not a queen, I am a queen consort. But I am also a healer. I've been in many sick rooms and seen many sick people. What is your horse's name?"

Beaming a thousand-sun smile, Nitya held it out with both hands like a prize. "His name is Beleg. It means mighty." Nisa reached out to stroke the smooth wooden head. "He looks very mighty. Like he could pull a hundred carriages." 

"My ada made him for me before he died."

Before Nisa could inquire more, Oriel jumped in again. "We have much to show the lady, Nitya. And it is time for you to have more medicine."

Nitya pouted at that, pulling his horse tight to his chest. As he did so, his dressing gown shifted and Nisa spotted the angry black blisters growing up the side of his neck, just above his collar.

"Your majesty," Nisa took Thendor's extended hand and stood, not able to take her eyes from the angry black welts. Only when a healer bent over Nitya with a bottle of medicine did she finally look away.

"He has been here six days and the scars have grown each day."

"Is he the only one?"

"At the moment, yes. The last child died two days ago. A young girl."

Nisa pulled her hand from Thendor's and clutched the fabric of her dress again. Before she could respond, Gwaeniel appeared before her as if from nowhere, thrusting a pristine set of white robes at her. "Here you are, your majesty." 

Nisa all but snatched them away from her. She was eager to get out of this gown. If she wasn't in healers robes, the gowns she wore in Elfalia were simpler, lighter, and easier to move in. This felt confining and excessive, as if a jewel would dislodge if she moved too quickly. 

"Thank you, Gwaeniel," she murmured with a nod at the woman's open face. She looked at the other elves. "I will change and join you forthwith." 

Tauriel stepped forward. "I will take you to your rooms to change, your majesty. Lord Amarher also requested I show you the library, as he believes you will be spending a good deal of your time there when you are not in here. It is on the way from your rooms to the infirmary."

"I also believe my time with you is done for the day," Feindil interjected. She nodded at the group in her usual terse way. "I shall leave you." With that, she swung on her heel and exited back into the main infirmary, the doors to the main hall opening soon thereafter.

"We will also return to our duties," Thendor said. "We will expect you shortly, your majesty."

"Nisa, please," she interrupted. "The formality feels strangely...out of place here." No one replied, but Oriel nodded in agreement, her face forlorn.

With a brief nod of goodbye, Nisa turned and hurried out into the main infirmary, Tauriel moving swiftly to keep up with her. Out in the main hall, four of the guards joined them as they all but jogged to her chambers.

In a small blessing, Miluiwen was nowhere to be found, so she could not ask endless questions. Unfortunately, that meant Tauriel had to help her remove her gown. She did so quickly before mumbling a goodbye, bowing quickly and turning toward the doors, averting her eyes politely all the while.

Having felt relief as soon as the laces of her gown had been loosened, Nisa all but threw off the gown and slid into the robes, pulling the cloth belt tight around her waist. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, taking a brief moment to gather her cluttered thoughts.

There was the usual excitement at the prospect of a new challenge, but the menace of the situation loomed large, feeling like it covered the whole of Eryn Lasgalen. She thought back to the ashen blisters on Nitya's pale skin, the bright smile on his face.

The last child died two days ago. A young girl.

Opening her eyes, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her robes were demure, but her elegant twist seemed oddly out of place. And the pins were giving her a headache. Scowling, she reached up and tore her pins quickly from her hair in a way that would make Miluiwen shake her head in disappointment. She was still tying her hair in a loose braid, pausing only long enough to pull the door open and stride out into the hall.

Tauriel stood quickly to attention, obviously taken off guard by Nisa's raucous exit into the hall.

"Your majesty..."

Nisa was already moving down the hall, tying off the end of the braid and tossing it over her shoulder.

The Captain fell into step next to her. "How are you feeling, your majesty?"

"I am not sure, Captain."

And that was truth. She was completely unsure of how she felt, only that she could not sit still from this moment forward. 

Always looking for answers, my stubborn girl . Her mother's voice was a soft chime in her head. They had been walking in the palace gardens long, a broken butterfly resting in Nisa's hands as she jogged along as fast as her still growing legs could take her, her mother gliding after her. As steadfast as your father.

Because what else could she do? Let that butterfly lie in the grass to be trampled? How could she do that when she understood what might fix it, what could be done to repair a small broken wing? She was knowledgeable of butterfly anatomy, had studied it early on as a child with an unquenchable thirst for insight into anything and everything. How could she not try? And how could she possibly fail?

"We are here, your majesty."

Tauriel's pronouncement pulled her from her reverie and she looked up at yet another pair of shut doors. These were the most ornate doors she had seen thus far, stretching so far to the ceiling she had to tilt her head back to take in the elaborate engravings so detailed it must have taken many years and many hands to achieve. Tauriel nodded to the guards flanking the doors and they were pushed open.

Where the infirmary had been simple and efficient, the Eryn Lasgalen library was extravagant. Towering bookshelves so far back she lost sight of them, oak tables in rows for scholars to mull over texts and thousands of candles lighting the way.

"The library is quite large," Tauriel explained to Nisa's open mouthed awe. "Years of collecting have made it one of the largest in Middle Earth. Many texts are sent to us for safekeeping, as it is underground and therefore more secure than other locations. There are tens of thousands of books alone, not counting scrolls and other documents."

They both turned at a shuffling noise. A woman in scribe's dark blue robes was approaching, a stack of thick leather bound books in her arms. She was very beautiful, but Nisa could not keep her eyes from the massive gash in her throat. It must have gone all the way to the bone.

"This is Thínthel," Tauriel continued. "She is our lead scribe and keeper. She can guide you to what you seek, or find someone who will. We have many keepers and scribes here."

Setting the stack of books on a table, Thínthel did not smile or speak, but did bow deeply to Nisa, who was becoming more and more uncomfortable that elves of much more prestige and standing were showing her such deference.

"I am looking for the sciences and the histories," Nisa started. "I will not begin looking through texts this moment or even this day, but I would like to know where they are."

Thínthel nodded and gestured down a carpeted passage between the soaring shelves. It felt a bit like being guided toward a forest, the candles growing dimmer the deeper the passage went.

"And I will leave you now." Tauriel bowed again and Nisa wanted to shake her. Instead of giving into the impulse, she clenched the long cuffs of her robes. It was another reason she liked wearing the healer's robes and not gowns with short or tight sleeves. "Please do not hesitate to ask for me if you need anything, your majesty."

Having long ago given up the idea that the Captain would call her by her name, Nisa gave a resigned nod, but still touched her hand above her heart before extending it toward the soldier. "Thank you for everything, Captain. You have been most helpful and a reassuring presence today. I am very grateful for you."

The other woman blinked, appearing baffled at the acknowledgement before nodding again and turning on her heel to move quite quickly from the library. Nisa turned back to Thínthel, who was waiting patiently with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Apologies. I will start with the histories if you would be kind enough to show me the way."

Before they could head back, the doors opened again and Tauriel darted inside, her face set in a mild panic. She was at Nisa's side in an instant. Nisa felt her heart drop. "Captain," she started, "What--"

"Your majesty, I hoped to warn you before--"

The doors of the library swung open fully and a magnificent male strode in, flanked by two guards on either side. He was taller than even most elven males, elaborate armor covering his body and broad shoulders, and a simple steel circlet adorning his head. Silver hair fell nearly to his waist and callous eyes looked at her from a strong, shrewd face.

It took only a few strides until he stood in front of her, the power of his presence shrinking the room, narrowing it down to just the two of them.

Nisa was frozen in shock and dread, feeling like she was staring down death and losing was inevitable.

When the male spoke, his voice was smooth and forceful, washing over her like the ocean and pulling her under.

"You must be my wife."

Chapter Text

Looking back now, Nisa was sure she looked an utter fool: mouth gaping open and closed, eyes wide with fright. 

In that moment, she could hardly help herself. An immense warrior of a man, he had swept into the library like a summer storm, flanked by soldiers, blood still staining his armor. The pressure had changed to a foreboding stillness, as if even the air around them had retreated.

"I–" The word left her mouth in an embarrassing croak of noise.

"King Thranduil," Tauriel swooped in, both her and Thínthel bowing low. "This is Princess Nisanthiel of Elfalia."

Her state of mind and, therefore, manners, flooding back, Nisa dropped into her own wobbly curtsy, going as low as she respectfully could without falling over. She pulled her gaze away from him for a second of respite, hoping to regain her composure, but she could still feel him like the flames of a fire on her skin.

"Now Queen Consort of Eryn Lasgalen," he spoke again, his voice a rich purr of sound. There was amusement there and she looked back up at him, slowly pulling herself to full height. It was still nothing compared to his own.

A smirk was growing on his face, but it was nothing friendly, the hard glint still in his eye. Then he was cocking his head and looking her over, those damning eyes running up and down her body in a thorough assessment. He certainly could not see much, her body hidden by the bulky healer's robes.

After a painfully long moment, his gaze snapped to Tauriel, who stood to attention. "Leave us." 

The order was sharp and Nisa felt a strange stab of panic. A memory came to her unbidden of coming across a common wolf while foraging much too far outside Elfalia's borders. She had gotten separated from her escort and consequently stumbled upon the predator's dwelling. The worst part of that moment had been realizing she was completely alone and at the mercy of a beast with much larger teeth than her own. She felt a bit like that now. The wolf had gone on her way, paying Nisa only a disinterested flick of the ears. She was sure that would not be the case in this moment.

She felt Tauriel's gaze on the side of her face before she and Thínthel skirted around the king and moved into the hallway, the soldiers following after them. Thranduil did not speak until he heard the door shut behind them, his gaze going to hers again.

"I take it by your robes and presence in the library on your first day, you have been apprised of what is happening in Eryn Lasgalen."

The seriousness of their situation came rushing back, heaviness pervading the air again. "I...yes."

He nodded, his gaze still holding hers quite intensely. She was very aware that they were alone and that his armor still smelled of blood. 

"I apologize for not greeting you when you arrived," he continued. "A strange sickness is not the only thing that has pervaded our borders as of late, but that is for another time. I am here to discuss the terms of this alliance."

Nisa nodded in agreement, not sure what else she could have said.

"As I am sure has been explained to you, this is purely a marriage of mutual benefit. As you may or may not be aware, Elfalia's borders have been frail and your father required troops."

This day's conversations had been the first Nisa had heard of her home's apparently failing borders. They were a peaceful kingdom, not much familiar with conflict, choosing to heal the warriors instead of being them. Even when she was present in Elfalia and not using her skills in another part of the realm, her father did not often share these concerns with her, choosing instead to rely on her brothers and their political adeptness. 

It had never been something that bothered her until this moment as she stood there foolishly, learning about troubles in her own home for the first time.

"Additionally," Thranduil continued, seemingly unconcerned by her lack of participation in the conversation, "we have found ourselves significantly unprepared for dealing with this plague." His demeanor shifted into something she couldn't quite place, but she took a small step back nonetheless, sensing this was a man whose passion was easiest relieved through violence. 

“As you are surely aware, elves often do not succumb to illness of any kind.” She nodded again to show she was at least listening.

"That is where you come in, princess." His voice had changed as well, become impossibly deeper. He did not seem a man who relished in admitting he needed help. "You bring with you resources most in Middle Earth do not have access to, Eryn Lasgalen included. Your personal skill has also been spoken highly of by many whose opinions I hold great respect for."

Nisa felt the childish urge to preen beneath the praise, but bit her lip instead. The king's startling eyes went to her mouth for a brief second before moving back to her own gaze. A muscle fluttered in his strong jaw. 

"I do not want you to have any illusions as to what this marriage might be. We will be husband and wife in name only. I will treat you with respect and dignity befitting a queen consort and princess in her own right, but there will be no physical affection between us. If that was something you expected, then it is your father who failed in not disillusioning you of that notion. Is my position in this clear?"

She understood, but was shockingly unsure how she felt about it. Never had she wanted to be married, preferring instead to put all her passion, all her heart, into healing and the pursuit of knowledge. Even the idea of being physically intimate with another made her skin feel too tight. She had naively hoped her father would overlook her in favor of focusing on her many brothers and their marriages, but that assumption had certainly been misguided.

Hearing the words from the mouth of another, the man she would be married to for the rest of her life, felt oddly damning, a heavy door slamming shut, never to be opened again. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the invasive feeling back, knowing this was no time for self reflection.

"I understand."

Thranduil stared for a long moment at her face, as if trying to discern whether she was lying or not. Finally, he nodded, and something settled between them, locking into place. She was unsure what it was, but it felt like a blade was being pulled away from her throat. 

"There will be a dinner this evening to welcome you. It will be a small affair, anything larger unseemly, as I am sure you would agree."

Nisa smiled, relieved there would be no big proceedings. All she would be able to think of would be Nitya in his bed, his horse in his hands and horrible black abrasions creeping slowly up his neck to his innocent face. But another guilty part of her was excited to meet more people of Eryn Lasgalen, the ones she had met so far proving to be kind and quite fascinating.

"I will happily be there...your majesty."

She was unsure what else to call him. The idea of calling him by his name seemed indecorous at this point in time. She also held no illusions they were on equal ground, that anyone here would treat her as a queen with influence comparable to his own. She was all but a guest for the time being, and she was actually quite happy for it. The more she could stay to herself, the more she could focus on the crucial task at hand.

The conversation apparently having met its end, Thranduil turned on his heel and moved for the door, the white of his hair shining in the light of the flames along the wall. As the door opened and closed behind him, Nisa took what felt to be her first breath in minutes.

-----------------------

Thranduil stepped into the dimly lit hallway outside the library, feeling suddenly more at ease now that there was a heavy door between him and his new wife. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of rest. Three days he had been away from the palace, patrolling the borders with the sentinels against...whatever they were.

"She is quite lovely, isn't she?"

Scowling, he cracked a heavy lid and was greeted with Amarher's snide smirk. A wave of exhaustion washed over him and he closed his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his gloved hands. "I suppose she can be seen as attractive by some."

Amarher snorted in an undignified way Thranduil would have beheaded any other one of his men for. One of his father's dear friends and generals, Amarher was one of the only soldiers not killed on the plains of Dagorland. Thranduil had unending respect for him, which he suspected Amarher knew, seeing as he was nothing but insubordinate a good deal of the time.

The other man crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "Last I checked, you were only blind in one eye, gwinig ."

No, it had not slipped his notice his new wife was exceptionally lovely. She would stand out here among Sindarin and Silvan elves, her skin darker, her hair thicker and more untamed. Even her eyes were darker, a penetrating black he could feel even through his armor. 

No, he was certainly not blind to her. No red blooded male would be.

"Is there something you need, Amarher?" he finally snapped, the wear of the last three days falling heavier and heavier on him.

"Coming to see how you fared," Amarher answered, suddenly serious. "You have not spent that many moons outside the palace in quite some time."

Tharanduil motioned his council member to follow him as he turned to head down the hall, toward his chambers. He began pulling his blades from their scabbards as his weapons master appeared at his other side, arms ready. "They are growing bolder."

"Bolder how?"

"They have not gotten this close to our borders in the months since they have appeared. One of the younger guards was injured." Anger grew hot in his blood and he shoved his swords at his weapons master with more force than necessary. "I have never seen wounds like that." 

It would take some time for him to forget Pinnith writhing on the ground, clawing at her face in agony until Thranduil pulled them away, letting her squeeze them tight until she finally fell still, her breathing shallow. Four gashes marred her face, so shockingly deep he thought he might see the bones beneath, but there had been nothing, just darkness, as if there had been a chasm beneath her skin. His blood had run cold at the sight of her, not yet 700 years of age, holding back tears and squeezing his hand like a child with a skinned knee.

Amarher was silent when Thranduil told him of the event, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped tight behind his back. It was times like these Thranduil could swear he saw the evidence of age upon his brow. "Will she recover?"

"The healers were disconcerted by the injury, but say she has started to heal. They will keep a close eye on her through the night."

"How are the other sentinels taking it?"

He gritted his teeth as he all but threw his gloves at his weapons master, who was keeping admirable pace with them. "They are calling these abominations guruthos ." 

The shadow of death. 

If there was a more apt title, he could not name it. Shaped vaguely like men, they were writhing masses of shadows, moving swiftly and silently across the ground before becoming corporeal in enough time to deliver a crushing blow with a clawed hand. The sound they made was a death knell, a horrible amalgamation of anguished screams and the roar of a fearsome predator. It had sent a chill through his heart. Not in thousands of years had he felt such fear as when he heard that horrible peal of sound. It had sounded leagues away, but as close as a breath on the neck. 

The creature had solidified behind Pinnith, who had been trailing behind the group of them. He and the others had turned to see it loom large over her, a towering thing that blocked out the sun and looked out at them with a featureless face save two fire white eyes. Duvainiel had called out her name only in time for her to turn and receive a blow that knocked her from her mount. In the next second, it had dissolved into a planar shadow again, darting across the ground like a prowling animal and disappearing into the trees.

Only her screaming had brought the rest of them from their shock, a shame that weighed heavy on him still. Duvainiel had tended to her as Thranduil and the others hastened after it, swords and bows drawn. After a fruitless pursuit, they returned to find her still screaming.

"Thankfully our forces were not depleted any great deal by Sauron," Amarher pointed out, always frustratingly optimistic. "We would not suffer by doubling or even tripling the watch. And our people have not made a habit of venturing far in the past." 

After the recent fall of the Necromancer, Thranduil had been much more lenient about their isolationism, but old habits were not quick to die - not much time had passed and many were happy to remain within the bounds of their realm. He would have to tighten the reins again, despite the dissent he knew would arise. He thought back to Pinnith, to her pain, to the pain he knew her mother and father would experience upon learning of her suffering. 

Suddenly, he longed to see his own son, even just hear his voice. "Where is Legolas?"

"I am unsure, your majesty--"

"I am here, ada ." 

As if hearing his thoughts, his only son came from behind, the guards parting for him to approach his father and bowing as he passed. Thranduil gave him a once over he had perfected ever since Legolas was an elfling and had taken to riding horses and hunting spiders before he even had the strength to hold a bow straight.

"Where have you been?" He knew he sounded much too stern, but the past three days had worn down his temper enough that even the feel of his well-worn armor, usually a second skin, was beginning to aggravate him.

"Seeing Pinnith in the infirmary," Legolas answered solemnly. "Tauriel and I ventured to see her and...what happened to her." His eyes, so much like his mother's, took on a haunted look. "I have heard talk among the ranks of these guruthos , but we wanted to see for ourselves."

Thranduil took a step toward him, now speaking to a member of his guard and not his son. "Legolas, I am trusting you and Tauriel to treat this with discretion. We are not five months from Sauron's fall and the realm is still uneasy. The last thing we need is an army jumping at every shadow. I am ordering you as a member of my guard. Do you understand?"

Legolas bowed low again. "Yes, your majesty."

Thranduil felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and grasp his son's arm, feel the beat of his blood beneath his clothes, but he refrained.

"Good. Relay these orders to Tauriel as well."

As Legolas nodded again and turned to see out the orders, Thranduil called out again. "I also expect to see you at this evening's dinner."

His son looked at him with a grin that immediately irritated him. "Yes, for the princess. She is quite striking, isn't she?"

That was when his temper finally boiled over. "As I have already told Amarher," he snapped, his voice booming against the walls of the hallway, "I have enough sight in my remaining eye to judge that, yes, Princess Nisanthiel would be found comely by many, if not most." 

His advisor and his son were quite obviously attempting to quell their laughter and he felt the overwhelming need to strike one of them. "If you two would excuse me," he snarled, "I am retiring to my chambers and washing myself of this blood." 

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed down the hall.

-----------------------

"Are you sure, hina ? You do not wish to strive for something more...extravagant?"

Nisa made eye contact with her ladies maid in the mirror of her vanity. The day had been long and arduous and she had all but crawled back to her chambers, where Miluiwen promptly reminded her of the evening's events.

"You cannot greet the most important members of the court looking as tired as a hound," she had fussed, her hands already undoing Nisa's braids. "Will you not tell me where you were all day?"

Nisa had avoided her eyes as she let herself be guided toward the second bath that had been run for her that day. "I was putting things in order."

It was not a lie, but it was certainly not the whole truth. After being shown the relevant sections of the library by Thínthel, Nisa had made it back to the infirmary just as the resources brought from Elfalia were being unloaded and sorted. Thousands of vials, bottles, medicines, texts, plants, tools, insects, and the like foisted upon the healers and their limited space. It had taken her, Oriel and Thendor the better part of the afternoon to plan their storage and execute a reasonable system for organization. In the remaining hours before she had to prepare for dinner, she pored over the written accounts of all the patients thus far. By the time she had to make way to her chambers, even her braid felt heavy enough to pull the skin from her skull.

Miluiwen's made a suspicious sound and gave Nisa's then loose hair a reprimanding tug. Nisa had scowled at her before being shoved into the bath. Now, she was seated at her vanity, Miluiwen looking over her with an appraising eye. Nisa had chosen to keep her hair unbound for the evening, the dark strands falling in loose, heavy ringlets nearly to her waist, just as she would at home. It would look out of place among the sleek, orderly styles of the Sindarin and Silvan elves, but she was Elfalia's princess before she was Eryn Lasgalen's queen consort. The circlet at her brow was also from home, a simple golden band that bent in a delicate V at the peak of her hair. 

"Yes," she answered. "I want to feel home, if just for the evening."

Miluiwen sighed, but did not argue, moving to the now full wardrobe. "I will pick out one of the nicer ones. I will not allow you to wear a simple day dress, no matter your desire to feel at home again. You spent most of the time outside or in healer's robes, anyway." She pulled a bright red gown from amongst the others, holding it out for Nisa to see. Nisa nodded in agreement. 

It was an excellent choice, doubtless the most elegant of her garments. Red and high collared, it pulled tight around her and slit high at the leg in common Elfalian fashion. Gold stones adorned the fabric and a gold belt would secure her waist. It was the opening at the front that might draw the most attention. Despite the high collar, the neckline went deeper than most elven fashion. Her favorite gold pendant, a gift from her eldest brother on her 500th name day, would rest on her skin. The gown had been her mother's and Nisa had not worn it often, her choice in avocation not requiring many formal events, but her position as nobility required it occasionally. The first time her mother had talked her into wearing it, she feared it would be much too revealing, but the slit in the skirt was only revealed when she moved a certain way, and the sleeves went well past her hands in a wide flourish of fabric. She found she did not particularly care how much of her someone could see, as long as they could not touch her skin without her knowledge.

When Miluiwen fastened the last button at her back, she turned Nisa around and gave her a thorough once over. Suddenly, her face contorted and her eyes began to shine. Nisa blinked at her, considerably uncomfortable at the uncharacteristic show of emotion.

"You just...you just look so much like your mother when she was your age."

A wave of sadness suddenly rolling over her, Nisa turned away to look in the full length mirror on the wall. "Truthfully, I do not wish she was here." She looked away from her own gaze and soothed the fabric of her gown, not sure if she should feel guilty at that statement. "I know this is not the marriage she envisioned for me."

Her eyes clear again, Miluiwen stepped onto the raised dais and clutched Nisa's shoulders. "This is not the marriage most elves would see for themselves, hina . Disappointment would not be unfounded if that is how you felt. This arrangement is certainly not traditional."

It certainly was not. Most elves married for love, not for political alliance. Even her brothers, all of whom married advantageously, had the good fortune to all feel great love for their partners. As most elves chose their lifelong spouses before reaching the age of 100, Nisa assumed she would remain unwed, had not been troubled by the idea. She wondered how different this would be from remaining unattached. Having met her husband and hearing his decree for the marriage, she did not see her life being much different than how she had previously envisioned it.

"We should stop discussing this, Miluiwen," she finally spoke, a finality in her voice she hoped the other woman understood. "I am already about to scandalize the Eryn Lasgalen council with my gown, I should not also subject them to a dour mood."

Miluiwen smiled warmly at her, so full of love and pride, Nisa thought she might begin to cry herself. Miluiwen gave her one final pat on her arms before helping her off the dais, the two of them heading for the door.

-----------------------

The maid escorting them explained they would not be in the formal banquet hall, but a smaller, more intimate dining room used for occasions such as this. Nisa heard Miluiwen sniff behind them, no doubt offended on Nisa's behalf for the lack of ceremony. Nisa felt no particular way about this change. The doors to the dining room were already open and a low din of chatter could be heard from inside. The maid smiled shyly to Nisa and curtsied to her before scurrying away.

As she and Miluiwen entered, their presence was not immediately noted, the merriment obvious amongst the guests as they conversed with each other. Nisa said nothing, only observed them in silence. 

It looked to be a table of friends, smiling and laughing above the gentle sounds of cutlery and pouring wine. Even Feindil was grinning wider than Nisa originally thought her capable. The king was lounging in a grand chair at the far end of the table, looking resplendent even at rest. His fingers were placed almost delicately over his mouth and he was leaning slightly to his left to listen to something Legolas was telling him, a smile growing on his son's beautifully carved face as he gestured emphatically to whatever story he was recounting. The whole scene was oddly domestic and Nisa found she could watch them the whole night.

It was Amarher who spotted her first from his place at Thranduil's right. A warm smile broke out on his face and he stood, holding out his arms. "Ah, your majesty, welcome!"

Soon, everyone was on their feet in a grand scraping of chairs and bows from the neck. Putting on a gracious smile, Nisa stepped forward to greet them, Miluiwen at her back. Even Thranduil had stood, but the smile had left his face and he wore a more reserved, inquisitive expression as he looked her over. She saw the same flutter in his jaw again, but it was gone just as quickly. Nisa let herself take him in. He had abandoned his armor and now donned an elegant robe of stunning silver fabric.

It was once again Amarher who rounded the table to greet her more intimately, taking her hand and placing a delicate kiss upon her knuckles. Nisa panicked for a moment, expecting herself to recoil from the touch, but instead she found it oddly charming. 

Still holding her hand, he led her to his own seat, gesturing the rest of the table to move down. They did so with an odd shuffle she almost giggled at. She found herself at Thranduil's right, the obligatory spot for the queen consort. The seventh of seven children, the rules of etiquette never found her high in a place of honor at a table. She found herself jarred at this sudden elevation. 

Tucking the fabric of her gown in her hands, she took a moment to survey the table. Legolas, Amarher, Celomen and Feindil sat closest to the king, the rest of the council taking up the other seats. She was relieved to see even Tauriel's familiar face at the other end of the table. The captain gave her a small, informal nod of greeting and a friendly, tight-lipped smile. The table itself was graciously piled with delicacies: roasted birds, breads and cakes dripping with syrups, fragrant herbed potatoes, and bright patches of vegetables. Great pitchers of what she assumed to be wine were close at hand for each end of the table.

"You look lovely this evening, your majesty," Legolas spoke across from her, a kind smile on his face. He looked so much like his father, she wondered if Thranduil looked the same when he smiled. She smiled back at the prince, grateful that he took the initiative and started the conversation again. "Thank you, your highness. It was a gift from my father to my mother when they were first wed."

"It really is lovely. And please, call me Legolas." 

"You do not often see such bright colors," Feindil piped up from behind her goblet. "Are such colors common in Elfalia?" As the elder elf was wearing demure white and looking across the table with narrowed eyes, Nisa made what she thought to be a logical inference that the observation wasn't necessarily a compliment. She met the advisor in the eye and gave a polite smile in return.

"Yes, actually. We take dye from the flowers and plants to color our fabrics. This gown itself was dyed from my mother's favorite flower, the Bleeding Murabor. Despite its grim name, it symbolizes love and commitment to a partner and its roots have healing properties." She reached for her own now full goblet of wine. "Do you have a favorite flower, my lady?"

Feindil actually seemed to consider the question as she swirled her wine around. "Truthfully, I have not given it much thought. I have not seen a flower in quite some time."

"Yes, I imagine you do not get much natural sunlight in the caves?"

"This fortress was certainly not constructed with flora in mind," Thranduil interjected in that rich voice that seemed a physical touch along the skin of her throat. It was a banal comment, but there was a curve to his mouth. "If you would like to see flowers, princess, you would need to venture quite a distance from these caves."

Nisa leaned forward and set her goblet back down, suddenly concerned. She spoke low enough for only a few of them to hear, aware not all the gusts at the table were privy to the concerns at hand. "Does that mean there is nowhere close by to plant? I have brought many seeds with me for flowers that could have relevant healing properties."

Having bent his head to hear her better, the king pulled back and cocked his head thoughtfully to the side, the lamp light glinting off his circlet. "How relevant exactly?"

She looked into his eyes and noticed this was the closest they had been since meeting. She could see just how startling his eyes were. "I can make no promises, but many of them can be applied topically to...ailments of the skin."

He seemed to immediately infer her meaning, his brow furrowing before he nodded. "Then we will find a place close to the palace and you will plant your flowers." He made it sound a bit novel, but she was grateful nonetheless.

"My favorite plant is whatever makes this wine!" Amarher sang out, lifting his goblet with vigor, the plum liquid sloshing over the side. He looked so positively merry Nisa felt her own smile widen to the biggest it had been since she arrived. She could have sworn she felt Thranduil still staring at her, but when she glanced over, he was looking at Amarher, his own mischievous smile on his face as he reached for his goblet. "You enjoy any plant that lowers your inhibitions, old man."

Amarher only smiled gaily and toasted his king, who rolled his eyes as he took a staid sip from his own wine. Nisa followed suit, finding the wine to be a delightful burst of sweetness against her tongue. She closed her eyes to savor it. "This is quite sweet," she observed aloud. "I don't believe I've had anything like it."

"They are grapes from Eryn Lasgalen, grown in a small village settlement south of here," Celomen explained over the rim of his own goblet. "My home village, actually, along the river..."

The conversation continued smoothly from there, smoother than Nisa could have predicted, which she was quite grateful for. She felt like she was at a table full of people, not just council members and aristocracy. They spoke like friends and jested in much the way her own family did. 

Over the course of the evening she learned Celomen was raised in one of the farthest villages from the palace and crushed grapes with his mother to make wine; Feindil had two younger sisters she used to catch fireflies with; and Amarher had been one of Oropher's generals and dearest friends, as well as a godfather to Thradniul. She also learned about Legolas and Tauriel's infamous adventures with groups of dwarves and hobbits, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open as she listened to their astounding tales. A few of Legolas's recountings earned incensed looks from his father, and Nisa had a feeling he was also hearing some of these details for the first time.

One person she certainly did not hear much about over the course of the dinner was Thranduil, who was notably reserved through the stories and memories, offering a regal chuckle or sharp word at most. Nisa felt she knew even less about him now than their first encounter in the library. 

It was when Amarher opened his mouth to sing a ballad he had learned amongst the Ents that Thranduil set his cup down with an irrefutable clatter. "I think that concludes our night. The princess has had a long day and I am sure she is ready to retire."

Pulling herself away from her conversation with Legolas, Nisa realized the food had mostly been consumed and the wine pitchers were light, the elves attending their dinner having filled them for the final time many conversations ago.

"I agree," Celomen affirmed as he stood in a rustle of robes, his eyes heavy with wine and fatigue. "Her majesty has a long day ahead of her tomorrow, as well." It was only when she stood that she realized they were right. The spirits, the feast, and the long day made even her bones feel heavy with weariness.

Thranduil stood as well and the rest of the table followed suit. "I will escort the princess back to her chambers and I will see the rest of you in council on the morrow." 

As the table nodded and began their bows, Thranduil had already stepped away and was headed to the door in a dramatic swirl of his silver robe. Cursing to herself, Nisa bumped her hip on the corner of the table in an effort to keep up. 

Her eyes were watering with pain when she finally reached his side, Miluiwen hot on her heels. If Thranduil noticed her pained expression, he did not comment, but he did, thankfully, slow his stride so she did not have to dash to keep pace. They walked in silence through the low lit halls, the only sound their footsteps and those of the guards.

Nisa was sure they would make the entire trip in silence until Thranduil finally spoke.

"What are your opinions of what you saw today?"

Full of strong wine, good food, and charming anecdotes, Nisa had to take an unseemly long moment to produce an answer. "I certainly have never seen anything like it."
"Do you have confidence in a cure?"

That question sobered her almost immediately and she clutched her skirts under the guise of being cautious of stepping on them. 

"I will start scouting places to plant tomorrow," she said by way of answer, avoiding his gaze by looking at the tapestries along the wall. They depicted detailed scenes, some of which she recognized – The Awakening of Men in Hildórien, the founding of the Greenwood, the creation of the Silmarils – and others she couldn't quite place.

"I will have guards escort you as early as daybreak if that is what you desire."

"I need no guard," she responded, focusing on a particular tapestry whose scene she did not recognize. "I have studied many maps of Eryn Lasgalen and believe I can find my way to fertile plots of land--"

"I'm afraid it is not a negotiation." 

The snap in his voice made her start and whip her head around to look at him, blinking owlishly. 

When he saw the contortion of her face, he seemed to take a moment to collect himself before speaking again, but his tone remained immovable. 

"As I have said before, our borders have been subject to many troubles as of late. We have doubled watch and no one may venture in or out for the foreseeable future. Your journey to find arable planting grounds will be an exception. Do you understand?"

Once again, Nisa experienced the worrisome awareness that she was not completely conscious of things happening around her, no matter how consequential they might be. She was also beginning to feel frustrated that she was constantly expected to understand things without what she thought to be reasonable explanations.

Gritting her teeth, she couldn't quite control a petulant exhale as she held his gaze, too irritated to remember that she was  quite intimidated by him. Her answer came through still gritted teeth. "Yes...your majesty."

They held eye contact for a long, tense moment until Thranduil leaned back on his heels and cocked his head almost playfully to the side, a smile playing at his mouth. "I am glad to finally see your teeth, princess," he murmured, his tone amused. "I am glad of it. You will need them."

With that, he turned on his heel and swept away in a flourish of lavish fabric.

Chapter Text

Somehow, she did not hear the doors to her chamber open and close softly, nor the soft footsteps across the floor to her bed . A gentle but bold stroke along the column of her throat, pausing at the beat of her pulse. There was the potential for violence, but no threat of it. The sure touch continued its path along her throat, a strong hand curling around the side of her neck...

Nisa awoke with a start, her hands flying to her throat in a panic. She found nothing but the collar of her nightgown. Still holding her throat, she sat up and looked around wildly. After a moment of distress, the events of the previous day came flooding back. Sighing, she closed her eyes and willed her pounding heart to still. 

As soon as her eyes closed, she was back in that strange dream, a stranger's hand gliding brazenly over the sensitive skin of her throat before curling deep in her hair...

"Finally awake, hina ?" 

Her heart back in her throat, Nisa shot up in bed with an undignified squawking noise.

Miluiwen paused in her knitting, giving Nisa an unimpressed look beneath her brow.

Now wide awake and full of ill-gotten adrenaline, Nisa pulled herself up and sat back against the ornate headboard of her new bed. "How long was I asleep?"

Already back to her knitting, Miluiwen shook her head. "You have not slept so long since you were a babe. You had a long day yesterday, which is why I assume no one has come to disturb you yet."

Nisa did feel wonderfully refreshed. She had all but fallen asleep standing while Miluiwen undressed her and brushed out her hair before leading her to the bed like an elfling and tucking her in. The bed certainly was divine and she had not moved a fingerbreadth since she laid her head on the feather down pillows.

"How long has the sun been up?"

"Quite some time." Miluiwen jerked her chin toward the wardrobe where a simple blue day dress hung on the knob. "Your favorite gardening gown.

"How did you--"

"Prince Legolas came by earlier about riding out to find fertile planting ground." She made a petulant face at her knitting needles. "He had the grace to keep me abreast of recent events. Unlike some."

Rolling her eyes, Nisa shoved back the downy fur bedding and swung her feet over the edge of the bed to the supple carpet below. Miluiwen was already moving across the room to gather her gown. "No use in you bathing," she sighed. "You are certain to return filthy."

Nisa was about to grouch back when a thought came to her and she whirled in a panic, clutching Miluiwen's arm. 

"Hû!"

In the insanity of the previous day, she had forgotten all about the wounded pup.

Her lady's maid patter her hand reassuringly. "Don't fret, hina . Satardil has him in the stables for the time being, but that will not last long, I am afraid." She motioned for Nisa to step into the gown before pulling it over her body. "He makes the other animals uneasy."

Sighing, Nisa went for her satchel, only to be yanked back by Miluiwen, who was still buttoning the back of her gown. 

"I will keep him in my rooms," she conceded as she waited patiently for Miluiwen to finish.

"Is that wise?"

"I see no other option. The Elvenking's Halls do not seem a place that welcomes errant animals. Here he will be under no one's feet but my own and I can keep an eye on him.

Miluiwen was already shaking her head disapprovingly as she fastened the last button and smoothed down the shoulders of the gown. "I do not think it wise. Someone is bound to happen upon him."

"I will be cautious," Nisa reassured her, ultimately aware that the elder elf was right to be concerned. "I will move him when my room is being tended to and I do not predict many visitors otherwise. When he is healthy and able, we will release him far from Eryn Lasgalen."

Miluiwen said nothing but gave her gown a sharp yank in opposition. Nisa counted the fact she did not verbally argue with her as a triumph.

She was reaching for her satchel full of seeds when a firm knock came at the door, Legolas striding in when Nisa allowed him entrance. His bow was low, but his smile was kind and open. He was dressed in a soldier’s garb, scaled armor at his shoulders and arms, his proud bow at his back. "Good afternoon, your majesty. I trust you slept well?"

"A bit too well, it seems." She couldn't quite meet his eyes, fearing she had given the impression of a spoiled, layabout princess.

"Please don't worry, your majesty," Legolas quickly reassured her. "We are aware of the day you had yesterday. None of us faulted you a long rest.”

“I appreciate that.” Nisa was slinging her well-worn satchel over her shoulder just as Miluiwen was finishing her braid. “But I am now ready to venture out and find a good place to plant. Is now a good time?” “We already have a horse saddled for you and I will be your escort.” 

Nisa was excited to ride again, but she felt a small prick of sadness when she thought of her own mount back in Elfalia. Lagornith had been heavy with foals at the time of her departure and unable to make the long journey. It felt almost wrong to ride another, but it would surely not do to dwell on such feelings. There was a good chance she would never see Lagornith again, or meet her young.

Avoiding Legolas’s astute gaze, she slunk past him into the hallway, holding tight to the strap of her bag and starting at a quick pace down the hall where the guards directed her. Legolas, of course, caught up to her in no time, his steps as soundless and sure as the soldier he was. If he noticed her unsettled expression, he did not comment.

They ventured through the halls in silence until they reached the stables. Stepping onto the hay-covered floors, Nisa was immediately aware they were close to being outside again. Even in a stable that reeked of animals and filth, the air was infinitesimally lighter, as if the fresh air of the forest were reaching for them and just shy of making contact. The stables in Elfalia had been lovely and ornate, but Eryn Lasgalen’s were grand and stately, fit for a kingdom with a mighty and powerful army. The steeds were strong and capable creatures, the tack on the walls polished to precision and glinting in the safely ensconced candlelight.

Suddenly, she was shoved in the shoulder by a mighty force before immediately being jerked the opposite way. Gasping, she gripped the strap of her bag and tugged hard in a panic. Legolas had responded quickly as well, turning on his heel to find the source of the ruckus. Then he broke into a smile, his hand moving from the hilt of his sword. “Be at peace, princess. You have met our most spoiled mount.”

Nisa was blinking at the head of a magnificent elk, his eyes only a scant few inches from her own and his teeth clamped firmly on the strap of her bag. Eru above, he was massive. Legolas had wandered over by this point and placed a hand to the elk’s neck, clamping the other beneath his jaw and giving it a firm squeeze. The animal released her bag, but not without a discontented noise. 

“This is Tinnuroc,” Legolas continued as he stroked the elk’s downy hair. “My father’s mount and the self-proclaimed terror of Eryn Lasgalen. Do you by chance have food in your bag?”

Oh, of course.

Rummaging in her bag, Nisa pulled out the apple she had stowed in case she grew hungry. Tinnuroc was already nosing at her arm when she pulled the piece of fruit free and held it out for him. It was gone in seconds, leaving only sticky juices on her hand. Legolas was shaking his head, but still smiling fondly at the great beast. “You should not have indulged him. He shall never leave you be, now.” Nisa found herself being completely at ease with that fact as Tinnuroc nosed her hand again, this time for what he no doubt thought to be well earned scratches to his snout.

It was a much softer pull at the other end of her body that had her looking down to the floor this time. 

“Oh, Hû!”
The pup had the hem of her gown clamped tightly in his teeth and was pullinging gently with a low growl. Swooping down, she gathered him into her arms, holding him close and feeling a burst of happiness. He did not cry out in pain and greeted her instead with nibbles and kisses to her face. The prince was scowling at him, looking unnervingly like his father, especially with his ice bright eyes. “What is that?”

“This is Hû!” Nisa tried to make the dog sound as exciting as possible, but knew immediately she had failed. Legolas’s expression did not change, especially when Hû pulled away from Nisa’s face to growl at the elf prince. Nisa hugged him closer to her chest, hoping to stifle the threatening sound.

“I found him injured on the road here and could not abandon him.”

“He is like no dog I have ever seen. We have many for our hunts and this one looks nothing of their sort.”

She supposed that was true. He was quite ugly, if she was being honest, his snout too long for his face and ears that overwhelmede the top of his flat head. His teeth seemed much too large for his mouth and his body had ungainly proportions. She also noticed, with dismay, that he had grown a shocking amount in two days.

“He will not be a bother,” she rushed to reassure Legolas, who still looked unconvinced. “I had my guard keep an eye on him while I settled in and now I will keep him in my rooms with me.”

“My father–”

“Does not have to know.” She looked at him imploringly. “Of course, I would never ask you to lie to him. I will keep Hû with me until he is fully recovered and it is time to release him. I swear to you he will not be underfoot.”

There was a long pause, then Legolas arched a fine brow and offered an impish smile. “I do not pity you if the king finds out.”

Nisa smiled back, relief a great flood in her. “I do not doubt that. And I promise not to implicate you.”

As Nisa settled Hû back into the makeshirt blankets Satardil had set up for him along the wall beneath the tack bench, Legolas guided a slim black steed toward her. “This is Nordil and he will be your mount today and in the future should you have need of him.”

The gelding nosed at her shoulder in greeting, much like Tinnuroc had. Grabbing the reins from Legolas so he could take hold of his own mount, Nisa led the horse to the doors, which were pulled open by guards as they approached.

The sun was blinding and she shut her eyes against it, even as she turned her face to its warmth. It was the greatest welcome she had ever received, a splendid embrace that warmed her blood. Hitching her skirts to her knees, she swung up onto Nordil and followed Legolas onto the path leading into the impervious forest surrounding the Elvenking’s Halls.

—-----------------

“There are few places not inhabited by the last remaining spiders,” Legolas explained to her. “We must remain close to the palace to be out of their reach, as they have grown even more ferocious as their numbers dwindle.”

They had been riding slowly for not quite an hour, the sun high in the sky and guiding their way through the branches. The forest seemed impenetrable to the untrained eye, packed tight with abandoned spider webs and impassable trees, but a path always seemed to appear when needed. Clearings of grass were sparse, most of the ground covered in a thick layer of leaves, but Nisa could hear waterfalls pounding in the distance, so she knew there must be agreeable patches of land close by. 

There was a beauty to this woodland, with its ancient trees and dense canopy. Despite the spiders she knew lurked close by, it was still a place of indomitable life.

She could feel a darkness however, something humming just beneath the surface that had her looking behind every so often.

“We are being followed,” Legolas suddenly said, having caught her more than once darting a sharp gaze over her shoulder. “By at least ten.”

“I–what?”

The prince gave her another sly look from his horse at her side. “They are well trained. If you have been able to spot them, they have no place in our guard.”

He must have been referring to members of the elven guard, no doubt high in the trees. Looking up now, she could not pick out a single one of them.

“It is…there is a strangeness,” she admitted. “I am not sure if your sentries are to blame.”

Legolas’s face sobered and he suddenly looked every inch a battle hardened soldier that had seen great and terrible things. “As I am sure you have read, the Greenwood fell to Suaron’s corruption and has not quite recovered, even after his demise. It has only just now begun to heal into what it once was.”

“Something green?”

“Something alive.”

“I am unsure of your meaning.”

A reflective look came over Legolas’s face and he looked as young and guileless as a child as he closed his eyes and tipped his face to the sun peeking through the branches. But his face was too hard edged, his body too battle-tried to give the illusion of childhood credence for long, despite what was a naturally youthful cut of facial bones. 

“The trees and stones would sing the stories of great people and histories, laments and celebrations both.” His eyes flew open and he was once again battle-hardened. “They have since forgotten their songs and have not been quick to relearn it.”

They rode in a brief silence before Nisa spoke again. “Why do you think it has taken your home so long to recover? What with Sauron gone?”

Legolas’s jaw ticked at that and she had a feeling she was treading on precarious ground. But when he looked at her, his face was open and understanding again.

“That is not for me to divulge at this time, your majesty. In due time, I believe you will be made abreast of recent events.”

It took everything in her not to grab something solid from her bag and throw it at his braided head. Damn these woodland elves and their secretive ways. Was she not here to help them? Was this not her home now?

Before she could open her mouth and no doubt say something intractable, a she-elf with a sheet of black hair dropped to the ground in front of them. Nisa cursed and held tight to Nordil’s reins as the horse startled. The elf bowed to Nisa and Legolas both before speaking. “I believe I have found what you might be looking for, your majesty,” she spoke to Nisa. “A fruitful patch of green has come to about two hundred paces from here. It is within the realm’s borders.”

“Well done, Eryniel,” Legolas praised her with a nod of his head. “Lead the way.”

The patch of land truly was close but greatly inhibited by the trees, and Nisa was startled by what she saw. It looked to have once been a place of respite, possibly for travelers. A small circle of greenery sheltered by branches slowly regaining their color, curved benches facing each other to offer the best angles for conversation. A few elves were clearing away branches and debris to reveal a large patch of grass between the benches. Nisa could have dropped to the ground and laid her head in the lofty grass, so much did it remind her of home.

Dismounting, she handed the reins to Eryniel and stepped forward, in awe at this glorious plot of green fighting for life amidst the dead. She closed her eyes and took a breath. “This place is singing.”

There was no answer, and when she opened an eye to look around, she saw the other elves also seemingly in awe of this place, their mouths open as if to join in the song of new life. It was only Legolas who did not join, his attention set on a tree covered in decaying vines. He was soon walking over and pulling the vines away with ease, letting them fall from his hands to the ground.

A figure had been carved into the wood, a beautiful elven maid whose smile was bright, even if it was carved in the wood of a long dead tree. She looked…

Nisa moved to stand next to him, the closer she got, the more confidence she had in her assumption. Legolas did not look at her. “Is that…?”

Legolas still did not look at her, his attention as rapt as if he expected the effigy to spring to life and embrace him. “I believe so, but I cannot be sure. She…her face is not what it used to be in my memory.”

Nisa had never been sure what to say in moments like these, so she often said what she would have liked to hear. “You look like her. When you smile.”

That garnered no reaction and Nisa looked around. The other elves had melted back into the trees, their work in clearing the land done. Finally, Legolas spoke.

“My father never speaks of her. There is a statue of her near our gates, but it has also been overgrown. He does not allow many likenesses of her…I thought that had been the only one.”

Nisa felt like she was intruding on something precious, an epiphany she had no right to witness. Looking at her feet, she began shuffling away, hoping to leave him to this moment.

“She was killed by orcs.” Legolas’s voice was clear and no longer absent. He had begun to move as well, pulling more of the vines from the carving. 

“That is all I know of her death. It is an event my father has made very clear is not to be discussed, even after all this time.” He pulled a vine down with an undue amount of force. “I have seen hundreds if not thousands of deaths, but my own mother’s eludes me.”

Nisa was only half listening, as she had dropped to her knees in the grass and was pulling seeds out of her bag with shaking fingers. She did not much like such deep shows of emotion, was never sure of saying the right thing or acting the right way. It made her mind race even more than it already did and control was difficult to regain. As an outsider in this place, the idea of losing control here seemed ruinous.

“I did not mean to upset you. I apologize for getting carried away in my own thoughts.”

His voice suddenly close to her made her jump and nearly drop a few seeds. Pulling her face into a very practiced look of serenity, she looked up at him. “You have not upset me, your highness. I want to get these seeds in the ground as quickly as possible. They can go bad over time and they have already faced a long, arduous journey.” She began pulling up the ground. “They need soil and nourishment if they are to provide us what we need–”

The air dropped and became still. A horrible feeling of doom overtook her so suddenly she fell forward and groaned against it, her hands clenching in the overturned soil. All she wanted to do was curl in on herself and close her eyes, never open them again. There was nothing green enough, nothing cheerful enough to pull her from this hopelessness.

It was a brutally hard grip on her arm that dragged her to her feet and shoved her toward her horse so hard she nearly fell. Legolas’s voice was a furious snarl of sound. “Ride back.” An uncompromising order and a savage look upon his face. 

“Ride back and do not stop for anything . Do you understand? The guards will protect you. Go now. Now!”  

Scrambling into a run, Nisa threw herself onto Nordil, who was pawing at the ground in distress. Jerking his reins, she made back toward the Elvenking’s Halls at a full gallop. When she looked back for the prince, he had already disappeared into the trees.

—-----------------

By the time she exploded into the stables, there was chaos. Guards were preparing their mounts while others took off at furious sprints into the forest, outfitted with fearsome weapons. No one appeared to pay her any mind but Satardil, who came lumbering over and pulled her front Nordil’s back. She grunted when her feet met the ground and she would have fallen if Satardil had not clamped his callused hands on her shoulders.

“What happened, princess?”

Her thoughts scattered, it took her a moment to form words. “I–I–I do not know. I was not told what was happening, just to run.”

Satardil pulled back and ran a hand through his tangle of black hair, his scar pulling taut across his face as he did so. “The whole palace is in a state,” he explained to her baffled expression. “A guard came back injured, a young ellon that couldn’t even stand on his own. Had to be carried in by two others.”

A hand flew to her mouth. “Spider attack?”

Satardil shook his head. “I am not sure, I did not see him. Roused quite the panic, though. He’s in the infirmary now.”

The interior doors to the stable banged open and Thranduil came storming in, his face like death. He went straight for her and she stumbled back, but Satardil put a hand to her back to stop her retreat.

The king’s voice was hard as steel as he came to stand aggressively close to her. “My son. Is he with you?”

Thankfully, she was calm enough to form an intelligent sentence. “N-No, my king. He stayed, told me to go.”

Something violent flashed in his eyes and he raised his gaze from hers to shout orders across the stable so loud she flinched away. 

“Close the gates, no one in or out without my say! Every available guard will follow me, rouse the ones not on duty!”

Then he was moving toward his tacked elk, who was already pawing at the ground in anticipation. He was looking at Satardil when he spoke. “You will take her into the halls to the infirmary, where she is needed.”

She tried to speak. “What is–”

“Now!”

She was roughly grabbed again for the second time that day and Satardil was all but carrying her toward the entrance to the halls. She only just had time to pull against his grip and grab a cowering Hû before the doors slammed shut behind them.

Miluiwen was there to greet them when they reached the main halls, her face desperate as she rushed over and began methodically patting Nisa down like she did when she was young and would disappear for hours at a time.

“ Hina, ” she gasped breathlessly. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Nisa shoved Hû into her arms by way of answer. “I’m needed in the infirmary.” She found solid footing in such panic, in knowing she was needed. “I don’t know what’s going on but you will take Hû and Satardil and go to my rooms and not leave unless someone tells you it is safe.”

“Nisa–”

“Miluiwen, now!”

Wisely, Miluiwen shut her mouth and nodded, clutching the writhing pup to her chest and taking off at a brisk pace toward their rooms, Satardil quick behind her. Nisa watched them go, not sure what was happening or if she could be of any real use, but knowing these were at least two people she could protect.

Pulling her gown up, she took off at a run toward the infirmary, abandoning all propriety as she dodged in and out of other running people, ducking beneath haphazardly wielded weapons. It seemed not a single person was not shouting, giving orders, telling others where they could be of most use against this unknown threat. It took her much too long to reach the infirmary, but she could hear the screaming ten halls away.

—-----------------------------

The young male elf was screaming in agony as Nisa burst into the infirmary, nearly knocking over Tauriel, who was on her way out, her eyes wide with panic. They grabbed each other’s shoulders to regain their balance. 

“You’re needed.” 

They both said the words at once, Tauriel recovering first. “Erchor,” she gasped. “He is injured badly. And there may be more coming.”

Nisa looked over the Captain’s shoulder to see the chaos had spilled into the usually serene infirmary, healers rushing this way and that to gather supplies and prepare for more injuries. Four other elven guards were struggling to hold who Nisa assumed to be Erchor to a bed as he thrashed violently.

“You and any available guards are needed in the forest,” Nisa responded. She pointed to the four guards. “But they will stay.”

No further words were exchanged as they both took off in opposite directions, Taurial darting out of the infirmary doors into the halls and Nisa jogging to where Erchor was attempting to be restrained. Thendor, a blessedly large man, was doing his best to aid the struggling soldiers while Oriel attempted to hold Erchor’s head as gently as she could.

As she approached, Nisa took inventory of the injuries at her hand, bile rising to her throat. The gashes across his neck were deep as caverns. There was no sight of the organs or bones she knew to be there, no sinewy muscles or pumping blood vessels. It was as though he were hollowed out. He screamed again and she was brought to in a rush of adrenaline.

Turning on her heel, she rushed to the tables along the wall, gathering bottles and vials as she went. Something crashed to the ground as she reached high to grab a wooden bowl, but she paid it no mind as he pulled plants from their hangings on the wall. 

Athelas…Usleshrole…Aagris…Lasioli…

The screaming continued unimpeded as she gathered the herbs and plants and threw the needed amounts in the bowl, grinding them to a paste with a pestle. Taking a step back, she dumped a vial of clear liquid over the concoction. As she waited for it to settle, she reached down and tore a piece of cloth from her dress hem. The smell that assailed her was so strong she almost fell over, but she clamped a hand over her mouth and nose as she gathered a small bit of the solution into the scrap of her dress. Hurrying back across the room, she shouldered Oriel aside and slapped the cloth over Erchor’s own nose. It took almost no time at all for him to finally fall limp.

No one released him for a long strained moment, as if worried he would spring to life again. “Is he–”

The moment was broken as the doors to the infirmary burst open again with a deafening clamber and elves spilled in, five of them screaming and thrashing like Erchor had.

“Go,” Nisa ordered, despite knowing she was not the lead healer. “I will tend to him. There is solution left in the mortar, but be mindful of how much you use.”

No one argued, instead guiding the injured and their keepers to open beds for treatment. It was going to be quite a long evening.

—-----------------------------

“Your majesty?”

Nisa cracked an eye open at the sound of Gwaeniel’s soft voice. 

She was checking on Erchor for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He was still dead asleep, as close to death without actually passing as a living creature could be. He would be that way for a few days time, the herbal solution Nisa had given him as strong and efficient as ever. Before Gwaeniel had interrupted her, she had been checking the beat of his heart, eyes closed in concentration. He would come off as deceased to many and his heartbeat would seem absent, but a trained hand could find it with enough effort. The soldier was as peaceful as he could be given his state.

The infirmary was finally, blissfully quiet, the only sounds those of healers at work. The other five soldiers that had come in, wounded in much the same way as Erchor, lay motionless on their own beds, the rise of their chests barely discernible, even to the eyes of elves.

“What is it Gwaeniel?”

“It is Nitya,” the apprentice explained following a wobbly curtsy. She looked as disheveled as Nisa felt, her hair mostly loose of its bun and her healer’s robes stained with blood. “He wishes to see you if you have a moment.”

Nodding, Nisa pulled her hand from Erchor’s wrist. She eyed the slapdash sutures she had applied to his neck. They were not elegant, but he would live and have full use of his neck when he awoke.

Nisa rubbed the weariness from her eyes as she and Gwaeniel slipped through the bookcase to the secluded infirmary. How long had that whole ordeal lasted? It felt both a lifetime and mere seconds. The small infirmary was blessedly quiet but for Nitya’s sniffling in the corner. The young ellon was huddled against his pillow, clutching his horse tight to his chest. He regarded Nisa with a glare both furious and terrified.

“What-What is happening?” he demanded, trying valiantly to stop the wobbling of his chin. “I heard screaming.”

Sitting on the end of his bed, Nisa reached out and placed a hand close to his leg, careful not to touch him. “Some older elves were hurt far outside the palace,” she explained calmly. “But they will be better and soon be protecting us again.”

“It is the-the guards?”

“Yes, it was some of the guards. They sometimes have to get hurt so we do not have to.”

Nitya nodded jerkily and pulled his horse tighter to his chest. Nisa reached out and ran a single finger along the horse’s head. “I’m sure Beleg will protect us in the meantime, right?”

Nitya nodded again. “His name means mighty.” 

“Yes, you have told me. It is an apt name…” She trailed off when she finally noticed what was different in his appearance, her harried mind focusing for the first time since that afternoon.

The smoldering blisters had grown far past the side of his neck to cover the expanse of his bobbing throat and the entire left side of his face.

“They were there when he awoke this morning,” Gwaeniel whispered into her ear.

“Nitya,” she said slowly. “I am going to reach out and touch your face. Is that okay?”

Another nod.

Reaching out, Nisa ran a finger along the charred scar, pulling away quickly when she felt the heat of it. When she reached out again, she only briefly held her finger to the abrasive surface, not long enough to feel a burn.

“Does it hurt when I do that?”

“N-No.” 

“Not at all?”

“No. I didn’t even know you were there.”

Pulling away, Nisa patted his hand. “Eat your dinner, Nitya, and then get some sleep. I will be by to see you in the morning.”

The boy frowned at her, affronted by the suggestion. “I ate my dinner a long time ago.”

Furrowing her own brow, Nisa looked at Gwaeniel, who gave her a pitying look. “It is late into the next morning, your majesty. Most of the palace has eaten their supper and their breakfast and are preparing for lunch. You refused any food.”

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t even remember being offered food. Miluiwen often had to drag her to meals by her ear. “Thank you, Gwaeniel. I will eat now. Please make sure Nitya takes all his medicine.”

By the look the boy gave her, she knew she was correct in assuming he often tried to spirit away his medicine without taking it. 

Closing the bookshelf firmly behind her, she inspected each patient as thoroughly as she could and checked in with Oriel and Thendor, both of whom were eyeing her with concern and ushering her toward the door.

“Nisanthiel.”

Her eyes flew open. She was leaning against the wall of the hallway, her forehead to the cool stone. How long had she been there?

Looking over, she saw the king staring down at her with an infuriating expression of amusement. “I have said your name thrice now.”

Sighing, Nisa closed her eyes again, not moving from the wall. She was not in a place of mind to converse with the king, to feel the emotions and internal disorder that accompanied being in his presence. She knew she looked a mess: blood on her torn dress, braid all but dismantled and sticking to her neck. Opening her eyes and looking down, she saw she had her fists clenched in her skirts again. She must have looked deranged. 

Thranduil, on the other hand, looked resplendent in clean garb, his hair in a silver sheet down his back and over his shoulder. He was absent his circlet. It felt oddly intimate to see him without it.

She closed her eyes again, still not moving. “How is Legolas?”

“He is well. No injuries, though he is quite upset about his soldiers. He sees them all as his responsibility.”

“I’m sure.”

“Nisanthiel.”

“Hm?”

“You are falling asleep again. You need to eat and rest.”

Without opening her eyes, she was aware he had stepped closer in a way that would have been suffocating if she were not asleep on her feet. Then his hand was sliding across the base of her spine, shockingly at ease, as if he were sure he would not be rejected. 

Indeed, her body did not recoil, and instead she found comfort in the assuredness of his touch, of the way he guided her from the wall with another strong hand wrapped around her forearm with an exceptional gentleness. She only shuddered slightly, the fabric of her dress so thin she could not help but feel his touch on her flesh.

They walked in silence, his hand still at her back and on her arm. When she swayed slightly, he tightened his grip and righted her. “You did very well today. I am…grateful to have you here. I do not think my own healers could have achieved that alone.”

“I’m sure they would,” she replied. “I am simply content with sloppiness as long as it is effective..”

He let out a sound like a laugh and she wondered if the great wall of his chest resonated when he made such a noise. They were at the door to her chambers in a length of time Nisa could not discern. For all she was aware, she had fallen asleep walking.

She was only just aware of Miluiwen exiting the room and bustling her into her arms with a small bow at the neck to the king. “See that she eats and rests,” he ordered softly but firmly. A lingering touch to the crown of her head and a brush of fingers at her back before she was being guided inside.

Chapter Text

Nisa found herself alone in her room when she woke. She had no clue of the time or the day, but that was the last thing on her mind. There was a scratching and a whine at the side of her bed and she down over to see Hû pawing impatiently at the sheets. Grabbing him by his thick scruff, she hauled him into her lap. He had grown again.

The puppy settled in the sheets and began gnawing at her fingers like a teething babe. They would have to be rid of that habit quickly if he were to be a member of these hallowed halls.

She watched him silently as thoughts came flooding unconstrained through her head. What had happened yesterday? What such creature could cause such injuries to grown elves? How long did Nitya have until he felt pain and inevitably succumbed to his illness? Why did she not shy from the king’s touch?

Before she could dwell on any of those points, the door opened and Miluiwen bustled in with a tray of food. “Slept like the dead yet again, hina ,” she tutted. Nudging Hû away and settling the tray over her lap, she reached out to tuck Nisa’s hair back, but Nisa flinched away.

Yesterday had been too much, a violent storm of sensation and feelings. There always seemed to be someone touching her, guiding her, pulling her this way and that. If she felt a hand on her again, she feared she might burst. 

Miluiwen paid the reaction no mind, used to her charge’s constantly shifting aversion to contact. Instead she took a seat next to the bed and began her knitting, not taking her eyes off Nisa. 

Silence stretched long and empty between them until Muluiwen finally spoke. “I know what is going on, hina. ”

Nisa spared her a suspicious glance, not sure if she was falling into a trap. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I made that ridiculous old advisor tell me.”

Most of the elves in the palace were quite old, especially the king’s advisors, but only one could possibly meet the criteria for “ridiculous.”

“Amarher?”

“Yes,” Miluiwen clucked with a disapproving shake of her head. “Revealed most everything when I expressed my concern for you. I can’t imagine how his king will feel about that.”

“Yes.” Nisa stroked Hû where he had settled next to her. “He seems to do as he pleases.”

“It is a wonder King Thrnaduil keeps him around. He does not seem the kind to tolerate errant council members.”

Nisa didn’t answer, nor did she touch her food. The bed shifted as Miluiwen came to sit next to her at a tolerable distance. Nisa didn’t meet her eye as she continued to stoke Hû.

“I am worried for you, hina . I have been alive for…for quite some time and I have never encountered an illness like what that ellon described to me.”

Nisa still didn’t answer, afraid to so much as open her mouth. If she did, she was sure all her fears and anxieties and dread would come pouring out. She’d tell Miluiwen she wanted to go home to Elfalia, see to the newest member of the family and be amongst her horrible brothers. She wanted to lay in the grass, find flowers and bugs for her elixirs, lose herself in the familiar comfort of the library. She wanted to go back to the things she could predict, the ailments she knew she could heal. She wanted to be among those who did not expect a cure that seemed farther and farther away every day. She wanted to disappear again, be negligible in the grand scheme of a kingdom.

“My love,” Miluiwen’s voice was shaking now. “I feel such fright when you act this way. Please–”

The doors to her room suddenly swung open. Hû scrambled off the bed and underneath it in fear and Miluiwen was on her feet, moving to stand in front of Nisa. It was Feindil who swept into the room in all her cold regality. She greeted Nisa with a rigid bow of her neck, something she knew grated on the elder woman’s nerves. Nisa herself was slow to unfold from beneath her breakfast tray and come to her feet.

She knew she was being infantine, but her nerves were frayed and her usually gracious temper had fractured beneath the stresses of the last two days. 

Her time here in her new home had been full of hardships, violence, and grief that was not her own. Was this to be the rest of her life? Was she slowly going to wear away beneath conflict and obscure maladies? 

Erchor’s screaming echoed in her ears as she stood in front of Feindil, barefoot and in only her nightgown. She did not bow to the elder elf, not even at the neck. She simply did not have it in her to be well-mannered this morning. “How may I help you, my Lady?”

Feindil’s face had gone tight with an emotion Nisa couldn’t place, which was not unusual. It seemed as though the advisor had wanted to say something, then thought better of it. Instead, she gave Nisa an almost amicable nod of greeting. 

“I wanted to see how you were faring after the events of yesterday. I heard it was…quite harrowing.”

Nisa immediately felt a stab of guilt for expecting the worst of this woman. She could read nothing of these woodland elves and it was exhausting. She bowed her head in a returned courtesy. “It certainly was a daunting day, but everyone breathes still. You retain excellent healers here.”

Feindil then cocked her head to the side and looked startlingly like a young girl. “What did you put into Erchor’s neck? I am not familiar.”

“They are sutures,” Nisa explained. “A technique for binding skin, mostly used by men. Elves often heal too quickly for them to be of much use, but Erchor was bleeding quite heavily. I wanted to take no chances with his life.”

Feindil’s hand went to the collar of her silken gown. “They are ghastly looking things.”

“They kept him alive and can be removed soon.”

Feindil nodded absently, then seemed to remember herself and straightened, once again the cold and distant she-elf. “The king and the rest of the council expect you in the councilroom as soon as you are able.” She strode back to the doors and threw them open dramatically before adding, “We will be waiting.”

With that, she was gone and Miluiwen was harrumphing. “That woman,” she all but snarled. “I do not like the feel of her. Like ice on the skin.”

Nisa scrubbed her hands roughly over her face, feeling the sting on her cheeks. “Did any part of my gown survive from yesterday?” It was one of her favorites and her preferred one for gardening.

Miluiwen winced and Nisa immediately knew the answer. “It was unsalvageable, hina . I can take out many stains, but none like those. It was quite thin anyway and beginning to fray. I will sew you five new ones!” Nisa was already pulling off her nightgown, aware that Miluiwen was being markedly kind to her today, but too lost in thought to pay it much mind. 

She needed to get those plants in the ground as soon as possible. Nitya’s wound was spreading and, if the timeline she was told still stood, he would begin to feel pain soon. She would also eventually run out of the herbs and plants needed to make her Athelas- Aagris mixture as strong as possible. Her bugs also needed nests to lay eggs, multiply and grow. Her Silk Spiders especially needed to start weaving their webs so she would have them for sutures.

So much to be done and it felt like time had already run out.

She dressed quickly and took a few bites of what she assumed was lunch before bidding Miluiwen and Hû farewell. It did not take long to reach the council rooms and she did not bother knocking before entering. The assembled council members bowed in greeting and she nodded in return.

“I trust you slept well?” Thranduil barely looked up from the documents on the stately table, his voice as cold and remote as ever. Nisa wondered if she had imagined his kindness last night, the tenderness of his touch. The burning at the base of her spine told her she had not.

“I did, thank you.” She kept the answer short and he looked up at her, narrowing his eyes at her curt tone. Feeling as though she were on the frontline of a pending battle, she forged ahead. “I would like to discuss going back out to find more cultivable plots of land and habitats for my insects.”

The room grew somehow more quiet, despite the fact that no one besides herself and Thranduil had even spoken since she entered. “That,” Thranduil finally answered, his tone as unmoving as the stone around them, “will not be possible for at least the foreseeable future. No one may venture in or out of these walls.”

Nisa did not cower beneath a gaze she knew was meant to intimidate her. The king looked worn and exasperated, but she felt much the same way. Taking comfort in the assurance of knowledge, Nisa clasped her hands behind her back in an effort not to gather her skirts in her hands again. “Then you will have no cure.”

Thranduil’s face went slack with anger. When his voice came, it was crawling with menace. “That sounds oddly like a threat, princess .” He spat the last word as if hurling an insult. He reminded her a bit of a bear with a thorn in its paw. She thought of a bear wandering around the forests of Ern Lasgalen, a circlet on its head and a thorn in its paw, and her lips almost twitched into a smile.

“It is no threat, my king,” she continued, “but simple fact. I need the resources my plants and insects give me, plants and insects you do not have here in Eryn Lasgalen and, therefore, have not been able to make use of. As much as these halls have to offer, they do not provide soil or sunlight for plants to grow, or the different environments needed for my bugs to grow and reproduce. My Silk spiders especially need their trees for their webs. And if…whatever happened in the forest happens again, I will need many of them. I only have two mated pairs and I will need at least ten for a consistent supply.”

Celomen had slowly lowered himself into a chair and steepled his hands before him. Amarher stood at Thradnuil’s side, his own hands clasped behind his back, and Feindil had a steadying hand atop the table. 

Nisa felt a bit like a child, arguing her case in front of the bigger, more important adults. An elf from small Elfalia contending with the formidable woodland elves.

“Can nothing be grown down here?” Celomen finally asked, looking as worn as his king. “Potted plants? A conservatory or greenhouse?”

“The variables are too great,” Nisa explained. “Some plants, yes, can be grown in the caves given the right conditions. Others will not. Temperature, nutrients, dampness… it is all quite delicate. And most insects cannot flourish as they need to in a cave, no matter how vast.”

Thranduil had taken his seat at the head of the table, massaging the bridge of his nose with elegant fingers. No one spoke and the tension was almost unbearable. Finally, the king spoke and his voice was indisputable. 

“What you are able, you will grow and foster in these halls. We will find a designated room for you close to the infirmary, or build one if need be. What cannot be grown here, we will find you a place close to the palace.” He looked her dead in the eye. “You will never venture out alone. You will always have a guard with you and you will always inform someone of your exact plans and intended whereabouts. Is that understood?”

Feeling a child again, but also knowing he was right given the dire circumstances, Nisa only nodded. He looked upon her suspiciously, but a smile was pulling at his mouth.

“You are agreeing swiftly,” he pointed out. “That makes me quite nervous.”

Nisa blinked at him, wondering if anything ever made this man truly nervous. She could only speak the truth. “Nitya is not improving. He is on the same course as the others and I am not in a position to quarrel small points. If you give me access to the earth, then I am content.”

Thranduil stared at her for a long moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. She was growing restless when he spoke again. “You will be sent out with an escort within the hour. Be prepared and do not stray from them .” It sounded vaguely like a threat. It was one she had no issue accepting, her memory plagued by horrible screams and gaping wounds. 

She bowed low to the council members, not caring she outranked most of them, and feeling every bit a soldier sent to fulfill a great task. She found it a bit easier to see herself that way, an outsider come to do a great task for those who needed her.

“I will see it done.”

—--------------------------------

She all but dashed from the room, making her way to her own chambers to grab her satchel of seeds. She wanted more than anything to go check on her patients, but her seeds were singing for the earth and sun.

“Queen Nisanthiel,” a voice had her skidding to a halt on the polished and turning to see Tauriel approaching at an equally brisk pace. The Captain surprised her by dropping into a precariously low bow when she reached her, her hand over her heart. Nisa only blinked at her, confused once again. When Tauriel lifted her head, her eyes were wet with sentiment.

“I was not able to thank you yesterday for saving Erchor’s life. He was not healing as fast as he should have. I’ve never…” Her gaze grew distant.

Mortality was a strange concept for elves. The idea was unnatural, against the nature of their being. Only the greatest of agonies or sorrows could take an elf from this life. And what lay in wait was nothing to find pleasure in. The separation of fëa from hröa was said to be a misery within itself.

Nisa was quite familiar with death in her travels through Middle Earth, having seen hundreds if not thousands of Men move from this life to the next in ways both natural and unnatural. Death was all but a friend now and she did not fight its companionship in her vocation. Sometimes she swore she could feel it like a breeze against her cheek or a hand on her arm. 

Some went smiling, others went screaming. 

For many elves, even healers, death was not something to be understood, but feared. And to witness the stroke of death in another elf? Another soldier? Looking at Tauriel, she was reminded a bit of Nitya staring up at her in fear and confusion, unsure of the next step. Stepping forward, she placed a hand delicately on the Captain’s arm.

“I know.”

It was a sorry sentiment, but it had helped her often in the past to hear it from others.

Tauriel seemed to withdraw from a deep slumber, clearing her throat. “The prince asked me to send you his own thanks. He could not deliver the words himself as he has led out the first sentries and has been on patrol ever since.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “What did the king have to say?”

Nisa didn’t quite know how to answer that. King Thranduil seemed to have a skill for saying just enough while also saying nothing at all. Her answer, when it came, sounded weak even to her ears. “He is letting me plant today.”

“Is that wise?” 

“No, I don’t believe so, but it is necessary. I need these plants and what they have to offer. And my bugs need to begin growing as well so I can take what is required from them. It was the web of a Silk Spider that saved Erchor.”

Tauriel’s responding smile was a twist of the mouth. “He will find humor in that, I am sure. Few in the guard are more frightened of spiders than he.”

They had begun walking again toward Nisa’s chambers, where she slid in as quickly as possible to grab her satchel. She was only just able to shut the door before Hû bounded out and began chewing on Tauriel’s boots.

“Who is to escort you into the forest?” Tauriel inquired again as they made a turn and began heading toward the stables. “I am quite confident his majesty will not let you venture out alone.”

“Yes, he made that very clear. I do not plan to go on my own, nor do I believe you would turn your head if I tried.” 

They entered the stable, which was already bustling with activity, a tension straining just below the surface, ready to snap and draw blood. No one greeted them and Nisa preferred it that way. She had always preferred to lurk around the edges of rooms. She and Tauriel slid away just in time to miss being struck with a heavy saddle on its way to a horse’s back.

“I do not know if we have any guards to spare,” Tauriel explained as she looked around the stable. Everyone seemed to be engaged in a task, the room humming with a methodical chaos that reminded Nisa of the forest surrounding them. “We have tripled watch and sent many guards to patrol surrounding villages as well.”

“Have there been any difficulties outside Eryn Lasgalen?”

“Nothing has been seen thus far. At least not that we have been told.”

“I find that quite strange.” Nisa ducked as another saddle was swung over her head. “Illnesses do not often stay isolated like this. They find their way to new hosts eventually. But then again, nothing about this ailment is natural…”

Few things about this place seemed natural. The forest struggling to grow, the aggressive secrecy of its community, horrible creatures that could make even an elf soak the floor with blood.

Nisa finally turned to look at Tauriel, starting hard at the side of her face until the Captain turned to meet her gaze. “What happened in the woods yesterday?” 

The auburn haired elf did not answer, just as Nisa assumed she would not.

“It is nothing you need concern yourself with, your majesty. It is for the guard to deal with.” Tauriel didn’t appear to have much confidence in that statement even as she said it. 

Nisa felt her eye twitch. “Should I not have a say in that?”

Before Tauriel could answer, Satardil and four guards approached them with quick bows, all of them armed to the teeth with bows and swords. Even Sartardil had finally taken out his cherished sword and strapped it to his back. He seemed to stand taller with its presence.

“Your majesty,” he greeted her. “We are to be a part of your escort into the forest today. A group has gone ahead and scouted what they believe to be optimal planting ground. We are to take you straight there and be back before this evening’s meal. Your horse will be–”

“There is no need, Satardil.” 

Nisa turned at King Thranduil’s voice. He was still in most of his finery, but had replaced his refined silver cape with a sturdier black riding cape and now donned worn black boots. He cut an imposing figure in the gloom of the stable, his long sheet of hair surprisingly bright in the lack of light. He looked from Satardil to her with a smile that made the small of her back burn with remembered touch.

“I will be escorting the queen consort today.”

—------------------------------

Thranduil looked upon his wife in her simple blue dress, a delicate contrast to the dark colored garb of the woodland soldiers around her.

She had left her heavy hair loose, the tendrils falling softly to frame those big, blinking eyes. Her hands were tight on the strap of her brown leather bag and she appeared to have been in a rather intense discussion with the Captain of his guard, the cut of her jaw clenching in a way he was told his own often did when he felt strongly. There was a warm halo of light around her head from the lanterns.

“Is that wise, your majesty?” Tauriel asked after her perfunctory bow at the neck. He did not fault her for her worry or feel offense at her implication. She had served tirelessly at his side at the Great War of the Ring, breaking her banishment to protect her home.

She had not come out unscathed. None of them did. It had not yet been half a year since Sauron’s fall and every person, great and small, skilled or unskilled, man or elf, was moving with caution.

“Yes, Tauriel,” he answered as he pulled his glove taut over his arm. “My son tells me it is a lovely day.” He looked up into Nisa’s face, her eyes still blinking like a barn owl’s. “And I would like to see our queen consort’s skills firsthand.”

Tauriel did not look convinced and she opened her mouth to speak again, but he sent her a withering look that had her mouth shutting and her eyes going to the ground.

Nisanthiel still did not speak, but adjusted her gaze away from his face and to where Tinnuroc was being saddled. Her delicate shoulders rolled with anxiety and her hands tightened on the strap of her bag, as if worried he would snatch it away from her.

When he had struck this union, he thought he would pay no mind to his wife’s feelings concerning him, whether she so much as liked or disliked him. He expected to spend little time with her beyond what their duties dictated. They would never share a bed or children, but neither would he deny her the respect or dignity befitting her station as a princess and queen consort.

But then he had seen those wide eyes, watched her glide across a candlelit dining hall in a slash of red, and felt the heat of her back at his hand after she had cared for his soldiers through the high sun of the next day. Her ardor for bugs and plants and medicine was fascinating to him, as was her passion for helping those she had never so much as laid eyes upon.  Such fervor had left his heart thousands of years ago. Countless battles, untold loss, the death of his beloved Calieth had left his soul withered. Blood could not be wrung from something long since dead. This princess, despite her timidness, seemed to pulse with life, like flowers would bloom from her skin. It called to something deep within him, long since abeyant.

He was pulled from his musings when Tinnuroc shouldered past him. He watched with no small amount of disgruntlement as his mount – whom he had once thought loyal – ignored him completely and went straight for his wife. Nisa laughed that tinkling laugh, donning a smile that stretched wide across her face, as the elk nosed her hard in the chest. She stood surprisingly firm against the force as she reached up to rub at the animal’s snout. He preened unashamedly beneath the attention.

Crossing her arms over his chest, Thranduil raised a brow at the display. “Am I to take it you are to blame for my elk’s recent behavior?” Tinnuroc had been acting quite petulant as of late, refusing to even rise if there was not an apple for waiting for him on an open palm. As if on cue, the elk nosed his way down to Nisa’s bag, his furry muzzle already moving aside the leather flap and working at the gold buckle.

Red bloomed high on Nisa’s cheekbones as she reached into her bag and produced an apple that was quickly gobbled up by Tinnuroc in a noisy display of teeth.

Deciding to leave this subject for another time, Thranduil stepped aside for the mounting block to be placed at Tinnuroc’s side and held out his hand for Nisa to take her place on the double saddle. Her face fell slightly when she saw his outstretched hand, eyeing it like his fingers would grow teeth and bite her. 

He had noticed many things about her, like how she clenched the fabric of her gown when she was anxious, the way color rose in her face when she spoke of something that excited her, or how she was slim even by elf standards. He also noticed she often shied away quite forcefully from physical touch. He had wondered at that since they had first met, if there was a history behind such behavior. He had no illusion at the gravity of holding her back and her arm the night after the guruthos attack.

After what seemed an eternity, Nisa reached out and placed her delicate hand in his. When her hand wrapped around only three of his fingers, he felt as large as a mountain. Grabbing the side of Tinnuroc’s saddle, she swung herself on with ease, pulling the slit of her dress to settle back over her legs. As soon as he moved to follow her, he was aware she was holding her breath, her knuckles bruising white from her grip on the pommel. Only when he settled behind her did she let out a shaking breath.

As he turned Tinnuroc toward the doors, he looked down at Tauriel. “If we are not back within two hours, lock down the palace and send for my son. Celemon is aware of what steps should follow. Understood?”

Tauriel once again looked like she wanted to argue with that, but she nodded tightly and bowed instead before turning on her heel and all but stomping back toward the palace entrance. A kick of his heels and they were moving swiftly into the forest.

It did not take long for them to find the first small patch of land scouted by guards the previous day. The only criteria they had been given was to find multiple spots for Nisa to choose from, and they had to be as close to the caves as possible. The closest they had found was a stretch of green not quite twenty minutes brisk trot east from the mouth of the stables. The grass was bright and robust, small flowers blooming earnestly from the once rotten earth. The surrounding oaks had not yet fully recovered, but their bark had begun to brown and the leaves were taking on the fresh green of a fast approaching summer. Tall, strong oaks stood sentinel around this precious patch of land, providing an overhang of twisting branches just narrow enough to let in shafts of sunlight. The Forest River was a distant roar.

Nisa was scrambling off the elk before they had even come to a full stop, sliding gracefully from the saddle and landing on her feet in a way that made her bag thump against her hip. Her expression was slack with wonder as she looked around the small piece of green, so far removed from what she had seen of Eryn Lasgalen thus far. Even the green she had found with Legolas on her previous venture had still been tainted by the rot of the Necromancer. 

“You are seeing our home as it once was,” Thranduil explained to her as he dismounted Tinnuroc, patting the elk on his strong neck. Tinnuroc took that as permission to bend his head and begin tearing up the new grass.

“Greenwood,” Nisa said, her voice still slightly breathless as she turned her face to the sun. her voice was softer still when it came again. “The singing…it’s getting stronger. Growing every day.”

Thranduil cocked his head and listened, but it had become difficult for him through the years, the chorus of nature dim to him now after years of blood and loss.

Shaking off his contemplation, he looked to see Nisa already on her knees in the grass, her bag open next to her and her gown a halo around her. Her fingers were spearing into the ground and she was pulling up the ground quite methodically. 

“We could have brought tools and gloves for you to dig with,” Thranduil mused as he watched her toss a few clumps of soil precariously close to his boots.

“I like doing it myself,” she chirped in reply, looking perfectly content surrounded by loose dirt. “I like the feel of the dirt in my hands and it is easier to place the seeds without gloves. Some of them are quite small and nearly impossible to replace if you lose them.”

Settling back on her knees, a look of apprehension crossed her face as she surveyed the land in front of her. “I do not think I will have time for the entire plot today…” She started when Thranduil dropped to his knees next to her, having discarded his coat the second he saw her distress and tossing it over Tinnuroc’s back. The elk didn’t even spare him a glance.

It was strange for him, doing this kind of work. He had been laboring his entire life: learning the arts of battle and reign at his father’s side, traveling throughout the realm as diplomat, prince and king, fighting wars that were not his own, supporting his son as best he could through the loss of his mother…

This kind of labor was foreign to him. Slow and methodical, he knew from Eryn Lasgalen’s past caretakers that coaxing life from the earth was a process that could not be rushed, no matter the stakes.

“I’m afraid I do not know much of horticulture,” he admitted with no small amount of displeasure. “You will have to teach me, your majesty.” 

Color rose along Nisa’s elegant throat and the darks of her eyes contracted briefly. She recovered so quickly he was unsure it had even happened. Did she flush like that all the way down her chest?

Before his thoughts could take an indecent turn, Nisa was clearing her throat and shuffling over, her knee so close to his he could feel the pressure of its presence without the touch itself.

“It’s quite simple,” she was muttering as she leaned over him, her hair falling over his lap in a way that made his throat go painfully dry. He tried to shift his focus toward the way she deftly curled her fingers into the ground. “You can pull the grass up if you want, but that is not as important as moving around the soil. Like this…”

He watched her pull great chunks of dirt from the ground and set them aside. She worked quickly and surely until she had a shallow basin. She ran her hands through the soil, creating a soft nest for a seed to lie in.

“Then you take the seed…” She was leaning the other way now and pulling out a handful of small, soft pouches with the utmost gentleness. From one, she pulled out a brown seed as round as a marble. She placed it in the hole, again with incredible gentleness, before pushing the torn up dirt over it. “...and that’s it!”

After some general questions, he got to work on a new hole next to the one she had just dug. It was oddly satisfying, using his elven strength this way: curling his hands beneath the firm dirt, clenching the soil in his fists and tearing away pieces of the earth. Every handful of dirt thrown aside and seed planted felt an accomplishment, a step closer to a destination that no longer seemed so far away. It was the most useful he had felt in months.

“You are good at this.” Nisanthiel’s voice was amused and he cast a glance to where she knelt a few feet away. She was smiling thoughtfully at him, her face and chest smudged with dirt. “I am surprised, as you said you had no knowledge of horticulture.”

With the sun on his skin and the happy murmurs of new life growing around him, he could not help but smile back. “I have been told I am a quick study, your majesty.”

Her smile widened as she pulled an oblong red seedling from a pouch and tucked it delicately into the loose earth. “Oh? And who is sure to compliment a king as such?”

The memory came unbidden and unwelcome. A mild afternoon like this one, many a year ago…his young son, not yet a man grown darting through the trees as he often darted through his father’s legs and mother’s skirts, a wooden sword clenched tight in hand…

You are a swift learner, my little leaf!

Melodious laughter, a turn of her head so her blue eyes shone on his face with light to rival the sun. 

Just like your ada…

He looked down at the dirt in his hands, listened to it fall back on the earth. The memory brought forth a flood of emotions, filling him up and emptying him out until he felt a barren husk of a man. Guilt, rage, love, devastation…how was he to breathe through it?

“I’ve upset you.” 

He looked up again, the world coming back in a rush of sound, despite the hush of the forest around them. A bird chirped above and the river beat on. His wife still knelt mere feet from him, but her face had twisted in woe at what he assumed was his sudden change in behavior and the idea she had caused him pain. She was clenching the thin fabric of her dress in her hands.

“It is none of your concern, your majesty.”

The words were not unkind, nor did they invite further conversation on the topic. 

His past, his wife, his pain, could not penetrate at this time of strife in his realm, when very real and very living people needed him more. He would have to be more careful around the Lady Nisanthiel. Something about her shone light on feelings better left alone, words better left unsaid. He had noticed it immediately when they had met, the ease with which others breathed in her presence.

“Your majesty–”

“I forgot myself and it shall not happen again.”

She startled back at the harshness of his tone, staring at him as if contemplating whether to argue or run away. They held gazes for a long moment, the harmonies of the forest carrying on around them. Something shuttered in Nisa’s eyes, so swift he was sure it was only a glint of light through the trees. She suddenly seemed one hundred miles away even though she was only a few strides distance.

Suddenly, her dark head whipped around, her face serious and astute. 

“Your majesty–”

When she had held up a finger and ordered him to hush, he would have been less shocked if she had slapped him across the face. The only people that had ever done that had been his own ada and amil . Even Amarher didn’t dare raise a finger like that to him. His annoyance could not overtake his concern, however.

“Princess–”

“Quiet… please .” She didn’t even spare him a glance.

He could only blink at her in shock, feeling every bit a scolded child.

Suddenly, Nisa let out a startled sound and flung herself across the hole she had just dug, arms outstretched. She landed with a painful sounding thud and inelegant grunt, her hands cupped around each other on the grass. When she righted herself, her hands never wavering, her face was luminous with awe. When she looked at him, her eyes were wider than he had ever seen. Her voice was hardly a whisper when she spoke.

“Come see.”

Feeling more confused than he had in quite some time, he stood and brushed the dirt from his knees before striding over and crouching to his haunches next to her. 

Slowly, Nisa opened her hands to reveal what appeared to be a small iridescent beetle of dark blue, no bigger than his thumbnail. The bug was running wildly across her palms and over her fingers, but she deftly wrung her hands around and around so it could not escape.

“It is a Calima Beetle,” she explained, her voice still a whisper. “They are so rare I’ve only ever seen them in illustrations. How…”

She looked up at him, their faces so close he could feel her breath on his neck. “Their origins are not well known. Do you have many here?”

“I have never seen one of these in my life,” he told her honestly, watching what looked to be a rather unimpressive bug skitter madly over her hands. “But I am under the impression this is a significant find?”

Nisa nodded, a somewhat manic smile breaking out on her face as she moved to her feet so quickly she almost stumbled and Thranduil had to catch her arm. She barely seemed to notice.

“They are incredibly rare and there has not been much research done on them, as their numbers have dwindled. Texts as far back as the First Age tell of their existence and their uses in healing, especially on the battlefield.”

That got his attention and he looked closer at the unassuming aphid. “I do not follow. This looks much too small to produce anything of note.”

“Oh, they grow to be much bigger,” Nisa continued, letting Thranduil lead her toward Tinnuroc. “About the size of a grown ellon’s hand. There are not many surviving accounts of their specific purpose in healing, but it has been pieced together that they produce a substance that glows blue and can be applied to wounds–My seeds!”

Her voice suddenly grew so loud and panicked he almost started. They had both been so caught up in this find they had forgotten about the seeds still not planted. Still cradling the bug, Nisa made to turn back, but he kept his hand firmly on her arm, making her look down at his grip.

“We are reaching our allotted time before the court begins to panic,” he explained. “I will send the caretakers out at once to plant the rest.” 

She looked apprehensive, reminding her a bit of himself when he was asked to have someone else take the charge on a pivotal task. Now he knew how countless advisors felt.

“I swear to you we only enlist the most knowledgeable of caretakers for our forest,” he continued.

“What if animals take the seeds,” she argued with a stubborn thrust of her chin. “Most of them do not grow within even one hundred miles of here and would take days to bring from Elfalia—”

“Nothing will disrupt your planting grounds, you have my word as king.”

Nisa did not look like she believed him and he felt like he was trying to reason with an immovable oak tree.

As if reading his mind, three elves dropped silently from the trees above, bowing low to them both. Their eyes looked more aged than many of the guards Nisa had seen in her time here.

“Three of my best soldiers. They have been in the guard since before I was king,” he said by way of introduction. “They will not let anything happen to your seeds or the ground in which they are to grow.”

Nisanthiel still did not look convinced, but gave him a tight lipped smile and nodded in reluctant acquiescence. 

Feeling a bit like he had just fought a battle, Thranduil looked around for a stump in which to help Nisa onto Tinnuroc’s back. He was confident she would be able to get up on her own, but her hands were still cradling the Calima Beetle like it was the most precious of treasures. Even an elf was not elegant or agile enough to mount a massive animal without the use of her hands. Even with one hand, she would have to swing herself up and potentially risk exposing herself to everyone present. He did not know much of her, but he was quite confident she would not appreciate that option.

“I think you will have to lift me.”

Her statement did not sound happy and he could already see the new, unforgiving tension in her spine, as if she were steeling herself for his touch.

“Are you quite sure?” He asked, knowing he was treading on delicate ground. She nodded, looking very deliberately back at the beetle in her hands.

Tentatively, he reached out to place his hands around her, noticing he could almost completely wrap his palms around her waist. The bones of her slim hips were hard beneath his grip. When she made a noise of discomfort and her face twitched slightly, he quickly lifted her into the saddle before swinging in behind her.

They rode back in silence, Nisanthiel still completely enamored by the bug in her hands, Thranduil deep in his awareness of their surroundings. The doors to the stables had not even swung all the way open when a white robed figure darted out in front of them, causing Tinnuroc to huff in surprise.

“Gwaeniel?” Nisa’s voice sounded surprised.

“Your majesty.” The red haired woman sounded out of breath and her face was frightened. “We need you in the infirmary as soon as possible.”

Chapter Text

Something in Gwaeniel's face and tone had Nisa sliding from the saddle before Tinnuroc came to a full stop, the great elk pawing at the ground as if he could feel Gwaeniel’s fear. Still holding the frenzied Calima Beetle securely in her cupped hands, Nisa fell into step with the apprentice and bent her head close to hear her murmured words among the din of the stables and any prying ears.

“Nitya is beginning to feel pain in his muscles and a burning in his wound,” Gwaeniel whispered as quietly as she could amongst the many elven ears around them. 

On the eighth day, the muscles begin to tense and lock and the skin begins to burn like a growing fire.

Nisa must have begun to walk faster because Gwaeniel had gathered up her robes and quickened her own pace to keep up with her.

“How long has he been feeling this way?”

“His symptoms began last night, but he did not tell anyone until only a few hours ago.”

Stubborn woodland elves. Even when barely out of the cradle they hid their pain and kept their secrets. 

She knew her anger toward the small boy was unwarranted, a pathetic mask for her growing fear. Taking a breath, she focused on the feel of the beetle’s thin legs against her palms, the glimmering of candlelight in her periphery, 

“I will see him at once and we will begin trials for pain relief. A room will be needed to start building a greenhouse for the plants and insects that are to be stored in the caves. It is not ideal, but it is the option we have. Anything grown out in the forest will grow quickly if the texts praising this land’s incredible abilities to foster life are to be believed. Until then, we will use the materials I have brought that are ready for use. We should also assign keepers to search through the sciences and histories of the library, but if someone as learned as Lord Elrond has not heard of this ailment, I do not have much confidence in available texts. Is that all manageable?”

Gwaeniel was keeping admirable pace with her, her brow furrowed studiously and her head bobbing in a persistent nod.

“Oriel, Thendor and Thínthel will need to be apprised of all this and I would like to meet the forest caretakers the king mentioned to me.”

“They are slowly returning, your majesty,” Gwaeniel explained. “They were not needed during the Necromancer’s reign and are coming from all over Middle Earth. There are only two caretakers currently present.”

“Then I will want to meet them when they are able.”

“Should we inform King Thranduil and the council of these plans?”

Dodging around a guard, Nisa continued studying the Calima Beetle. The lanterns on the walls glinted off its hard shell as it continued running rapid circles over her fingers. She understood a bit how it felt: running but going nowhere. It would tire and slow eventually, or dart about until it collapsed from exhaustion.

“We will inform them as soon as we are able, but that is not my priority at this time.”

She thought back to only an hour ago, burying her hands in the pliable earth, basking in the warm embrace of the sun through the trees. The burgeoning life around them had started a hesitant song, as if unsure their recent decay was safely in the past. It was a hymn stronger than even the day before and her heart beat with gaiety at the thought of how strong it might become still. Even the King had dropped to his knees at her side, asked for instruction before digging in with a fixed intensity.

Mulling on it now, she should have kept her mouth shut, but her heart had been singing with the trees, her blood was warm with sunshin,e and she wanted to get to know more about this man who turned the earth with the same earnestness another might wield a blade. 

It had taken only a short exchange for her to regret her decision. Whatever words she said, they had certainly brought forth unpleasant memories for the king. His demeanor had certainly not been cheerful beforehand, but he was suddenly that man from the library again in blood stained armor, the swords at his back still humming from battle as he set his terms for her.

It had been an shortsighted mistake, even if only a simple question. Not once in her time here had his behavior toward her indicated he was willing to be open with her or discuss his past. He had certainly warned her off, as she had no further plans to inquire about his feelings or memories. She could not afford to be upset again, or distracted by the temperaments of others.

Not everyone’s minds work the way yours does, hina. Miluiwen had put a reassuring hand to Nisa’s shoulder after one of her brother’s had screamed long and hard at her for some well-intentioned slight she could not recall. She had been standing there in shock, her mouth gaping open in confusion. You have the strange burden of being sensitive about many ways of life, but insusceptible to the other, daily strifes suffered by the rest of us.

“I need a jar.”

She did not want to keep thinking about these things. They filled up her head like the buzz of many wings, until she thought her brain might collapse and she was left to drown in the tides of feelings and emotions she could not begin to navigate.

“Your majesty?”

Looking over, she met eyes with Gwaeniel, who was looking at her with both confusion and concern.

“A jar,” she repeated, hoping to keep the croak from her voice. She cautiously opened her fists for Gwaeniel to see the Calima Beetle, who was finally beginning to slow down its rampage.

Gwaeniel’s sprightly face broke into a delighted smile at the sight of the beetle. “Oh my goodness,” she laughed. “How beautiful! What a lovely blue…”

“It is called the Calima Beetle,” Nisa explained, happy to share this with another who appeared to share her enthusiasm. “It is very rare and might be helpful to us, so it needs to be taken care of with the utmost delicacy. Understood?”

She made sure her intentions were clear enough on her face that Gwaeniel could not make any mistake as to the preciousness of this particular insect. Seeing Nisa’s sincere expression, Gwaeniel adopted one of her own and nodded earnestly before hesitantly holding out her hands.

After some of her own reluctance, Nisa released the bug to Gwaeniel, who quickly made her way in the opposite direction, bending over her cupped hands and seeming to trust that others would move out of her way.

Clutching her dirty skirts in her hands, Nisa took off toward the infirmary, only briefly nodding to Celomen and Feindil as they passed.

The infirmary was still as quiet as it had been over the days since the attack, the injured soldiers still deep in sleep, their bodies rigid and well trained even in slumber. Oriel was learning over Erchor, a hand to his wrist. She looked up as Nisa approached.

“His heartbeat grows stronger,” she explained as she adjusted the soldier’s sleeve in an oddly maternal way.

“They will all be this way for the next day or two,” Nisa explained. “The concoction I used was very strong and it will be a slow emergence from such a sleep.”

“It will come about naturally?”

“It should. If not, we can draw them out by force, but that is not my preferred method, especially with injuries such as these. It is best not to startle the body from its healing.”

Oriel nodded, still studying Erchor’s pale face. “I have used Athelas many times, but I am unfamiliar with many of the other plants you used, as I have not had much use for traditional healing in the past.” She looked to Nisa’s face, her expression sober. “I am grateful we had such resources at hand.”

Nisa nodded in agreement and looked over the elder’s healer shoulder to the bookcases concealing the hidden sick room.

“How is Nitya faring?”

Oriel’s expression did not change, but Nisa could feel a change in her, a weary defeat. 

“You will want to see him for yourself,” was all she said in reply as she went back to assessing Erchor’s sutures.

A writhing weight in her belly, Nisa hurried through the bookcase. She barely had the door cracked open before she heard Nitya’s whimpers from the far side of the room. Rushing past Thendor, who was burying past with hands full of vials and bottles, she stopped just short of Nitya’s bed, skidding on her boots.

The small boy was curled on his side, back to the door as if hoping for some kind of seclusion. He was shivering as if chilled, though his nightshirt clung to the skin of his back. Approaching slowly, Nisa ran a gentle hand through his dark hair, her palm coming away damp.

“Nitya?”

She slowly rounded the side of the bed, doom heavy in her heart. When she saw Nitya’s face, she wanted to groan aloud with her despair. 

His skin had been completely consumed, leaving only that wretched, pulsing wound and the soft gray of his eyes. Despite the tight curl of his little body, the muscles of his neck were taut, pushing his head away from his body. He was holding his little wooden horse fast to his quivering chest.

Nisa dropped slowly to her knees, for it seemed like any sudden movement would make him fall to pieces at her feet. 

“Nitya…”

The little boy finally looked into her eyes, startled by her presence, but he looked away quickly, as if ashamed of his state.

She reached out as delicately as she could and brushed his hair away from his forehead. It was still soft to the touch, so much like a child’s. It was a shocking contrast to the ruin of his face.

“Can you tell me where it hurts, melda ?”

His throat bobbed and he winced, as if even swallowing caused him pain. His mouth opened slowly, but no words came out for a long moment. He pulled himself tighter around Beleg, as if hoping to draw strength from the small wooden figurine.

“E...Ev…where…”

“Everywhere?”

A stiff nod, the muscles in his gaunt neck straining so violently against the black of his skin she was worried it would split.

Still stroking his hair, Nisa turned to look at Gwaeniel, who had come to linger behind her with a miserable downturn of her eyes. 

“What is the last pain relief he has been given?”

“Athelas, wormwood and hemlock since the moment he voiced his discomfort, but nothing has given him respite thus far. It did nothing for those before him, either.” She leaned in closer to Nisa so as to elude Nitya’s hearing. “We considered administering him the herb mixture you provided the soldiers after the attack, but we were unsure the quantity for a child.”

Nisa scrubbed her free hand hard over her face, wanting to close her eyes and take a moment to think, but she felt an absurd panic that Nitya would pass in a single second if she so much as looked away. Instead, she rested her cheek in her hand and stared at the sweet, innocent boy before her.

The Athelas-Aagris mixture would surely relieve his pain, as he would be so far from consciousness, some would consider him all but lifeless beneath the ground. No…he needed to be awake so they could accurately gauge his reactions to new remedies and treatments.

“No,” she finally answered, her voice cracking as if her very body objected to the idea of not immediately removing this child from his suffering, even for the sake of progress. “No, we will not use that until we are out of alternatives. For the time being, bring me a bag of Rinvu’s Poppy and bottles of Agretta Root and Ostroton. Do you remember where those are among the others?”

A vigorous nod from Gwaeniel, whose lovely face had shifted from anguish to purpose.

“Good. Go now and hurry back. Let no one waylay you, understood?”

Another nod and the apprentice bounded off, her robes pulled to her knees in a way that would have had Miluiwen clucking her tongue.

When the Gwaeniel was out of sight, Nisa turned back to Nitya, crouching over him as if she could keep the pain away with the shelter of her body. 

He had closed his eyes again, appearing as if asleep but for the soft whimpering and the sporadic clenching of his small fists around his toy. She continued stroking his hair, dimly aware it was more for her sake than his.

“We are going to try and take the pain away, Nitya,” she murmured at his temple. “I promise.”

Early in her education, she had learned to never make promises to those in her care, as fate and life both were fickle as man in their whims.

There is no poison so sweet as false hope . 

An aged human healer had told her that as they cleaned their hands of blood and afterbirth, a woman and infant wrapped in burial cloths on the beds behind them.

But as she stared down at Nitya, the fierce strain of muscles at his back and neck, his eyes closed as if he could will it all away, she had nothing else to give him.

Gwaeniel was suddenly at her side with an armful of pouches, bottles and vials. Even with an elf’s natural speed, she must have moved through the halls with incredible haste.

“I grabbed a few other things I thought might prove helpful,” she said, her voice unsure and a hint of color crawling into her cheeks. “I’ve been reading through the notebooks you left.”

Nisa was already on her feet and gathering as much as she could to lessen Gwaeniel’s armload. “I think that is a wonderful idea, Gwaeniel. We will have to attempt many experiments over the next few days, but for the time being we will focus on relieving the pain of his scars.”

They moved briskly to the work table and Nisa began pulling down various instruments, bowls, and the like. “If you’ve been reading my journals and deliberated on the ingredients I requested, you just have some idea of the mixture I am considering?”

Gwaeniel set down the rest of her haul as gently as she could, but some glass vials still clattered noisily across the wood surface and a pouch of leaves slipped to the floor. She rushed to right them.

“I believe I do, your majesty,” she said, her voice a murmur as she bent to the floor to retrieve the fallen pouch. “If I remember correctly, it is a soothing balm applied to dragonfire burns.”

“That is correct,” Nisa praised distractedly as she began organizing the various containers to suit her desires. 

She had always preferred to line them up by how much she needed of each, from least to greatest. It was a routine that brought her a strange comfort and often earned indulgent smiles from those she worked with at healing houses throughout the realm, but no one tried to change her ways, as the results of such peculiarities were often favorable. It was only her brothers who enjoyed sneaking into her workshop in Elfalia and disrupting her careful system.

Gwaeniel appeared to catch on almost immediately and began organizing her armful the same way, muttering to herself as she created different lines for each concoction they would attempt. Soon, the table appeared a battlefield lined with small soldiers ready for combat.

“Start shaving down the bark of the Agretta Root,” she ordered Gwaeniel, using her wrist to push the plant-filled pouch and a thin knife toward the apprentice. “We only want the bark, not the inner bark beneath. If there’s any inner bark on even one shaving of outer bark, it’s useless.”

“Where—”

“The wooden bowl in the corner.” 

The two of them got to work, Gwaeniel falling to her knees to get at eye level with the table as Nisa began plucking the unripened seeds from a Rinvu’s Poppy. They worked in silence, Nitya’s whimpers a morbid refrain against the stone walls.

Nisa was so focused, not even her keen elven senses alerted her to Oriel and Thendor’s presence as they slipped into the room.

“Your majesty?”

Nisa cursed and whirled around, nearly shoving her plucking tool into Thendor’s eye as Gwaeniel made a similar noise of surprise and fell onto her backside, a slim knife still clutched in her hand.

“Dragonfire’s Balm,” Nisa explained before either of them could ask, aware of their eyes sweeping over the table full of vials and plants. “We will apply it to Nitya’s wounds. They resemble burns of some kind and we will begin to treat them as such.”

Two sets of eyebrows raised in confusion, but they wisely chose not to interject. Nisa could not predict what she might say when she was in such a disposition, and she was sure her face was lined with tension. They simply did not have time to argue for the old ways of healing or the uncertainty of experimentation. They had tried and failed, so she was trying again.

There was a heavy silence between them, the only sounds that of Nitya’s distress and Gwaeniel carefully shaving bark from the Agretta Root in long, tenuous strokes.

“How much will we need?” Oriel finally inquired as she moved to stand next to Gwaeniel, pushing her sleeves to her elbows.

“As much as this current supply,” Nisa responded, not looking up from the poppy bulb she held and had nearly plucked bare. “We will barely be able to cover all the burns on his body, but the ingredients are easily grown if we require more. Are you both aware of the method for creating this balm? The importance of no inner bark? How to cull the poppy seeds so they do not crumble?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Thendor answered as he picked up his own pair of forceps and carefully removed a poppy from its pouch. “We applied a similar balm to the burns of soldiers who suffered the wrath of the great Northern serpents. I will say I have not seen recipes calling for Ostroton.”

“It’s to prevent infection,” Nisa explained as she began carefully quartering the poppy seeds. “A complication most elves do not have to concern themselves with. But we are no longer restricting ourselves to common maladies.”

The four of them worked in silence, one of them checking on Nitya’s state every so often. 

Well over an hour later, they stood silently above a wooden bowl overflowing with transparent red and brown salve. It could have been a comical display, four well trained healers gathered nervously over a bowl as though they feared it would grow a face and begin speaking to them in perfect Sindarin.

Nitya had succumbed to his exhaustion, but his body still shuddered violently every few minutes, the entire bed trembling beneath the strain. It amazed Nisa, that such a slight body could create such a tremendous force, even at rest.

“It will not be a pleasant application for Nitya,” Nisa explained in hushed tones, her fingers flexing around the smooth wood of the bowl. “We will have to ease his limbs from their rigor and push the balm as deep into the crevices of his burn as possible. Mind your hands as to not also be burned. Understood?”

The other three healers nodded, but no one moved, as if not acknowledging the task ahead would somehow make it unneeded. Nisa was finally able to push herself forward, her knuckles now white around the bowl. Her voice was a croak when it came out.

“Nitya?”

The little boy cracked his lids as if it took every ounce of his strength, craning his distended neck to look up at them with wide, innocent eyes. 

Suddenly, she was looking at her nephews and nieces. Nitya had Gruichon’s full cheeks, Tithendaer’s sweet, dimpled smile. How had she never noticed before? How much he looked like her brothers’ children? But then, he looked like so many children she had treated over the millennia. The pneumonia that swept through The Shire, the plague of Bree, the landslide that injured dozens in Edoras…there were countless faces, but somehow they all seemed the same. Maybe it was just the eyes. Big, blameless eyes, looking up at her like the cure in her hands hung the moon, could grant their heart’s every desire. The hearts of children truly did not have many desires. In moments such as that, all they wanted was the pain to stop.

As Nitya looked up at her, his throat working against the strain of his muscles, she took a shaking breath and pulled herself together. Regretfully, her voice had lost none of its hoarseness when she spoke again.

“We’ve made something that might make you feel better,” she explained in as gentle a voice as she was able. She did not have it in her to speak with strength, so she chose tenderness. 

The four healers gathered close around the bed and she could see Nitya’s eyes dart back and forth in a panic. Nisa perched on the bed next to his head, resting the bowl in her lap.

“We think this might help your burns feel better. Your skin feels very hot right now and we want to cool it down. How does that sound?”

Unable to answer, Nitya mewled in response, his pupils growing wider with a desperate excitement.

“But it might hurt when we put it on,” Nisa continued. “I need you to be as strong as you can for me. Can you do that?”

No one moved or spoke as Nitya twisted his eyes shut, the muscles in his jaw working. After an eternal moment, he gave an imperceptible nod. 

Nisa took a deep breath, only just realizing she had been holding it. She looked to the other healers, holding eye contact with each of them for a long, meaningful moment.

It was Thendor who first reached out, wrapped a shaking hand around Nitya’s ankle and gave a gentle pull as Nisa gathered a healthy dollop of balm into her palm. It didn’t take long for Nitya to start screaming.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Nisa moved quickly through the halls, having darted out of the infirmary with as much decorum as she could muster. It had taken hours to apply the balm to Nitya’s burns, to massage his muscles to pliability, pull his limbs from his body to reach every burning crack and crevice. It had been like pulling roots from the ground, a mighty force straining against them. Nitya had thrashed and screamed as best he could against their grip until he had fallen limp, silent but for sobbing hiccups.

When they were done, the bowl lying empty on the floor, they had sat on his bed silently, avoiding each other’s eyes as if they had done something shameful. Was it not shameful to put a child through such agony? No matter the purpose? 

Gwaeniel had broken first, putting a shaking hand over her mouth and choking out a sob before throwing herself from the room. Thendor was close behind her, lumbering silently through the bookcase. Oriel had placed a comforting hand on Nisa’s before she had left as well, but there was no mistaking the trembling of her chin, even as she held her head high.

Nisa had sat there for a long moment, her hands twisting in her robes until she was sure she they would tear. Nitya was deathly still next to her, his mouth moving in an unmistakable rhythm.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no…

The shame had burst from her lungs in a horrible sound before she shoved herself to her feet and stumbled to the door.

She darted through the bustling halls, clenching her jaw tight against the terrible emotions in her chest. They felt like dread, like a violent wave that could not be controlled. 

She thought wildly about where she could go. There seemed to be so few places to be alone in these endless halls. Miluiwen would surely be waiting for her in her chambers with countless questions, questions she could not stomach.

“Your majesty?”

Tauriel’s voice was full of concern, as was her beautiful face as she came down the opposite end of the hallway, Legolas at her side. It was the first time Nisa had seen him since the attack. The memory of the wounded soldiers, lying still and alone in the infirmary triggered another swell of destructive emotions she had to bite her cheek against.

Giving the prince and the captain a tight smile and brisk nod that hopefully discouraged conversation, she gave them a wide berth, barely dodging a few other elves as she wove through the hallway. She was vaguely aware of them turning to look after her, but she did not heed their concern.

Right as she felt about to burst, she came upon the magnificent doors to the library. Grabbing the heavy handles, she pulled one of the doors open just enough to slip inside, nearly knocking her forehead on the edge of the heavy wooden panel.

Nisa didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until her back met the door and the air was rushing from her chest in a violent heave. The force of it pushed her knees out from under her and she slid to the floor, burying her face in her hands as she did so. Maybe if she blocked out everything else, she could gain some semblance of control over the storm in her chest. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no…

Taking a shuddering breath, she pressed the heels of her hands harder into her eyes, hoping the pain would distract her from the sound of Nitya’s voice in her skull.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no…

She couldn’t remember the last time a patient had begged her to not continue in her treatment. They screamed, they grit their jaws, they lashed out against her touch, but few times could she recall even a child looking at her with pure desperation, as if they would rather be dead than endure.

Scrubbing her hands down her face, she pressed them tight to her mouth, keeping her eyes closed, continuing her hope that absence of sight would equate to absence of mind. She almost laughed aloud at such childish logic. Not since her first thunderstorm, when she had covered her ears and pressed her eyes shut had she thought such a thing. Times like this, she missed such naive reasoning. Logic had failed to bring her happiness so far in Eryn Lasgalen.

A strong rap on the door had her starting, her heart hammering in her chest. She very suddenly remembered she was sitting in a communal room of a teeming palace and was subject to any number of prying eyes. She hadn’t even checked the privacy of the library before sweeping in and letting her emotions take over.

The library door pushed open against her back and she threw her weight back, slamming it closed again.

“One-One moment.” Nisa hated the tremor in the voice, the tears just behind her teeth. She struggled to her feet, nearly tripping on her robes before taking a deep breath and turning to pull the door open. Hopefully, she could persuade them she needed a few minutes alone in the library for vocational reasons.

Wrapping her hands around the door, she stood there for a long moment, willing her heart to still, her fingers to stop trembling. She could not present this way to others as a dutiful queen consort, a trustworthy healer.

Dutiful, trustworthy, competent, strong…she did not feel any of those things, and with every faltering breath she took, she felt them less and less. The thought slithered down her throat into her lungs and she felt a sharp clench beneath her ribs, robbing her of breath.

Releasing a panicked whimper at her lack of air, she released the door handles and wheeled around, clenching her robes and fleeing into the dimly lit rows of the library.

She twisted and turned through the shelves, clutching at her tightening chest as she collided with a shelf and fell to her knees, the stone floor sending a violent tremor through her bones. Scrambling onto her backside, she pushed herself up against a towering shelf of books and clawed at the collar of her robes until she heard the tear of fabric and felt the air on her throat. Clenching the white fabric so tight in her fists she felt a sting on her skin, she took deep, shaking breaths, focusing on the feel of the stone beneath her and the the smell of aged parchment until her cramped chest began to ease.

She had no idea how long she sat there, basking in the silence, in the steady harmony of scribes turning pages and scribbling notes. She could stay here forever, curled on the floor until her existence was forgotten, until she turned to dust and she drifted away on the winds.

“Nisanthiel?”

Yelping in surprise, she turned her head so quickly it collided with the sturdy shelf behind her. Groaning in pain, it was only a short second later that she cursed as a heavy tome fell from a high shelf and came crashing onto her head, sending her brain ricocheting around her skull.

Blinking past the pain, she looked up, having to tip her head back on her neck to look into the king’s face.

He was looking down at her with an amused expression, his eyebrows raised and his lips twitching. A near violent desire to throw a book at his beautiful face nearly drove Nisa to her feet, but she clenched her jaw against the urge and let out a long, calming exhale through her nose before she snapped something unjustifiable at him. 

He looked as regal as ever, resplendent in his livery, even in the low lit library. It was becoming quite frustrating, feeling disheveled and pathetic in comparison to her husband’s constant state of seemingly incorruptible composure. The circlet on his head glinted in the candlelight, as if mocking her.

“I came across my son and captain,” he finally explained, his tone nonchalant as he crossed his arms over his chest. “They told me you appeared quite distraught.”

Snitches .

Feeling like she was back in her own home being tattled on by nosy brothers who claimed concern, she clenched her jaw again. She knew she failed to stop the unattractive expression of disgruntlement that flitted across her face because Thranduil finally gave in to a small smile.

Then he was reaching toward her and Nisa noticed he did not push the hem of his sleeve back when it fell over his hand. Unsure if the concealment of his bare skin was intentional, she was grateful either way as she took his offered hand and let him pull her to her feet with a strength that made her breath hitch. 

As soon as she was standing, she let go of his hand to quickly pull her tattered robes over her bare throat and collar, hoping the king did not see her rising blush. His eyes flickered briefly over her chest before going back to her hers and he raised his brows again in question.

“It’s quite warm,” she grumbled in response, aware it was a pathetic excuse of a lie and they both knew it. Thankfully, he did not inquire further.

“What is it that is concerning you?” he asked instead, which was no better in her opinion.

She did not answer immediately, choosing to fuss with her collar instead. After a moment of crushing silence, she finally looked into his face and found herself unable to lie in the face of his dispassion. His stoicism was oddly grounding, a bastion in the face of her internal upheaval.

“Nitya.”

It was a relief to say his name to another, but the feeling of openness left her feeling painfully vulnerable, as if she were naked before him.

Thranduil did not say anything immediately, but his eyes became softer in a way that would have been imperceptible if the change did not feel almost physical on her skin.

“Yes,” he finally responded, his voice also a fraction softer. “I am aware.”

Nisa cleared her throat, focusing on pulling her sleeves up so she would not have to look upon his face.

“I presume the other healers informed you?”

“No.”

His answer surprised her and she looked back to his face, which had suddenly become shadowed.

“The rulers of these halls are tied to all of its inhabitants,” he explained, “by way of an enchantment placed at the time of the palace’s creation. When the shadows fell over the forest…I always wanted to know what was happening in these walls.” His eyes became distant, as if he were recalling an erstwhile memory. 

Did he think about his father? His grandfather? He was so often reserved, it was strange to think of him dwelling on sentimentalities. 

“That sounds quite…wearisome,” Nisa replied softly, unsure of a better word to describe such an experience. To be so attached to the many people around you…Could he feel their pain? Their grief? Their anger? Even the idea of such a mental upheaval made her feel violated. “I can’t imagine.”

He looked to her again and she thought he might continue, but then he pulled his head back and it was like the moment of vulnerability had never happened. He was no longer looking at a man with a past, with sympathies and vulnerabilities, but the heartless and merciless king of legend. She tightened her robes around her throat and shifted backwards.

“I came to receive an update from you and inquire as to why I sensed such distress from a child in your care and multiple members of my household.”

Blinking at his accusatory tone, she raised her chin as well. “We are attempting a topical approach and have applied a balm often used on dragon fire burns.”

Something wild flashed in Thranduil’s eyes and his throat bobbed, but the emotion was once again gone before she could make sense of it.

“An interesting approach,” he stated instead, and Nisa felt another overpowering desire to grab the largest book she could find and lob it at his blonde head. “I cannot think of any point when these children would have faced a dragon, except for maybe in their dreams.”

“These proceedings will be largely experimental, your majesty,” she all but snapped at him, unappreciative of his condescending tone and questioning of her expertise. “If I recall, I was asked here because of my exploratory and…unorthodox approaches. Your majesty.”

She was completely aware she was acting like a brat and expected a quick flash of his anger, but was shocked to see his mouth twist in something like sardonic appreciation. Eru above, would she ever be able to understand him? 

“I have also come to show you our progress on your conservatory.”

She perked up at that, a telltale excitement turning her mouth up despite herself. “Truly?”

His eyes went beneath her face and his jaw ticked. Looking down, Nisa felt a wave of embarrassment at the sight of her near bare chest, her robes having fallen completely from her shoulders to well below her collarbone. She quickly gathered the fabric in her hands again and vowed to not release them until she was safely in her chambers. Thranduil looked to her face again and she saw an emotion she could not quite discern, but that was certainly not new for her. Her short time here had been a persistent onslaught of emotions she wouldn’t have been able to perceive under any circumstances, let alone the neverending turmoil she found herself in currently. 

“Follow me,” Thranduil ordered, turning gracefully on his heel. She had no choice but to follow him with quick steps.

“We have not made the progress we had hoped thus far,” he continued, “but we have been dealing with further troubles outside the palace that have continued to require our immediate attention.”

That made her break into a jog to keep up with him. “Have there been more attacks? It would be helpful if—”

The king stopped so suddenly she crashed into his back, stumbling back and only just catching herself. When she met his eyes, they were full of such animosity she shied away. His voice was scathing when it came. “You have been told multiple times that what is happening outside the palace is not of your concern, unless your healing abilities are required. If you need to be informed, you shall be. Am I understood?”

Nisa blinked at him, her ire rising even as a sense of despair wrapped hard around her throat. The chasm that had opened between them that morning in the forest widened further and she retreated to the safety of its depths. Schooling her own features, she nodded in acquiescence.

The rest of the trip through the palace was completed in silence, though Nisa was sure he could feel her seething at his side. She had to set quite an admirable pace for herself, but she refused to walk behind him. It was the bit of spite she was allowing herself for his crude dismissal. 

They stopped a few rooms away from the infirmary at a set of aged wooden doors. She vaguely remembered noticing them on her first day, how thick rope held them shut. Thranduil wrapped his hands around the now unencumbered iron handles and hauled them open. 

Nisa could find no words as she stepped inside, though her lips did part with awe. The sun shone bright through towering windows, bathing the room in a divine glow. Wooden tables filled with clay pots and tools lined the walls. As Nisa stepped into the room, she noticed with delight that the stone floor was covered in a thin layer of soil. 

Abandoning all royal protocol, she toed off her slippers and gathered up the hem of her robes before taking a delicate step into the soil. It felt like coming home. She had completely forgotten about Thranduil’s presence until he spoke from behind her.

“This is the best we could manage under such short notice, and improvements can be made as needed. We have only two caretakers here currently and they have been largely focused on the restoration of our land outside the halls. We have summoned our other caretakers from across Middle Earth, but it will take some time for them to return. I take it this is to your…”

When he trailed off, Nisa turned. She had made her way across the room, relishing the feeling of dirt on her bare feet until she found herself in front of the windows. Turning, she had tipped her head back against the forgiving stroke of the sun, feeling renewed after her harrowing day.

At the sight of his face, she stilled, feeling a chill in her veins despite the beat of the sun through the glass. A chill that had nothing to do with fear or concern.

The king’s eyes had taken a predatory gleam and his mouth had parted as he stared at her from across the room. Despite the distance between them, it felt like he had his hands on her skin, around her throat. The silence was deafening but for their breathing, not even the bustle of the palace behind the closed doors. Something foreign propelled her forward and she took a hesitant step, her own mouth parting for words that never came. Thranduil lowered his chin, what might have been anticipation glinting in his eyes. 

“Nisanthiel!”

Nisa gasped and stumbled back at the sound of Miluiwen’s piercing exclamation, the moment shattered. Thranduil had barely moved, but had cast his eyes just over his shoulder, his jaw working furiously. 

Miluiwen was bustling across the room with a single minded focus, a furious look on her face. Nisa was perplexed at her upset until Miluiwen grabbed her robes in both hands and yanked the pieces roughly over her chest. In the heat of the sun and the king’s eyes on her, her torn robes had fallen so low the dark halos around her nipples were exposed.

“I would see you have more care of your surroundings, hina ,” Miluiwen all but snarled through gritted teeth as she continued fussing with the robe, pulling it so tight Nisa struggled for breath. “Even if you are alone with your husband.”

Shame was a heavy flood and she scrambled to also close her robes, her hands colliding clumsily with Miluiwen’s. “I’m-I’m sorry, I did not re-realize.”

Miluiwen cast her an exasperated look before turning to face the king, a tight lipped smile on her face that reached nowhere near her eyes. She was well and truly angry. Her tone was cold when it came.

“I will take the princess to her rooms, your majesty, so she may don new robes. She will return shortly.”

“She may return to the conservatory when she pleases,” Thranduil replied. His tone was apathetic again, and Nisa was once again left wondering if the moment she had just experienced did not actually happen. She was beginning to feel insane. 

“I was simply making sure she knew where to go when she decides to begin planting and creating habitats for her creatures.”

Miluiwen looked like she wanted to say something else, her eyes aflame. Nisa could feel the strain between her and Thranduil, like the growing violence of a storm. Then Miluiwen gave a funny spasm of a curtsy and held her arm out to Nisa, who ducked her head and went for the door, skirting around the king as best she could. Passing him felt perilous, like something would erupt if she strayed too close. Clutching her robes closed, she slunk into the hallway.

When they were back in Nisa’s chambers, Miluiwen wasted no time in wheeling around on her. “What was the meaning of that display?! Your robes falling off like some loose woman?! And in a public room, no less, where anyone could walk in!”

Feeling unjustly accused, Nisa met her intensity. “It was an accident, Miluiwen. My robes had torn earlier that day, and I was excited about the new conservatory, and I…forgot myself. Nothing untoward was happening, no matter this newfound opinion you seem to have of my propriety.” Her voice had risen to a rather shrill level.

Miluiwen was silent for a long moment before her face relaxed and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between delicate fingers. When she looked up again, her face was full of melancholy tenderness. She stepped forward and closed her hands gently over Nisa’s shoulders. 

“I have no concerns about your rectitude, hina . I simply want you to be careful.” 

“You’ve told me that many times since we’ve arrived.”

Miluiwen was silent again and Nisa could see a battle waging behind her eyes. “Things have changed, Nisanthiel, in more ways than one. The burden thrust upon you is considerable and everyone is looking to you at this time, if not in simple curiosity. I hear your name murmured in the halls.”

Feeling a growing anxiety, Nisa rolled her shoulders against Miluiwen’s grip, but the elder woman did not let go, though she did slacken her grasp.

“I would not have you subject to further gossip as you wage battle on another front, especially from those as protective of their own as the woodland elves. For many, their monarchs can do no wrong.”

“I am also their monarch now.” Nisa was not sure where the declaration came from, but it was soft and wavering, not easily believed even to her own ears.

Miluiwen nodded. “You are, but in name only. You are exceptionally intelligent, hina . You know they will not look to you as they look to the king, who also does not appear to regard you as his equal. His word will always surpass your own, if only because you are an outsider.”

Unable to continue looking her in the eye, Nisa let her gaze fall to the floor. She was tired all of a sudden, every bone in her body feeling like it weighed hundreds of pounds.

Miluiwen squeezed her arms reassuringly. “I do not mean to upset you, my love, but your life has taken a tremendous turn in just a few days' time. I do not want to see more unrest in your future because someone glimpsed something untoward and made their own assumptions. You only have so many people here who would defend you should such a thing happen, Eru forbid.”

Both of them fell silent, the weight of Miluiwen’s words a shroud over the room. Nisa was unsure how to respond. What could she have possibly said? Did Miluiwen state a single falsehood? Nisa had certainly felt lonely since coming here, but never had it been stated to her in a way that felt so…ruinous. 

Both women turned at the sound of clicks on the stone floor. Miluiwen sighed and Nisa’s mouth fell open in shock. 

Hû had doubled in size overnight and was about the size of an adult sheep. The growth did nothing for his appeal, as he was still quite unpleasant to look at. Nisa had hoped he would grow into his skull, but it appeared to be growing right along with him. She also noticed with dismay that his paws were also growing to an ungainly size, promising further development in size. Hû plopped down on his hindquarters and panted happily, looking up at the two women with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“He’s…”

“Quite large,” Miluiwen finished, weariness in her tone. “And there seems to be no end in sight. Never have I come across a dog that grew so quickly.”

“I do not think this is an ordinary dog. A wolf, perhaps?”

“He is unlike any wolf I have ever seen.”

Hû padded forward and shoved his oblong head into Nisa’s hand, leaning against her leg with enough weight that he could have buckled her knees if he tried. She scratched behind his ear and he closed his eyes in bliss.

“We won’t be able to hide him much longer.”

“I am shocked we have concealed him for as long as we have already.”

Feeling exhausted again, Nisa walked over to the bed and sat down ungracefully. Hû was right behind her, sitting at her feet and nosing at her knee until she resumed scratching his snout.

“I will figure out what to do with him,” she said, her voice resigned. 

Another change, another loss, another responsibility. Why could she not leave things be? Was she going to try and save every living thing, only to have to let them go?

“First, you will eat,” Miluiwen declared in no uncertain terms as she headed toward the vanity table and a tray of food Nisa had not noticed before. “You once again worked through lunch and they have already begun clearing dinner.” She set the tray gently on the bed, nudging Hû aside when he began sniffing around the edge.

“Thank you, Miluiwen,” Nisa murmured, not paying much attention to the tray as she continued scratching Hû behind his ear to distract him from the food. “I would like some time alone, please.”

She could feel Miluiwen’s eyes on her for a long moment before hearing the other woman sigh and turn for the door. “I expect to see that tray cleared,” she called over her shoulder before letting the door drift shut.

Nisa didn’t move for a long moment, the only energy she had enough to pet this happy, unassuming, hideous pup as he looked at her like she gave the sun its shine.

Where could they hope to release him? Would he even be able to survive on his own? What if he was injured again?

Would the dragonfire balm work on Nitya’s burns? What about his other symptoms? If they did find remedies, would that give them more time than the predicted 14 days? What about the origin of the illness? Where were they to even start?

What was the status of her standing here? Was she a monarch in name only? A usurping outside? Did she even want to be considered a queen to these people?

What had happened with King Thranduil in the conservatory? Why had she not shied from his gaze on her? What had driven her to even take a step toward him? What force could have such impact on her that she would reach for the potential of touch? What was Thranduil thinking now? What did this mean for them?

So many questions without a single answer in sight. All she wanted to do was take Hû and pull the covers over her head like she did when she was young and the world was a crushing force on every one of her senses. No matter how long she cowered, the world was always waiting, having both moved on without her and expecting her to keep up.

All you have to do is see tomorrow. Those had been her mother’s words long ago, spoken through the heavy blankets on the bed in her childhood room. Then you can start all over again. Sometimes a good sleep is all you need.

With that thought in mind, Nisa made herself stand and pick up the tray of food. Walking it back over to the vanity, she knew Miluiwen would have a lot to say about the lack of empty plates, but she could not find it in herself to pay much mind to future quarrels at this moment. Not bothering to disrobe, she slid beneath the light sheets of her bed and patted the mattress. Hû immediately bounded up and settled at her side with a contended huff. It did not take long for her to fall into a dreamless sleep.

-----------------------

It was the creak of her bedroom door that roused her from her half-sleep, Hû’s low growls following soon after. Sitting up, Nisa blinked against her drowsiness and settled her hand on Hû’s back. She had no idea of the time, but it was late enough that Miluiwen had come in to extinguish the candles and remove her tray without scolding her for not finishing her supper.

“Come in,” she croaked, her throat thick with sleep. 

It was Tauriel who poked her head into the room, eyes wide with excitement as she entered with a quick bow.

“Your majesty…”

She trailed off when she saw Hû blinking at her. Her frown was strange and her mouth parted, as though she were attempting to recall a memory just out of reach.

“What is it, Tauriel?”

The captain turned her head toward Nisa, but did not take her eyes from Hû for a moment. 

“Your majesty, the injured guards have awoken and the healers are asking for you.”

She had barely finished her sentence before Nisa was throwing back the blankets and rushing to her feet.

“Go,” she told Tauriel, noting the anxiety on her face high-boned face and how she was subtly attempting to inch toward the door. “Be with your men. I will be along shortly.”

Tauriel nodded and all but flew out the door, leaving it cracked behind her. Nisa pulled her disheveled hair from her braid and made sure she looked at least somewhat presentable, tugging her dress back into place before she rushed into the hall.

It must have been quite late, as the halls were deserted and only lit by a sparse few candles. The lack of audience gave her the courage to lift her skirts and break into a jog toward the infirmary. She would have to inquire about a room closer to her patients for nights such as this.

Rounding a corner, she immediately spotted Thranduil moving at an equally urgent pace, though his legs could carry him at a brisk walk instead of an undignified jog. A plain sleep robe swished behind him and his head was absent of any adornments that she could see from her place behind him. 

A foreign excitement bloomed in her chest at the thought of delivering this good news to him, though he was no doubt already aware. Before she could stop herself, she quickened her pace into a run, reaching out a hand to touch his left arm.

“Your majesty…”

The force with which he turned and seized her by the throat carried her off her feet. Her head crashed hard against the stone of the wall and all the air burst from her lungs with a strangled gasp, before she could make no sound at all.

Part of her had always known she would die in this place.

Chapter Text

Nisa clawed violently against the King’s bruising grip around her throat, her feet kicking uselessly as he held her off the ground with frightening ease. Thranduil’s face was twisted in a terrifying rage that would have made her cry out if she could draw in so much as a single gasp of air. His eyes, though, were absent, as if his mind was far, far away. As her vision began to narrow and blacken, Nisa called on every ounce of strength she had left.

“Thran-Thranduil…”

It took a long second, but his face suddenly went slack with horror and recognition came flooding back into his eyes. He released her as quickly as he had grabbed her, stumbling back with a lack of grace she had not thought him capable of.

Nisa gasped for blessed air as she collapsed to the ground, her legs giving out and putting her on her backside for the third time in less than a day. She shuddered hard as she gripped her throbbing throat, trying to breathe through the fear, even as her chest clenched tight with the emotion.

Thranduil had fallen back a few paces, his eyes wide and his chest heaving with panic. It was like looking upon a completely different person than the one who had seized her so violently she thought she might never draw breath again. Now, he was just a man with fury and fear carved in his face. When his voice came, it was heavy with distress.

“Nisa—”

“Your majesties?”

It was Tauriel who slid into the hall, her brows creased with confusion as she looked from Nisa on the floor to Thranduil seething against the opposite wall. Legolas came out as well, but he came to an abrupt halt behind the captain as he took them in.

“They require your assistance, your majesty,” Tauriel continued, her voice soft, as if a raised tone would send the king into another fury.

Giving a convulsive nod, Nisa scrambled to her feet, not trusting herself to speak. When Thranduil went to move as well, another shaft of fear tore through her and she fled into the infirmary.

Legolas was moving past her as she did so and there was a gentle thud behind her, as if he had put a firm hand to his father’s chest. “ Ada—”

She didn’t hear the rest of their words as she schooled a pleasant expression over her pain and moved past Tauriel, ignoring the captain’s concerned gaze.

The infirmary was not quite full, but was certainly more occupied than it had been in the past few days. Soldiers milled about, most of them congregating around the beds of their newly awakened comrades. Healers were rushing about in a subdued frenzy and Nisa noticed there were a few healers she did not recognize. She made her way to Echor’s bed first, where Oriel and Thendor were slapping well meaning soldiers aside so they could assess his condition. 

“How are we doing?” She asked, hoping they did not notice the waiver of her voice.

Erchor did not respond, as was to be expected considering he had been asleep for multiple days and would need time to gather his bearings.

“He is doing quite well,” Oriel answered, a thin vein of excitement in her voice she was trying to hide beneath an air of respectability. “His pulse is growing stronger and the sutures appear as though they can be removed soon. The other soldiers are in similar conditions and seem to be improving since they have awoken.”

Quelling her own excitement at the evidence of their success and six lives not lost, Nisa took Oriel’s place at Erchor’s side and began her own study of him, moving his head this way and that to check the state of his stitches.

The pitch of the room continued to grow louder as more and more soldiers found their way in to grip the forearms of their risen companions and offer well wishes. Nisa found she was grateful for the noise, the sound of life in all its discord. These halls had been so silent since her arrival, and while she often enjoyed the comfort of silence, it had since become oppressive. 

The noises around her now were accompanied by relieved smiles and words of joy, even from Oriel, Thendor and Gwaeniel, who had been so distraught since their earlier encounter with Nitya. Nisa noticed Thendor’s right eye creased more than his left when he smiled, and Gwaeniel cheeks reddened like apples when she laughed.

“Everyone is doing very well,” Nisa declared to the room after a methodical check of each soldier, often having to shoulder past dense clusters of people or letting Thendor physically pick them up out of her way. Each patient had still been groggy and unable to form coherent words, blinking slowly against their long, forced sleep. “But they still need much rest and time for recovery. We will continue to allow visitors this evening and tomorrow morning for brief periods.”

After extended goodbyes amongst what had to have been 30 or 40 soldiers that had packed into the room, the infirmary was largely empty again. Gwaeniel, Oriel and Thendor had gone back to checking on the wounded and creating tonics for pain relief.

Now that she was all but alone again, Nisa let her fingers wander to her neck. She winced as she touched the tender skin, swallowing to assess how much damage was done to her esophagus and trachea. Bruises would start to form soon, but would disappear by that evening.

If she had been human, she had no doubt he would have killed her, broken her neck, crushed her esophagus. She shuddered at the thought. Even for an elf, the king was extraordinarily strong.

“Your majesty?”

Tauriel’s voice made her start. The captain made to put a hand on Nisa’s forearm, but something in Nisa’s face made her think better of it. 

“Did something happen with the king?”

Nisa swallowed, another cramp of pain in her throat making her grimace. “It is nothing to concern yourself with, Tauriel.”

Tauriel did not immediately respond, but her face was still drawn in concern and Nisa recognized the same glint of distress Miluiwen got behind her eyes when she was debating whether to inform Nisa of bad news.

Tauriel did suddenly reach out and just barely rest her graceful hands on Nisa’s clothed forearm, as if prepared to pull them away at a second’s notice. After a moment of twisting discomfort, Nisa settled into the touch, realizing it was more for Tauriel than it was for herself. 

The other woman was no doubt struggling emotionall,y and burdened by the heavy relief upon the waking of six of her grievously injured soldiers. Even reprieve could prove a heavy weight upon the heart. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick with an emotion Nisa did not expect from the staid captain.

“King Thranduil has fought through many battles and suffered many wounds, both physically and within his soul. He is plagued by them to this day. We all are. Especially after the War of the Ring.” Her eyes became haunted and she looked at something unseen over Nisa’s shoulders. “I often awake trembling and chilled. Prince Legolas will walk through the forest for days on end until we are forced to seek him out and assure his safety…”

Tauriel fell silent, even as her lips parted on an unspoken word. Just as Nisa was deciding whether she should speak, Tauriel seemed to shake herself awake, presence flooding back to her eyes. It reminded Nisa of the ways in which both Thranduil and Legolas schooled their features before emotion took over. She wondered if all woodland elves were this way: terrified of being swept away by memories or feelings. 

The Captain gave her a tight, weary smile. “You are a very gracious woman, Nisa.” Nisa started in surprise at the use of her informal name from the captain who had so far gone out of her way not to use it. “I hope you will extend that grace to his majesty should he choose to explain his behavior.” 

A squeeze of her arm and Tauriel was gone with no sound but her hair against the wood of the infirmary door, leaving Nisa to ponder her words.

She was not altogether ignorant to the emotional sufferings of soldiers, no matter their race: Men and women who gazed unseeingly into the distance for hours on end, lost days worth of sleep until they could barely form a coherent sentence, startled at the smallest of noises. She herself had held down many who thrashed and screamed against enemies that plagued their dreams, murmured soft things to them as she stroked their hair like a mother.

It had all seemed so…far away at those times, another ailment to attend, another malady to defeat. It had been no effort to approach it as she did any other illness: with a removed efficiency.

But in these dark, echoing halls, reservation seemed impossible. Since the moment she arrived, there seemed a pulsing tension just beneath the stones, a monster hiding in every crevice. Despite their own general constraint, these woodland elves unnerved her with their very presence, so much so there were times she felt someone approaching her before she even saw them. Everything was so much more: so much louder, so much closer, so much more intense. 

Her hand went to her throat again and she winced at the tenderness forming. When Thranduil had attacked her, it felt like it had all come to a head, the inevitable eruption of a gradually stoked fire. What remained in the ashes?

An uneasy trust had started to form between them. It hadn’t quite been anything as deep as familiarity or even affection, but she had been over the moon at the idea of telling him his soldiers were healing, wanted to bring him that joy in a time of such strife for his kingdom.

Now…

Well, she wasn’t quite sure.

She found herself not as disturbed by the incident as she would have assumed. Instead, she felt…grief. Grief and pity. It had been like facing a wounded beast, caught in a trap and fighting viciously to get out. She had not recognized the man who held her by the throat. She found her lips quirking despite herself. She couldn’t imagine how the merciless Elven king would react if he discovered she felt pity for him.

“Nisa!”

Gwaeniel bounded to her side, looking lovely with shining eyes and glowing cheeks. Her chest heaved beneath her heavy robes.

“Can you believe it?” she continued with all the breathless excitement of a healer who had witnessed her first miracle. “They are all going to make it!”

With great difficulty, Nisa forced herself to remain prudent in the face of Gwaeniel’s infectious optimism. “They are doing very well, but none of them are out of the woods yet. All of them are to continue to be treated as serious cases until they are walking and speaking without aid.”

Gwaeniel furrowed her brows and schooled her expression into one of such forced seriousness, Nisa almost laughed. She sobered quickly.

“Have you checked on Nitya?”

The apprentice quickly matched her solemnity, the light in her eyes dimming. “Yes, I last checked him three hours ago and he was still sleeping. There has been no physical change to his wounds. At least none that I can observe.”

“A very good distinction,” Nisa responded, mostly to herself than to Gwaeniel. She could not yet allow herself to think she had already failed. “We will let him sleep for the day and wake him tomorrow morning to assess his condition. Keep a close eye on him and report his progress to I, Oriel or Thendor every hour. Understood?”

Gwaeniel nodded enthusiastically, apparently thinking Nisa wanted her to start this very second. Finding herself alone again, Nisa mulled over what she should do next.

She wanted to stay in the infirmary all day, bask in the sun streaming through the window, the comforting silence of the empty room. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back against the rays and took a deep breath, like she could inhale the warmth into her lungs. If she stood here long enough, inhaled deeply enough, it would warm her blood, pump life back into her weary heart.

One of the soldiers groaned from his bed and Nisa cracked an eye open, cold life rushing back. Pushing her hair from her face, she decided her first order of business would be to fix her braid before heading to the library. If this first attempt at a cure would indeed fail, that is where she could hope to find another answer.

—------------------------------------------------

After running to her room to make her hair presentable, splash water on her face, and see if Hû had managed to grow anymore overnight, Nisa made her way to the library, straightening her fresh robes as she made her way down the corridor.

The air of the halls seemed somehow lighter, the voices of the passing elves merrier. Even the flickering candles seemed brighter. She would recognize such a hopeful atmosphere anywhere, having been in countless healing houses after great battles and the final waves of sweeping epidemics. It was the soft, hesitant hope of watching the sun peek through the clouds after a storm, a stubborn flower blooming despite the ice.

The news of the recovered soldiers must have spread through the palace. Did any of them know what had happened to those men and women? Was she by any chance the only one not aware of what was happening amongst the trees of Eryn Lasgalen?

Nisa tugged sharply at her own braid, aware she sounded paranoid. With how the king had reacted the most recent time she had asked about the mysterious attacks, she could not imagine he was open with many others. 

Thankful she did not come upon anyone who might want to engage in conversation, she slipped into the library, holding the door at bay so it would close as quietly as possible.

Despite her happiness at the sounds of joy around in the halls, the quietude of the library felt like coming home, and shutting the door felt like shutting out the rest of the world. Nodding a greeting to Thinthel at a desk, Nisa walked away from the sounds of scratching pens and rustling pages toward the histories.

The library was truly massive and it took her quite some time to reach the medicinal histories, the lights of the torches and candles slowly fading at her back.

She approached the end of a long line of shelves, the dust so thick on the old tomes she was forced to clear her throat against the dryness. This illness seemed to be completely unknown to others, even other knowledgeable healers, so she would have to start as far back as was recorded.

Beginning to gather books in her arms, she felt the familiar gidiness of holding new knowledge, followed very quickly by a wave of guilt at the circumstances. Would she ever again be able to feel simple joy without an accompanying guilt? Read a book for pleasure and not for its much needed knowledge?

Shaking her head against the dark thoughts slowly crawling in, Nisa heaped as many books as she could see over into her arms and rounded the shelf, hoping she could fit at least one more until she was certainly bound to run into something on her way back. She was reaching for another leather bound text when she felt an abrupt shift in the room, like a sudden frost.

“Nisanthiel.”

The king’s deep timbre sent her heart into her throat and her feet stuttered beneath her. The book on top of the pile pitched forward and clattered onto the floor, the sound echoing through the entire library.

King Thranduil was on the other side of the shelf, out of her sight, but his presence was crushing on her senses. She felt his hand around her throat again and her lungs seized, her breath coming out a strangled hiccup. There was the sound of rustling on the other side of the shelf before Thranduil spoke.

“I am not often in the habit of explaining myself.” His voice had all it’s normal arrogance and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “But I find myself in a situation where an explanation of my behavior is needed.”

Another long bout of silence and Nisa heard him inhale slowly, as if we was collecting himself. It was not behavior she attributed to him.

“It has been…quite some time since I have had to disclose this particular…ordeal to another, and I find myself hesitant to discuss it where others could overhear. If you are willing to hear the reason for my earlier behavior, I will be in my chancery for the rest of the afternoon. If you are not, I will not take insult.”

He did not seem to wait for an answer, as there was the immediate sound of his boot turning on the stone floor and his long stride eventually fading against the walls.

Letting out a trembling breath, Nisa let her body sag against the high shelves, nearly letting the venerable texts in her arms fall to the floor. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a moment to collect herself, feeling her ribs rise and fall in her chest as she took calming breaths. Putting a hand over her chest, she felt its violent beat and willed it to still.

It felt like she was on the precipice of something, a heavy weight bearing down on her from above. So much seemed to rest in a decision she hadn’t made yet. 

Blinking hard against the rising tide of thoughts, she straightened her spine and headed back toward the main area of the library.

—------------------------------------------------

It was many hours later that Nisa found herself walking through the halls again, having finally pulled herself away from the library and its many books. She moved at a slow shuffle against the stone floor, her head overflowing with new knowledge, theories and ideas. But even that unique excitement could not stall the growing feelings of melancholy. 

Of all the new things she learned over the past few hours, there seemed to be nothing about this plague in any of the books she had pulled from the shelves. The only consolation she had was that there were thousands of other texts she could read through. Before she had left the library at Thínthel’s insistence, she had gathered the other scholars and gave them the task of combing through medical and historical texts for anything resembling an unknown plague or a history of strange burns. A few of them had exchanged confused glances, but Thínthel had them scattering through the library only a few seconds later with a snap of her fingers.

Now, all Nisa could think about as she dodged a group of soldiers was a warm supper. She hadn’t realized until now how many meals she had skipped, even by elven standards. Turning toward the general direction she thought the kitchen might be in and rounding a corner, she grunted as she ran right into Amarher. The elder man, despite the visible signs of wear on his aging body, was surprisingly sturdy and she bounced right off his chest.

Amarher laughed jovially as he grabbed her by her elbows and righted her. Cringing slightly at the touch, Nisa stopped herself from instinctively pulling away, aware that cracking her head on the stone floor would prove much more uncomfortable. 

“Careful!” He chirped as he pulled her upright so hard her teeth clattered. “You are a bit smaller than many woodland elves, you’ll get knocked right over if you keep darting out from behind corners.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Nisa grumbled as graciously as she was able as she straightened her robes. She was hungrier than she thought. Looking over, she saw the door Amarher had come from was as ornately carved as many others in the halls, but it was the first she had seen with a crest of leaves, trees and a large elk with magnificent antlers.

“What is that?” she found herself asking, once again giving over to curiosity.

“That is the sigil of the woodland elves,” Amarher explained, his barrel chest puffing with pride. “Specifically, the royal family’s crest.”

“Then what is behind this door?”

“This is the King’s chancery. We were just reviewing…”

His words faded away as Nisa focused on where she was.

I will be in my chancery for the rest of the afternoon…

She had been so enamored with her histories, she had completely forgotten about Thranduil’s offer. Miluiwen had warned her many times about her inability to focus on what was important in certain moments. You would read through the end of days .

Nodding as Amarher boomed a goodbye and resumed his path down the hallway, Nisa turned to fully face the intimidating door. It seemed larger than many of the others in the halls, no doubt meant to daunt those who might enter. 

Reaching up, she traced her finger along the back of the elaborately carved elk, sure she could feel its pelt of fur against her skin. She was just contemplating if the elk was Tinnuroc when Thranduil’s voice resonated through the wood.

“I know you’re there, Nisanthiel.” She clutched her hand back like a recalcitrant child. “The door is unlocked should you choose to enter.”

Taking a deep breath, Nisa pressed her hand to the heavy wood and pushed the door open, trying not to think too hard about the ominous sounding creak of the ancient hinges.

The inside of the king’s chancery was as ornate as its exterior door, the walls and ceiling carved with awe inspiring detail, and Thranduil himself was seated behind an imposing desk, his head bent over a sheaf of papers. Candles in a heavy chandelier lit the room and the walls were lined with shelves of leather bound texts and an odd assortment of baubles and trinkets. Two portraits flanked Thranduil on the wall behind him, both of men who looked strikingly similar to him.

Nisa shut the door behind herself, gripping the internal knob and resting her back against the wood. She ventured no further into the room.

Thranduil released his quill and sat back in his chair, looking a weary, jaded king. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his long hair falling over his shoulders.

Neither of them spoke until Nisa could take the silence no longer.

“Lovely chancery.”

Thranduil cracked an eye. “It has it’s charm,” he responded drily. “I did not have much say in the interior design of the halls. I focused more on its functionality as a fortress. It was my wife who took on the more decorative aspects. With a great deal of input from our son, of course.” 

As she looked at the intricate carvings along the ceiling, Nisa did think they looked familiar. “These are childrens stories.”

“Yes,” Thranduil agreed as he stood, pushing against the arms of his chair. A nostalgic smile drew at his mouth and his tone was warm with memory. “Legolas took a great liking to tales of brave warriors. You will see many carved into the wood and stone of these halls. That was all he cared about when it came to its construction. That and a place to practice his archery.”

Nisa’s own mouth twitched at the image and she looked down at her shoes, feeling more at ease in the presence of these innocent memories. But not enough at ease to release the door handles or move further into the room.

Seeming to notice her apprehension, Thranduil’s face grew solemn again and he drew himself to his full height, pushing his shoulders back as if preparing for battle.

“I appreciate you coming here today,” he said, his voice returning to its usual strong tone. “And I thank you for giving me the chance to explain my earlier behavior.”

Nisa waited, clenching the door handles behind her back so she would not reach down and pull at her robes. She felt weak enough.

“Many years ago, in the Second Age, the great serpents were wreaking havoc in the north, while moving ever closer to the realms of others, men, dwarves and elves alike. They had done so in the past and there was great fear they would do so again.”

He had now crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his head inquisitively as he rounded his desk. He reminded her a bit of an instructor attempting to recall the details of an important lecture.

“My sindarin lineage and my father’s participation in the great wars of Beleriand imbued me with a sense of responsibility beyond my own borders and I responded to a cry for aid from a remnant fraction of dwarves in the Grey Mountain. They and other settlements scattered along the Withered Heath were becoming desperate, and I saw the looming threat to my own borders, so I took my troops north to battle.”

He stopped in front of his desk and Nisa could see his eyes had become unfocused as he looked at the floor. She had seen that removed look in countless soldiers, some never returning as they lost themselves to battles of the past.

Reaching out a hand, Thranduil let his fingers wander along the carving of an armored dwarf, Dorin the Flamebearer, on his desk. His touch hesitated on the dwarf’s bulky helm.

“I lost many soldiers that day,” he finally stated, his voice soft but seething with emotion. Another stretch of silence until he turned to face her so quickly she almost jumped. His voice was clear when it came.

“I lost soldiers and many other things, the use of my left eye being one of them.”

Nisa blinked at the sudden, matter of fact proclamation.

“Beg pardon?”

“At our last stand against the remaining dragon, my shield was not enough to hinder its flames and the edges of the fire took me on my left side. As a healer, you well know that dragon fire is one of the few afflictions from which elves cannot recover. Though I have largely healed, I have never regained sight in my left eye and the left side of my body has been…extensively damaged.”

Nisa shuddered at the thought and tightened her grip on the door handles. Dragon fire was devastating, capable of melting steel and decimating armies.

“I’ve never seen—”

“It is not a suffering I choose to bare to the world, and I use magic to conceal the scars, especially on my face.” He leveled his gaze at her, as if challenging her to contradict him. “You approached me on my left side this morning and took me by great surprise, as I was already distracted by the many happenings in my realm and deep in thought on my way to see my soldiers in the infirmary.” 

His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “You also move shockingly quiet for someone not trained in combat.”

Nisa bit her lip at that unsurprising accusation, further at ease with his joke.

She heard that quite a bit, especially from her brothers, who had been admonished more than once for accidentally whacking her in the head when she snuck up behind them. 

She hadn’t realized she had released the door handles until she was taking a step toward Thranduil, who was now leaning back against his desk.

“Have you received any treatment?” She asked, her healer’s mind ever present and insatiable.

Thranduil gave her a somewhat annoyed look, as if he hoped she would not be foolish enough to ask such a question.

“Many healers across Middle Earth have studied my wounds, and many have failed to devise treatment. It has been this way since the first hatching of a dragon egg.”

Nisa gave him an annoyed look right back. “I did not expect you to receive a treatment that would heal the burns completely, but do you receive anything for what I assume is great pain in your face?”

He cocked his head, as if he had never considered such a thing. “I have not. I regained the use of my body and have not suffered in combat ability. The pain is manageable and not worth wasting time over.”

Nisa fought not to roll her eyes. Stubborn elves. Stubborn men.

“Show me, please.”

Thranduil raised a brow and his mouth parted slightly. She assumed that was as close to shocked as she would ever see him. “I beg your pardon?” His tone heavily implied she should tread lightly.

“If you had been treated in Elfalia, I would have been aware of it, even if it was before my time. Such events are written in text and I have read every word written in my lands. If you are willing to show me the depth of your scars, I have something in mind to treat any residual pain.”

He continued to stare at her and she imagined his internal debate was between physically throwing her out of his chancery or calling in a guard to do it.

Then his jaw was clenching and his body gave a great shudder, his neck twisting hard on his spine as if fghting pain. The skin on the left side of his face seemed to melt away further and further until there was nothing but a gaping wound stitched together by sinewy muscle and delicate tendons. Only when it seemed the entire left half of his skull would collapse did the fading stop and he was left with half a face and a milky white eye. 

Thranduil’s face was hard and he glared fiercely at her with his remaining eye, his hand clenched fast around the arm still crossed over his chest. His expression was full of challenge for her.

She stepped forward carefully, as if strides too forceful would destroy the remaining threads of tissue holding the structure of him together. He hadn’t moved a single inch as she came to stand in front of him. She reached a hand toward him, hesitating at the height of his sternum. “May I…?

He did not answer for a long while, but eventually gave a curt nod, bending his chin toward her. It was strange, having this magnificent man bow to her touch.

Reaching up, she set her fingers along the strong side of his jaw. He shuddered beneath her touch, but did not pull away. 

He did not seem a man who touched easily, and Nisa was dimly aware of the gravity of what they were doing in that moment.

But, of course, awareness was trumped by insistent curiosity and she pushed against his jaw, angling his head so she could better see his wound beneath the candlelight of the iron chandelier. These halls were always so dim.

The remaining tissue and ligaments seemed strikingly delicate, many threads woven together in fragile bonds, ready to snap at a hint of strain. Reaching up her other hand, she pushed at his chin and he raised his head, the muscles of his throat a strong column against his skin.

“How far do your scars go?”

His voice was labored when it came, as if he had run a great distance. “Down to my hip.”

“And do you have pain?”

“I have grown accustomed to it. It does not hinder my abilities to battle or govern, so I often pay it no mind.”

“What about in your face?”

“Some days bring greater pain than others.”

“The face is very sensitive,” Nisa explained as she raised her hand again to trace around the clouded eye, looking for any muscle sensation beneath her touch. “The skin is thinner and there are more nerves. Even elves struggle with injuries to the head and face.”

Feeling a sudden wave of heat wash through her, she took a step back, her hands still raised as she did so. He seemed to follow her touch, but she blinked and he was back in his relaxed posture against his desk.

“I certainly cannot fix your sight or regrow the structure of your skull, but I can help with the pain. There is a special aloe grown in Elfalia and I have brought a hefty supply with me, as well as other plants for a soothing balm.”

He cocked his head and she watched in fascination as his skin began to stitch itself back together, color draining back into his eye. A brief moment later and he was standing before her as he once was, cold and unreachable.

“I would rather you focus your talents on the task you were originally summoned for.”

“I think my talents would allow for both.”

He grit his teeth and gave her an expression vaguely resembling a sneer. Did he really think she could not handle creating a simple balm while also treating Nitya? 

Feeling a bit insulted and still very hungry, she opened her mouth to give a retort when a strong knock came from the other side of the door.

“Enter,” Thradnuil commanded, his eyes still locked with Nisa’s. It was Feindil who entered, coming to a halt when she saw Thranduil and Nisa’s proximity and their equally combative stances. Her hand still on the door, she looked from one to the other, her mouth parting as if she were to say something. 

A strange look came over the advisor’s face and she pursed her lips as if in anger.

Why was everyone so contentious today?

Feindil looked to Nisa with an accusatory gaze. 

“You are needed in the infirmary,” she bit out. “The child is awake.”

Chapter Text

Nisa did not even wait for Feindil to finish her sentence before she was gathering her robes in her hands and darting past her out the door and down the hall toward the infirmary. Her heart beating wildly in her chest, she dodged past Miluiwen and Amarher, ignoring their concerned calls as she rounded a corner, gripping the wall to keep herself upright.

She burst into the infirmary with little grace, nearly scaring the vial of medicine from Gwaeniel’s hands as she leaned over Erchor’s bed. The redheaded apprentice blinked at her like a startled doe as Nisa bounded through the room like a heathen, only just composing herself before entering the private infirmary.

Thendor and Oriel, flanked by two unfamiliar healers, stood huddled around Nitya’s bed, blocking her sight of him. Taking up a fast, ungainly stride, she made her way down the room, her heart still at a gallop.

Sweet Nitya lay awake in his bed, his gray eyes wide and bright against the black of his skin. She saw, with some dismay, that his lesions had not fully healed, but they certainly appeared less charred and angry. 

His burns had taken on a smooth appearance, like congealed black oil. He did not move when he spotted her coming around the end of the bed, but his pupils dilated with excitement.

Oriel looked up at Nisa, her own eyes wide with a girlish glee. A few loose tendrils of hair fell over her face. “His burns are healing exceptionally well,” she explained breathlessly. “He can move without the wounds splitting and there is no visible inflammation or peeling skin. He is still reacting sensitively to touch, but he recovers quickly.”

Nisa conducted her own test of that theory, applying pressure to Nitya's big toe as carefully as possible. His eyes squeezed tight and his body stiffened, but he relaxed a moment later, the only evidence of pain a watering of his eyes.

“Best we continue observing his pain responses,” Nisa concluded, trying to keep a level head despite her excitement at this hesitant success. “If I am assuming correctly that you have not tested his full responsiveness, he may be in more pain than we think but unable to fully show his reactions.”

They continued working in silence, poking and prodding at Nitya with all the strength of a breath of air, gauging the physical reactions of his body.

“His skin is still sensitive, but he responds with less pain than I expected,” Nisa finally spoke, taking inventory more for herself than for the others. “I see no visible infection and what appears to be scar tissue is beginning to form, but it doesn’t look like any other burn scars I’ve seen.”

A glance up at the other healers. “Have any of you seen scars such as these?”

A collective head shake met her in answer, but one of the healers she did not recognize, a male with bright hair and aquiline features did speak up in answer. 

“I have seen many burns in my time as a healer and I can confidently say these are not like any I have seen.” He met Nisa’s eyes, a distinct challenge in his own. “Why would you choose to treat these as burns when they are clearly not?”

Taken back by his audacious tone and still reeling a bit from Nitya’s change in condition, it took a moment to collect herself.

“I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting,” she finally answered, hearing an edge to her own voice. “I am Nisanthiel of Elfalia.”

The male all but rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, markedly offering no show of goodwill or welcome. “I am Arniar, a healer in these halls. I have been away tending to the wounded after the war and was waylaid on my return journey. I arrived this morning to chaos.”

Nisa watched Oriel rub her forehead and Thendor give a roll of his shoulders. She recognized similar frustrated movement from her brothers when they were internally talking themselves out of hitting someone.

“I would certainly not call it chaos,” Nisa countered, suddenly remembering how hungry she was, and irritated for it. “Everyone is alive and well on the way to recovery.”

Arniar sniffed and wrinkled his nose in a distinctly high-born way. “Recovering with throats full of spiders’ secretion and bodies glutted with flora that have not been tested once on another elf. They could be dead within the day for all we are aware.”

Making a logical inference that he was talking about her Athelas mixture, she opened her mouth to defend herself against his dramatics, but Oriel’s voice came first. 

“Arniar,” she snapped in a tone so severe, Nisa herself felt immediately chastened. “You have forgotten who is in command here,” Oriel continued in a lower tone. “It is my judgment what remedies we make use of, and I have seen the queen consort’s medicine heal every patient she has treated thus far. You have been gone months and have not seen the original conditions this child was suffering. Now, if you cannot hold your tongue, you may remove yourself. Am I clear?”

Arniar looked down at Oriel with a furious expression and actually seemed ready to argue, but Thendor lumbered up behind the small female with all the menace of a hungry bear. Arniar, slim and fine boned, clapped his teeth together instead and turned back to Nitya, his eyes still blazing with indignation. Oriel and Thendor did the same.

“We are treating them as burns because, at the onset of their development, they undeniably appeared as such. This is an unknown illness that common elven healing approaches have failed to treat thus far. Experimentation is perilous but necessary in instances such as these. And Oriel is correct.” She made unflinching eye contact again with Arniar. “He is faring considerably better and I will call our attempts successful.”

Looking down at Nitya, she saw the little boy’s eyes darting between the healers above him, no doubt restless at the sudden tension. She wanted to reach down and push his hair away, offer him comfort, but no such contact could be risked yet.

“I have worked with many burns,” she continued. “None that have healed quite this way, or even appeared on a person’s body in such a fashion, but I feel confident in moving forward with burn treatment. Are we all in agreement?”

Everyone nodded except for Arniar, who had not taken his eyes from her face. She had a feeling this was an elf used to getting his way. She pushed ahead, not deigning to give him any more of her attention.

“We will continue applying the balm daily and any other pain relief remedies we deem necessary. We will check on him hourly for any lingering mental, physical and magical symptoms. Our main concerns will be physical, such as shock, further deterioration of the skin, and scar formation. Rehabilitation will begin immediately, as early as tomorrow morning. I want him up and moving as soon as possible before the scars limit his range of motion further. Understood?” 

A chorus of yes, your majesty ’s came from everyone, even the other new arrivals she had not given much heed to, having been so distracted by Arniar.

“Good,” she responded, noting the arrogant male gave her no response, but choosing not to comment, as her now aggressive hunger would not translate into kind or dignified words.

“I have some other work to complete,” she lied. “I will return as soon as possible.” Turning on her heel before anyone could stop her, she made a beeline for the exit, planning on not letting a single soul, not even the king, stop her from reaching the kitchen. 

Plowing through the outer infirmary, she ran smack into Miluiwen, whose face was thunderous. Nisa shrunk back immediately and clutched her robes in her hands, reminded suddenly of a hundred childhood reproves.

“I feel I have been chasing you through these halls for days, young lady.”

Young lady. Always a promising start. Despite being over a head taller, Nisa felt like she was being towered over. 

“You will return to your rooms,” Miluiwen continued in a steady tone that brooked no disagreement, “sit yourself down, and finish the entire tray I have sent to you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Miluiwen.” She was too hungry to argue, feeling the fatigue at her lack of food. Even elves could only go so long.

“Good. Now move it.”

As she turned to head down the hall, she raised her eyebrows at her lady’s maid when the older woman did not fall in stride with her. “Are you not joining me?”

She was shocked and amused to see her usually self-possessed companion flush red at the neck and shift her shoulders. “I am taking tea with the king’s advisor.”

Nisa raised her eyebrows, not able to help her grin at Miluiwen’s disquiet. “Which one? Amarher?”

Miluiwen donned a haughty expression and shifted her gaze, as if she couldn’t fathom answering such a ridiculous question.

For the first time since she arrived, Nisa laughed out loud, though it was a sudden, indelicate burst of sound from her chest. It felt wonderful to laugh over something as frivolous as her maid taking tea with a man. She felt light and merry for the first time in days, as if death and despair did not lurk behind every door.

“Miluiwen, that’s lovely–ouch!”

She hissed and stepped back, glaring as she rubbed her stinging ear. “What was that for?”

“For disrespecting your elders. Now move it !”

Still scowling and pressing her palm to her ear, Nisa slunk down the hall toward her chambers. She could smell the warm food, but was also aware of another presence in the space, accompanied by a woman’s soft murmurs and a strange snuffling.

Stealthily stepping through her already open door, she was met with the delightful sight of Tauriel on her haunches, murmuring gibberish to Hû in a high falsetto as she scratched vigorously behind his ears. The hound had sat on his backside, his eyes closed in euphoria and his oddly long tongue lolling out of his mouth. His happy grunts were embarrassingly loud.

After a moment, Tauriel finally caught sight of Nisa at the door and flushed in chagrin before standing to bob into an awkward bow. Hû, disgruntled at the loss of attention, leaned heavily against her leg, snuffling at her hand.

“I apologize for intruding,” Tauriel spoke, bequeathing Hû a few snout scratches. “I want to see if you were alright after this morning. I am unaware of what transpired, but the king appeared very upset when he left the infirmary with the prince.”

As she closed the door softly behind her, Nisa considered telling Tauriel everything that happened, knowing it would be a relief to unburden herself to someone removed, a near stranger that had so far shown nothing but concern for her. But it felt like a betrayal to Thranduil after his earlier moment of vulnerability. Even now, she could remember the feel of his skin beneath her fingers.

“The situation has been resolved, though I am grateful for your concern.” They stood there in an awkward silence as Nisa took inventory of the tray of food on her bed: meats covered in thick sauces, steaming soup, bright vegetables and a plump loaf of bread with a golden crust. Miluiwen must have expected her to make up for every meal she had missed since their arrival.

“What I would very much appreciate is if you helped me finish this tray,” she spoke to Tauriel again. “I do not want to think what Miluiwen would do if I left so much as a crumb.”

The captain smiled, but not enough to hide a wince. “She is quite a formidable woman,” she agreed. “I think she could lead an elven guard better than even the king himself.” They both snickered softly again, their hands over their mouths like naughty elflings. Nisa felt a girl again, giggling over gossip and stolen candies.

Tauriel suddenly donned a mock stoic expression and bowed. “Yes, your majesty, I will help you finish your meal and avoid certain peril.”

They both snickered again as they took seats on the bed, Nisa arranging her robes as best she could given she had thrown one leg ungracefully on the bed, and Taruiel resting her bow against a bedpost. Hû taking a vigilant post at Nisa’s feet, his ungainly head resting on his paws.

“I met Arniar today,” Nisa began conversationally as she pulled a chunk from the loaf of bread.

The dignified captain made such an expression of distaste Nisa almost choked on the sip of floral tea she was taking from a porcelain cup on the tray.

“I take it you two are not close?”

“Arniar is not close with many,” Tauriel answered as she speared a piece of meat a bit aggressively with her fork. “He is a brilliant and able healer, but considers most beneath him. His mother and father are high ranking nobility and he grew up as a companion to the king.”

Nisa quirked a brow, still navigating the heap of food before her. “If he is so insistent on showing respect to nobility, he needs some improvement. He was quite arrogant upon meeting me.”

Tauriel huffed out a cynical laugh. “He has his own belief system for when respect should be shown. In his mind, I’m sure he believes Elfalia’s kingdom beneath his own because it is smaller and King Thranduil has more influence than other elven kings.” Her face suddenly became thunderous and she stabbed at the plate again, this time hard enough to rattle the china. “He certainly shows no respect for my husband’s kingdom.”

Almost dropping a sauce-covered bite of bread, Nisa looked at the other woman, startled. “You are married?”

A bite of vegetable halfway to her mouth, Tauriel blinked at her. “Yes, were you unaware?”

“Yes, very much so. Have I met him?”

“No, I suppose it is unlikely you have. My One is a dwarf to the kingdom of Erebor, Prince Kíli.”

Nisa only stared for a moment, long enough that Miluiwen would have tugged at her ear and hissed at her to be polite. “So you are a princess to Erebor?”

Tauriel’s ears reddened. “Princess consort is more apt, but yes, I am officially recognized as a prince’s wife and One.”

“I am surprised I have not heard more of it,” Nisa responded honestly as she took a sip of tea to give her gaping mouth something to do. 

The antipathy between elves and dwarves was well known. Not once had she so much as heard of an elf and a dwarf striking a friendship, let alone marrying. “It is quite a feat.”

Tauriel gave an unladylike snort as she slathered a piece of bread in creamy butter. “While our courtship was an easy one, our meeting was quite…strained for many. The king exiled me for quite some time.”

Her heart swooping in anger, Nisa set her cup down with a clatter. “I’m sorry?”

Had he really? From what she had observed of the king, he was cold and distant, but he had not initially struck her as outwardly cruel. And in the face of two souls finding their One? Who was he to do such a thing?

Sensing Nisa’s anger, Tauriel quickly swallowed the bite she had taken. “It was a very different time, your majesty. Despite being only a few decades ago, Eryn Lasgalen was still Mirkwood at that time and many of its inhabitants were quite…ill.”

Intrigued now, Nisa leaned forward. “Ill? Ill how?”

“When Suaron lost the One Ring and was defeated by Elendil, Gil-galad and Isildur, he retreated to our woods to recover. Our numbers were depleted after the War of the Last Alliance and we had lost many soldiers. As he grew in strength, his poison infected our land and our people. Legolas was not the man you know today, and neither was the king. They were both guarded, angry, merciless to even the weariest of travelers. I myself am ashamed of many of my actions at that time.”

Tauriel swallowed and looked away. Nisa wanted to reach out and touch her hand, but she refrained, instead picking at the vine of tomatoes on the tray in front of her.

There was a long moment of silence before Tauriel cleared her throat and spoke again. “I can say I met my prince when he traveled through Mirkwood, and aided his own king on their successful journey to reclaim Erebor. I lived happily beneath the mountain for many years when I was exiled.”

Hundreds of questions bouncing through her head, Nisa blurted out the first one she could wrap her words around. “And the dwarves were welcoming to you?”

Tauriel grimaced at that, but Nisa was happy to see she was no longer so upset as to not continue picking at their tray of food. “I would not be so liberal as to say I was welcomed at that time, or that I am fully welcomed now, but King Thorin was steadfast in his acceptance of me. I owe him and his own consort a great deal.”

Nisa was learning that many of her preconceived notions were indeed false. She had never personally met the great Thorin Oakenshield, but she had heard countless stories of his company’s quest to reclaim the Mountains of Erebor, as well as the consequent migration of thousands of dwarves back to their home. Her father had told her the king was a strong, just ruler to his people, had given them much needed peace, but his enmity toward elves was well known.

“I find that all quite…unbelievable,” Nisa responded honestly. 

A twinkle in her eye, Tauriel reached beneath her collar to pull out a chain Nisa had never noticed before. From beneath her tunic she pulled a resplendent diamond pendant that struck Nisa speechless. Even in the scarce light of the room did it find reflection, a thousand cuts of brilliant light.

“This is a Tear of Durin, one of fifty diamonds said to have been shed by Durin the Deathless on his journey to find a home for his people. Thorin himself presented this to Kíli to forge as a courtship gift. He told him it was an official testament of his blessing, one none of his council could argue against, though many certainly tried, and continue to do so.”

“What brought you back?” Nisa asked, finally able to pull her gaze from the magnificent pendant. If this was but one piece, she could now understand why dwarves were so taken with their hoards. “If your husband is still under the mountain?”

“The war,” Tauriel answered gravely. “Though it had been much changed, Greenwood was my home. It was where I made my dearest friends, learned to shoot a bow, and listened to the songs of the trees before the poison took over. I also felt a great loyalty to the king. Despite exiling me, he had taken me in when my parents were slaughtered by orcs and gave me a purpose.”

“You did not stay with your husband?
Immediately worried she had once again asked a rude question, Nisa was relieved when Tauriel gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Erebor had an all but miraculous revival in the sixty years it has been reestablished. The mountain is well fortified and well armed in ways I can’t begin to explain. The dwarves themselves are strong and well trained. Thorin himself led his troops to battle and their forces were key to staving off Easterlings that thought to take on the terrain around the mountain.” A savage glint in her eye and about her mouth. “Those Men failed spectacularly at that endeavor.”

She popped a raspberry in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully before speaking again. “Mirkwood, on the other hand, was occupied by Dol Guldur, so near a beating heart of Sauron’s might. I could not just abandon them.”

Feeling like a child hearing a riveting bedtime tale, Nisa set down the piece of soup-soaked bread she did not realize she had been holding for a good few minutes and leaned forward.

“How did King Thranduil receive you?” 

“Quite well considering how we had parted. His look of shock is one I will never forget, but he put me to work quite quickly. His own son was quite a distance away fighting many other battles with King Aragorn’s company, and King Thranduil is not one to waste a good soldier. Truthfully, it was as if I had never left.” She popped a blueberry casually into her mouth and chewed, as if she was not telling a captivating tale.

“I did not hear much of the battles in Mirkwood,” Nisa revealed, having forgotten her earlier hunger. “I was in Elfalia during Sauron’s last stand and kept my focus to the places I was sent to aid.” She would never forget the desolation she saw after Sauron’s defeat in the months before her marriage was announced and she was sent to Eryn Lasgalen.

Tauriel took on a haunted look Nisa recognized intimately. She had seen it in countless others after the war. “It was a victory that still shocks me, to be quite honest,” Tauriel continued. “King Thranduil had apparently spent many decades preparing for what he saw to be an inevitable confrontation with the Necromancer and had taken great action. He is a brilliant tactician and had taken to coordinating with other forces, as well as focusing on fortification. He will also be the first to tell you that only his son may know these woods better than he does, and Sauron would have no chance at taking him by surprise. His people were well prepared for the onslaught and the ones who did not fight were sheltered deep within the Elvenhalls. I was in the company he led south, to Dol Guldur.”

Nisa could not quite imagine these somber halls crowded with frightened folk, but she could imagine Thranduil leading his forces, sword in hand and fury on his face. She had never seen him in battle, but she had briefly seen him after, armor caked in blood and a wild look in his eye. Yes, she could imagine him leading his people against the enemy.

“What has made you stay?” she asked as she picked up another piece of meat, her intrigue making her voracious again. “It has been some months since Sauron’s fall. Do you now wish to be back with your husband?”

“This strange illness and these other strange attacks began occurring not long after Sauron’s defeat and I have not yet felt comfortable enough to leave. Erebor is well maintained and they have no need of me there at this time. I would like to see firm peace in Eryn Lasgalen again before I rejoin my husband.” They sat in silence again and Nisa watched as Tauriel wove a plump blueberry between her fingers and donned a soft, whimsical smile, no doubt thinking of her beloved beneath the Lonely Mountain. She looked a young maiden, 

Clearing her throat against a rising melancholy, Nisa continued her questions, one in particular at the front of her mind. “Does the king accept your marriage?” She was frightened for the answer.

Tauriel chewed for a long moment and Nisa considered dumping the soup on her lap. 

“I think it is strange for him, as it is strange for everyone here and in Erebor. It is, truly, quite peculiar. But yes, he has. The dwarves and the elves aided each other a great deal during the final struggle. They sent troops to each other, completely voluntarily and with no knowledge of the other’s similar intent. King Thranduil assumed the population of the mountain was still recovering and would therefore need soldiers. King Thorin did the same, thinking that Mirkwood’s proximity to Dol Guldur would require ancillary help. It was a pleasant surprise for both, I think.”

“I find myself very glad that King Thranduil is approving of your marriage, if not entirely welcoming to it,” Nisa said, more to herself than to Tauriel as she closely studied a ripe cherry. 

She was unsure if she would have been able to forgive him, otherwise. Their newfound trust in each other was so tenuous, a delicately spun web of words and actions that could collapse at any moment. She knew he had animosity and bitterness in his heart, but if he had been willfully malice toward the love of two brave, strong people? That was not something she could find forgiveness in her own heart for.

“He grumbles, but he has given his blessing,” Tauriel reassured her. She tugged on the chain of her necklace. “He had this forged of precious metal only reserved for the swords of the royal family. I imagine he cornered Legolas and bullied him quite mercilessly for ideas to show his acceptance. He struggles with words, if you have not noticed.”

Nisa grinned into her tea, having no trouble imagining the king pursuing his poor son through the halls and dragging him by the ear into his chancery for an interrogation. A somber thought suddenly entered her mind and she set her cup on its saucer.

“So does that mean you will be leaving soon?”

Tauriel gave a sad smile. “Yes, when all has settled, I will return. As a prince of a very quickly growing kingdom, Kíli is needed in Eerebor more than I am needed here.”

For the first time in a very long time, Nisa wanted to cry. She had seen death, suffering and grief since she had been shuttered in these great halls, but not once had she wanted to cry. Now, at the thought of losing the first person she might actually consider a friend, her throat grew thick with unshed tears.

“Oh.” It was a pathetic noise and she tried to temper it with a smile. “I am happy for you. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be away from your husband for so long, especially after such a difficult time. My mother lamented for days when my father was gone but a fortnight.”

Tauriel saw right through her guise and put a hand over Nisa’s on her teacup. “I hope you will come and visit me when all is finally well?”

Nisa let out a bark of a laugh and leaned away, feeling shame blooming. “I’m so sorry, Tauriel,” she said as she put her cup down. “You must think me so selfish: thinking of myself when you have been parted from your One for months.”

“I do not blame you at all,” Tauriel rushed. “Truly. It can be quite lonely here and I have been struggling since coming back.” She looked down at the dwindling tray of food. “Being banished is not taken lightly by many elves, especially when it is ordered by a king they respect. Even with his and the prince’s acceptance of my return and my marriage, reception has been quite cold. I don’t even think some of my soldiers would follow my lead if Thranduil had not all but taken off one of their heads for speaking back to me.”

She looked back up at Nisa and her eyes were warm and vulnerable. “It is good to have a friend here.”

Suddenly feeling the violent need to shy away from such a show of emotion, Nisa opened her mouth to no doubt stumble over her own sentimentalities when the door to the room opened suddenly.

The last person she expected to come in was Gwaeniel, who slid in like a ghost and quickly shut the door, pressing her back to the paneling. Nisa immediately felt a stab of worry.

“Gwaeniel?” She asked, turning to face the young woman. “Are you alright? Is Nitya okay?”

Gwaeniel’s large eyes were somehow even wider to a point that it was comical. 

“Oh, yes, your majesty,” she said quickly, blushing suddenly and bobbing into a distracted curtsy. “I am so sorry to disturb you, but I had something to show you and Arniar was quite adamant in seeing it as well so I…leapt in here quite quickly before he saw which hallway I went down.”

Nisa was disliking the elf more and more as the hours went by. Chasing a woman through the halls? This elf needed to learn more manners.

“Come in, Gwaeniel. What is it you would like to show me?” She was only just now noticing that the apprentice had her hands behind her back. Gwaeniel’s eyes went to Tauriel questioningly before looking to Nisa again.

“It is about what you brought me? From the forest?”

The Calima Beetle.

Heart racing in anticipation, Nisa stood from her spot on the bed. “Oh, of course! Yes, you can speak freely in front of the captain. Come!”

Her own face lighting up in excitement, Gwaeniel padded away from the door and pulled a large glass jar from behind her back. The Calima Beetle buzzed around excitedly, no doubt alarmed after what sounded like a mad dash by Gwaeniel through the halls. 

Nisa rushed over like an excited child, a curious Tauriel close behind. Reaching out, she took the jar from Gwaeniel and held it up to her face to study. Still a dark, metallic blue, it had grown to the size of her palm.

“There have not been many changes, but its growth is quite impressive,” Gwaeniel pointed out breathlessly as she held the jar to their faces. They gathered around the insect like excited children, enamored with a shiny new discovery.

“I have never seen a bug like this before,” Tauriel mused softly, imitative of Thranduil’s words upon Nisa’s initial discovery of the beetle. “Did you find it here?”

“Yes, when the king and I were planting seeds not long ago. It is a shocking discovery and could be of great use to us.”

She shifted her eyes to Gwaeniel again. “And it has done nothing else of…note?”

“No, your majesty.”

Narrowing her eyes at the bug again, she felt the sudden, infantile urge to shake the jar like an impatient child, as if to shock the bug into a miraculous act. It would probably just keel over in fright.

“Well.” Nisa forced herself to take a step back. “At least there has been some development. It could not have provided anything of use at its original size. When you return it to the conservatory, make sure you place it exactly where it had been. It could have been the conditions it was exposed to that caused its growth and they should be replicated exactly.”

Gwaeniel nodded studiously and slipped out of the door again, looking left and right as if Arniar would spring from a corner. Tauriel stood as well. 

“I must also be returning,” she explained. “We have novice soldiers arriving today to begin training and I am expected to greet them with the prince.” Placing a hand to her heart, she bowed low to Nisa. “Thank you for sharing your food and your time, Nisa. I do not have many allies in these halls and I am grateful for your friendship.”

Feeling overwhelmed with emotion, Nisa gave her a wavering smile and bowed her head in return, placing a hand above her own sternum. “My time and friendships are yours whenever you are in need of them, Tauriel.”

Tauriel gave Hû another scratch behind the ear before slipping silently from the room. When the door was shut firmly behind her, Nisa collapsed back onto the bed and took a breath. Hû padded over and lay his head in Nisa’s lap, nosing at her hand. Scratching the hound’s snout, she allowed herself to feel the bubble of hope and excitement in her chest, breathing through the disquieting sensations.

She had friends here.

Not just people she could trust, but ones she was glad to see when they came through her door. She enjoyed close relationships, but often found them hard to navigate, usually because the emotion people expected her to reciprocate did not come naturally. She found Tauriel’s steadfastness a refreshing change, Gwaeniel’s openness and joy a welcome addition to her day. Even Thendor and Oriel had become appreciated presences.

Hû made a discontented snuffle and nosed hard at her hand. Realizing she must have paused in her scratches of his head, she resumed again, much to the hound’s continued delight. 

What about King Thranduil? Was he a friend? A confederate? They certainly were not partners, nothing so intimate. She wouldn’t even dare think they were equals in these halls. 

Did she even trust him? 

Everything that had happened between them had been on such a wide spectrum of extremes, from their very first meeting all the way to his moment of vulnerability after what should have been an unforgivable act of violence.

A swell of panic in her chest made her take a deep inhale and pull harshly at her braid. She stood up suddenly, as if she could run from these overwhelming emotions. Hû stood as well and looked at her expectantly, as if he could physically protect her from her discomfort.

She saw for the first time that he had grown yet again and was nearly at her hip. As an elf with elven height, it would not seem much compared to her, but he would certainly intimidate a human. His teeth had also grown and she could seem them even when he was at rest.

Scrubbing roughly at her face, she decided she had enough things to to worry about and turned toward the tray of food on her bed. She and Tauriel had made enough progress she thought Miluiwen would be satisfied. She also felt her hunger had gone away enough that she could concentrate and not feel a surge of irritation when another so much as raised their voice or questioned her.

She reached out to scratch Hû beneath his jaw. “I’ll be back,” she promised before turning on her heel and heading through the door.

She walked through the halls in her usual silence. She had noticed that more and more people seemed to be occupying the space each day, all of the woodland race except for a rare few like herself. All greeted her with respect, whether it be a deep bow or a simple head nod, but few spoke to her. She doubted they would even acknowledge her, but she had quickly come to a logical assumption that the king did not take well to slights in protocol.

Smiling and acknowledging some of the informal greetings given, she slipped into the infirmary. The wounded guards were asleep again, but she made her way over to Erchor, who had been the most gravely wounded of them.

His chest rose and fell at a strong, steady rhythm, and though he lay still, he seemed ready to spring to attention at a moment’s notice. His eyes were open and unseeing in the elven way. Tilting his head back gently, she looked over the stitches to his throat.

The gash had closed fully, but she could see the developments of a scar beneath the stitches. The Silk Spider’s web would most likely dispel themselves in the next day or so.

 She peered closer, pushing his head further aside. It was quite rare for an elf to scar, and she had only seen forces of evil leave such lasting impressions, much like Thranduil’s burns. Letting his head fall back into place, she settled with knowing he and his comrades were alive and most likely had interesting tales to tell. Her brothers certainly never shut their mouths concerning tales of their perceived heroism.

Making sure she was alone, she slipped into the private infirmary, her heart immediately plummeting into her feet at what she saw.

“NITYA!”

The young elfling almost fell over from his place standing hunched at the side of his bed. His small body was trembling violently and he was shuffling pathetically on his feet, as if no position was comfortable.

Few times in her life had Nisa run as fast as she did to his side. She only just stopped herself from sweeping his burned body into her arms and dumping him back onto the bed.

Heart still making its way back to her chest, she collapsed onto her knees at his side, reaching for him but not touching.

“What is wrong, Nitya? How did you get out of bed? What—”

Thousands more words came, but none made their way from her lips as she watched him struggle, his small hand clenching the headboard and his scarred mouth moving soundlessly. His small body was grotesquely contorted, his shoulders and the top of his spine arched upward as if pulled by an invisible force.

But there was a bright fervor in his eyes she had seen many a time in the faces of patients that refused to admit defeat in the face of pain and death.

Instead of giving into the crushing need to lay him gently in bed and shelter him from pain, Nisa settled back on her heels and forced herself to clench her hands tightly in the fabric of her robes.

Silent as a grave, Nitya shuffled one foot toward her in a hesitant step, as if his muscles refused to cooperate. Nisa held her hands out in case he fell toward her, but made no move to stop his advance. 

They stayed that way for what must have been near an hour, Nitya making slow movement toward her. When he ventured to let go of the headboard, she reached for him, but he still did not fall, holding his arms out to steady himself.

A gasp and a crash of glass came. Nisa risked looking from Nitya to the entrance where Oriel stood, her mouth gaping and a broken vial of liquid at her feet.

“No one enters the infirmary and that is an order ,” Nisa commanded with as much royal authority she could muster. For a moment she thought Oriel might bite back as the head healer, but she only nodded and, after continuing to stare for a long moment of shock, turned to flee back into the main infirmary.

Looking back at Nitya, Nisa lashed out just in time to steady him before he lost his balance and fell. Looking around in a panic and finding no canes or walking aids, she reached out with her free hand and snapped a wooden leg off his small bed. Ignoring the structure as it fell awkwardly to one side, she guided his hand to grip the thin piece of wood.

Nitya gripped it with a wince of pain before looking at her imploringly. All the ardor for life was gone and he looked a scared child again, desperate for guidance.

“I won’t let you fall,” she told him softly, hoping it was true.

-----------------------

Thranduil moved swiftly through the halls, barely acknowledging the greetings from members of his court. His mood had taken a near violent downturn after the moment in his chancery with Nisa, then with Feindil.

He could not remember the last time he had shown his scars to another. The last he could remember was that arrogant dwarven king who had come storming into his forest and demanded acceptance. That had been an easy moment of anger in the face of an enemy who had no understanding of what he had been through, what he had suffered. He had not cared for the dwarf’s judgment, and had known the other man would show no sympathy.

But with Nisanthiel, it had been a moment of crushing vulnerability. Showing her had been a convoluted choice with many considerations, many devastating consequences he paid no mind to in the past. Letting the magic concealing his scars had been like removing a shield in the face of an enemy and welcoming the pain. The few others he willingly showed his full self to were other healers and his late wife. Even his most trusted council members and his own son rarely caught him unawares. Concealment had swiftly become second nature in more ways than one.

He had not known how she would react, had not thought she would care, but he had held his breath, bracing for her reception.

She had reacted with an expert’s indifference, which he had appreciated greatly. Panic had arisen when she had come closer, asked to touch. He could still feel the soft skin of her fingers on his face, the warmth of her body painfully close.

Closing his eyes against a wave of awareness, he willed his body to calm against the memories. 

Since her arrival, her physical presence had upset him greatly, in more ways than one. Not only had she tried his temper multiple times, his bodily reaction to her had been an unwelcome change after centuries of restraint.

From the moment he had met her in the library, the dark of her skin a stark contrast against the pristine white of her healer’s robe, an innocent shock on her face, something inside him had growled awake. Not since Calieth had he felt such a violent beat beneath his ribs, a smoldering heat deep within. It was near foreign after such a long abstinence.

Then their moment in the greenhouse had happened and his heart had still not stopped thundering. His reaction to her had been almost violent, a beast in his throat. 

She had been exquisite in the sunlight, her skin no doubt warm from its touch. She had been so enamored with the heat of the daylight, she had forgotten her torn robes, letting the fabric fall from her shoulders. Her dark head tipped back, mouth parted to drink in the light, she had been exquisite. 

It had taken every ounce of hard earned control not to step deeper into the room and push that robe to the floor, thrust his hands through her hair and damn them both. 

He had not been blind to her response, her quickening breaths as she looked to him. He knew he had not imagined the glint of arousal in her eye, the swelling of her nearly bare chest. That cantankerous woman, Miluiwen, had burst in with seconds to spare, before either he or Nisanthiel could make an irreversible decision. 

That moment had plagued his mind since it happened, and if he dared close his eyes, they had never been interrupted. 

Guilt, anger, desire all warred within his skull. He thought of Calieth, of his promise to himself to never touch another woman, the confusion that he even felt such things for another.

He had been deep within thoughts like these when she had snuck up on him on his way to the infirmary to see his soldiers. Her hand on his arm might as well have been a knife plunged into his back for his surprise. Nothing could have stopped him from reverting to unadulterated survival instincts and he thanked whatever deity might exist that he had not killed her.

Instead of damning him to his shame and guilt for his actions, she had listened to his stilted excuses, asked how she could help and alleviate his pain. She had been so close to him with her big brown eyes and soft touch he had to rely once again on the rigid discipline he had imposed on himself since he was a child. It was Feindil’s sudden presence that brought them back to the present. Much like Miluiwen she had given them a captious once over before relaying news of Nitya’s recovery.

Only when Nisanthiel had flung herself from the room did his advisor look to him with hellfire eyes and a sneer that immediately set him on edge. Many thought he and Armarher had a complex relationship, but his and Feindil’s went near as deep, even if it was not as sincere as it had once been.

“I see you two are getting much closer,” she had remarked in that hard, callous tone that could make him bristle ever since they had trained together as fledgling soldiers. Thankfully she had actually listened when he had barked at her to get out because he was not above removing her bodily from the room when she overstepped.

He had been cloistered in his chancery ever since, snarling at anyone who dared enter. He had finished every piece of paperwork he could get his hands on until he was left with nothing but unrestrained thoughts and unwelcome memories of sun kissed skin.

Now, he was finally on his way to the infirmary for his daily check in on the recovery of his wounded soldiers. They all seemed to be recovering shockingly well for the severity of their injuries and the fact they had tangles of webs holding their bodies together. Erchor had received the brunt of the assault and Thranduil had truly thought they would have their first casualty since the war. A soft spoken elleth with a penchant for artistry and a shy charm, it would have been devastating to the tenuous morale that had been built since Sauron’s fall.

He frowned as he approached the infirmary doors, seeing his lead healer standing outside like a naughty child, her hands clasped behind her back and her eyes on the floor. She was rocking from her toes to her heels like his son used to do when he could not stand still during council meetings.

She looked up as he neared and color rose in her cheeks as she shifted again. She took a breath as he came to stand in front of her, as if preparing herself for battle. She curtsied deeply with a mumbled “your majesty” before straightening her spine and tipping her neck back to meet his gaze.

“Oriel,” he greeted with a nod. “Why are you idling outside of the infirmary like you have been banished?”

“Her majesty has ordered that I do not allow anyone into the infirmary at this time. Your majesty.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at that, wondering just how this slip of a woman planned to keep him out.

“Did she provide her reasoning as to why she gave such an order?”

By the look on Oriel’s face, he knew immediately that reasoning had indeed been provided, but she did not seek to tell him. Feeling his mood darken even further, he outright glared at her. Of course, she had only raised her chin in response, which was expected. He had certainly not taken her on as his lead healer because she wilted at the smallest provocation.

“Oriel, what is happening and why has the queen consort removed you from your own infirmary?”

“She did not remove me, your majesty,” Oriel responded, all but rolling her eyes at what was apparently a ridiculous accusation. “She asked me to make sure on one came in while she observes important progress that is occurring.” She looked at him expectantly, as if fully expecting him to know those orders applied to him as well.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Thranduil felt a twinge of irritation he knew was childish. Would there be any part of his life this Elfalian princess did not take over? Now his own healers were taking her orders?

His voice was all but a snarl as he loomed tall over the healer in front of him. “Step aside, Oriel.”

She did not move for a long moment but she was gritting her teeth, obviously irked at having been ordered in such a way and in such a tone. He could see the war behind her eyes of asserting her authority or obeying her king.

He was steadfast in his own desires. Seeing his soldiers alive and well after their near deaths was one of the few things that made him feel like he still had feet on solid land and could call himself an able leader.

They glared long and hard at each other until Oriel finally took a slow, deliberate step to the side, her eyes never leaving his face. Knowing full well this would not be the last he heard from her about this, he stormed inside. 

Coming up short, he looked around for any signs of disturbances or evidence of something the healers would want hidden. The sun steamed through the windows and his soldiers lay peacefully upon their beds, their chests rising and falling slowly. Nothing seemed amiss. 

He came to attention when the bookcase entrance to the private infirmary swung open and there was a low murmur of words. Very confused, he watched Nisanthiel—or the back end of her—slowly come into view.

“Almost there, almost there! Oh, my, look at you go!”

Aware of Oriel slipping into the infirmary behind him, he watched Nisanthiel’s slow, crouched progress into the main infirmary until she was fully in view, a delighted smile on her face.

Any amusement or humor he was feeling at her comical stance plummeted when a small, mangled creature came hobbling out after her in awkward, shuffling steps. Instinct drove him forward, but Oriel’s hand on his arm stopped him. He looked furiously down at her, but she met his intensity with a sharp shake of her head. Wisely, she did release his arm, though she did not move from his side.

Thranduil watched, horrified and fascinated, as Nisanthiel and the strange creature continued moving forward, a makeshift walking stick keeping it up. Was it a child? It had to be at that size. If there was a hobbit in his halls he would have known…

Awareness dawned on him.

“Is that…?”

He saw Oriel’s slow nod from the corner of his eye. “Yes, our young patient with that strange illness. Halloth and Glínes’s boy.”

Neither of them spoke again as they watched Nisanthiel and the boy move down the aisle between the beds. He was unsurprised that she wanted new observers for this endeavor. The boy was a horrid sight, as if he had been dragged from the depths of Angband and told to live. 

He thought of the boy’s parents, both of whom he had lost defending the borders during the Great War. Halloth had been a strong, capable soldier, but it was Glínes’s stubborn drive he saw in the downcast eyes of her son as he stumbled into the light of the sun. 

When he recoiled at the feel of the rays, Thranduil and Oriel both stepped forward, but Nisa held a hand up to them, apparently aware of their presence. Nitya steadied himself on his walking stick and blinked slowly, adjusting to the light of the day against the walls. Having moved a few more paces ahead of him, Nisanthiel beckoned him forward and he continued his agonizing trek down the aisle. 

They seemed to stand there for hours until Nisanthiel bumped up against Thranduil’s legs, nearly toppling over onto his boots. He pressed a few fingers to her shoulder to steady her. It was at this time that Nitya appeared to finally notice his audience.

He stood a few feet from where Nisanthiel crouched, staring up at Thranduil with the widest eyes he had seen since the days of explaining the world to his own son. 

All four of them stood in deafening silence, Nisanthiel still crouched on the floor and the small boy staring up at his king with eyes full of fear and pain and hope.

Thranduil held Nitya’s gaze, so reminded of his mother and father, their strength, their stubbornness, their inability to accept defeat. 

He had his mother’s eyes.

Nitya suddenly grabbed his walking stick with both hands, his body jolting at the sudden movement. All three adults reached for him with varied distressed noises, but he did not lose his footing. They watched as he squirmed and jolted about, his body bending slowly at the waist.

He was bowing.

Thranduil had been alive for well near 7000 years, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, fought in wars against dragons and men, led hundreds of thousands of soldiers into battle, and seen indescribable wonders across the expanse of Middle Earth.

In all those memories, he could not remember the last time he had been rendered speechless until this moment.

There had been times throughout his reign that Thranduil wondered if he was worthy of being king: taking the crown after the death of his father, watching his soldiers die around him, struggling to raise his strong-willed son alone after the death of the only woman he ever loved.

Now, as he stood rooted to his spot and watched his small, mangled subject bow with what little strength he seemed to have left, Thranduil felt purely unworthy. Of what, he was unsure. 

Pride, respect, trust. 

It was all there in that trembling salutation from a child who had lost everything.

Reaching his own trembling hand to his chest, he touched his sternum and gestured toward Nitya, bowing his head. He hoped his voice did not shake when it came. “I am proud of you, hên nín . You are as strong and as brave as your mother and father.”

While he had managed to straighten again, Nitya did not meet any of their eyes, his head hung low. Nisanthiel broke the heavy silence, leaning forward on her knees. “Can you make it back to bed, melda ?”

The young boy looked exhausted and wobbled precariously, but began to shuffle and slowly turn his body back toward the private infirmary. His makeshift cane clicked on the marble floor. Nisanthiel scrambled to her feet and stumbled after him, her arms extended against a possible catastrophe.

Turning on his own heel, Thranduil headed for the exit.

“Guard the door,” he ordered Oriel, not bothering to wait for her confirmation. He heard her say something, but he was already halfway out the door and all but storming down the hallway toward his chancery. 

As he passed the doors to the new conservatory, he stopped, reaching out to run a finger along the twisted iron handles. He could feel the beat of the sun through the heavy wood, hear the woodland life moving outside the windows on the opposite wall. 

He felt compelled to open the doors and step into the familiar room, settle into the countless memories it held. Memories as warm and bright as the sun itself.

His son and wife laughing…

Pulling his hand back, he forced himself back into life as it was and continued down the halls. No one dared get in his way.

-----------------------

It was many hours later that a knock roused him from The Annals of Men: A Comprehensive Chronology of the Second People . While not a riveting text, it had kept his thoughts efficiently occupied and safe from the past.

“Enter.”

It was the delicate, red haired healer’s apprentice that poked her head in, her blue eyes so wide they seemed to take up most of her apple-cheeked face.

“Gwaeniel,” he greeted as he closed the book and dropped it onto his desk with a heavy thud. The young woman flinched in surprise, but recovered quickly and cleared her throat as she stepped into the room. 

Grabbing her robes in her hands, she dropped into a graceful arc of a curtsy. Her immaculate curtsies had been one of the first things he had taken note of when Oriel had introduced them. She could probably charge for lessons.

“What is it?” he asked as she straightened and began fussing with her hands. “Her majesty requests you come see her in the conservatory. When you are able, of course!” She rushed out the last sentence, as if worried he thought she might be giving him an order. 

Honestly, he did feel like he was being ordered around just a bit, but decided this was not a battle to be fought. Gwaeniel seemed liable to cry if he so much as raised his voice at her.

Planting his hands on the desk, he stood and dismissed the young healer with a jerk of his head. She nodded in response and scuttled back into the hallway after a less formal curtsy. His mood had not improved by the time he reached the conservatory and pulled the doors open. 

Taking breath against the warmth of the sun on his skin, he took inventory of what changes had been made so far, which turned out to be very little. A few new vials of substances decorated the surface of one of the long wooden tables, as well as some potted plants, but the soil on the floor had not been touched and the sacks of seeds from Elfalia had not been opened.

A rattling from the far side of the room pulled his head around and he was greeted with Nisanthiel’s back as she bent over something on another wooden bench. She seemed to be working quite vigorously, possibly with a mortar and pestle, her entire body rocking back and forth. Without looking, she reached for a small vial of blue liquid and poured a few drops into whatever concoction she was working on. 

Crossing his arms, Thranduil waited for her to notice him, but did not have much hope based on her past behavior of being easily startled. After a few two minutes passed, he lost patience and cleared his throat.

Nisanthiel let out a shriek of surprise and whirled around, her back colliding with the edge of the bench. He raised a brow at her, unimpressed.

“You are an elf, Nisanthiel,” he pointed out. “You should have heard me coming from quite a distance.”

A hand to her chest, she looked at him from beneath a few stray locks that had escaped from her already loose braid. He kept his eyes firmly trained on her face, trying not to look at her heaving chest or the way her billowing sleeves fell to her elbows.

“I was focused,” she finally answered, her voice perilously near a snap. “There is a delicate process to this elixir.”

“There is a delicate process to battle,” Thranduil continued conversationally as he made his way across the room. “Yet I rarely allow myself to be taken unawares.”

To his begrudging amusement, she scowled and turned her back to him, leaning back over what was indeed a mortar and pestle. “You sound like my father,” she grumbled as she picked up her pestle again and went back to work on a thick, gelatinous substance.

A bark of laughter burst from his throat, the sound old and unfamiliar as he leaned his hip against the edge of the bench. “Am I to take that as a compliment or an insult?”

“I would encourage you to endeavor on some self-reflection for that answer, your majesty.”

Before he could retort, she let out a huff of air and dropped her pestle on the table. Wrapping her hands around the mortar, she turned toward him with an expectant look.

“Your burns, please.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I have made the elixir for your injury. I will need to see your burns to apply it in the correct areas.”

Looking down into the mortar, Thranduil couldn’t help the distasteful curl of his lip as he eyed the viscous brown substance. His eyes went back to Nisanthiel’s face, which remained open and expectant, as he warred with the idea of showing her his burns again. It had been one thing to show her the first time, but having her touch his face a second time, unshielded by magic, was quite another.

“If you provide me with instructions, I am sure I can complete the task myself.”

After what seemed to be an attempt to hold back a sarcastic remark, she responded in an even tone. “The burns on your face are delicate and manifold, and you will have a very difficult time applying this as it needs to be applied, even with the use of a mirror. As for the rest of your body, of course you may do that privately.”

Her expression was serene, but the stubborn thrust of her chin set his teeth on edge. Despite her calm tone and simple requests, he very much felt like he was being ordered about. He was just about to bite something back when he felt an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. He was so tired of fighting battles, big and small. Sometimes he wondered if he was choosing them wisely.

With a resigned sigh, he let the magic fall from his face and reveal his burns to the balmy air of the conservatory. Nisanthiel’s expression didn’t change, not even to one of triumph as she dipped a finger into the unappealing elixir. “Hold very still,” she advised him in a stern tone. “This will be uncomfortable at first, but the Athelas will numb it quickly and the rest should be relatively painless.”

When he nodded in understanding, she smiled at him. It took every inch of discipline he possessed to stand stock-still as she reached toward his face, her hand clouding his periphery. There was a stab of pain to the remaining nerves around his burn and he hissed in response, his hand clenching hard around his bicep.

Nisanthiel did not waver, continuing to dab at the charred edges of the wound until, eventually, there came the cold rush of the Athelas taking effect. Opening his eyes, he saw a hard scowl on her face.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

“I can’t see anything,” she snapped angrily. “Come with me.”

Before he could blink, she had his sleeve in her hand and was pulling him toward the high-windowed wall. Keeping the mortar safely wrapped in the crook of one arm, she pulled and pushed his head about, until the late afternoon sunlight shone on his face just right.

“There.” His lip twitched at her self-satisfied smile, but he quickly schooled his expression as she reached back toward his face. As she went back to work, her mouth parted slightly and her tongue danced out to play along her bottom lip. 

If he had been a prudent man, he would have closed his eyes and mentally cataloged the long list of tasks he needed to accomplish by the end of the day. Unfortunately, he was no such man and he let his eyes roam around her face as it was caressed by the sun. He could not recall a time their faces had been this close as she stood on her tiptoes to run her finger along his scarred hairline.

Elfalia’s sun had been kind to her, darkening her skin until it glowed beneath its touch even now. Her face was slim and held by high cheekbones. It was her mouth that seemed to take up most of the space in his mind. Full and sensual, her whole face creased when she smiled.

As she craned her head to get a closer look at the side of his face, something caught his eye and threw him oddly off guard, but was out of sight within an instant. Without thinking, he reached up and grasped her chin gently between his fingers.

Nisanthiel froze, still and wide-eyed as a frightened doe, but she did not pull away, hand still poised at his cheek, lips parted in silent question. When he gave her head a small push to the side, she moved with his grip.

“Your eyes are brown.”

He murmured the observation to himself, the words so soft not many would catch them.

He had thought they were black. But here, in the stroke of the sun, they were a deep, honeyed brown, as rich and dark as the soil beneath their feet.

“I…yes.”

He did not release her face for a long moment, that deep, slumbering part of him relishing the feel of her skin beneath his. Slowly, he let his fingers slide from her face. The air between them seemed to release, as if a great breath had been taken.

“My apologies,” he finally stated, aware he owed her an explanation for his behavior. “I thought they were black.”

Nisanthiel seemed to relax at his explanation, though she looked quickly down at her mortar and spent an unnecessarily long moment gathering more medicine on a finger.

“Yes,” she responded, her voice a bit of a croak. “It comes out most in the sun, but there is not much light in these halls, let alone sunlight.” She looked quite cross at that fact, even as she guided the angle of his face with the utmost gentleness and resumed her treatment.

He looked at her as best he could from where she had positioned him.

“Do you wish to spend more time in the sun?”

She didn’t answer at first, her elegant throat bobbing as she swallowed and appeared to consider her answer.

“Yes,” she finally said, her voice soft. “I miss the sun a great deal. There was barely an inch of Elfalia that the sunlight could not touch.” Her mouth lifted in a soft, whimsical smile as she no doubt recalled many a fond memory of her homeland.

“I will agree that there is not much sun in these halls,” he admitted. “I built this place with protection and conservation in mind. Few rooms are above ground and thus receive sunlight. We had to be very deliberate as to what the use of those rooms would be.”

“What was this room?”

“My wife’s painting room.”

Though he did not often speak of Calieth–if not downright refused to–the words came without thought. 

Nisanthiel’s expression did not change and she did not pause in her work, which he found himself grateful for.

Calieth’s memory had become a sensitive topic since her death, in no small part because he often reacted very disagreeably to the subject, and most blanched at the mere mention of her name. Nisanthiel appeared to have no such inclination, possibly unaware of the very sensitive ground she was treading as she continued to speak.

“That is understandable. This room might have even more natural light than the infirmary. I’m sure she spent many afternoons here.”

That she did, painting and laughing, her golden curls thrown back as Legolas ran circles beneath her skirts. All three of them would spend hours in this very room, Calieth painting, small Legolas practicing his novice swordwork, and Thranduil bent over a desk of his own with paperwork he had dragged from his own chancery.

Unfortunately, the happiness of the memories did not outweigh the pain of the loss and his heart gave a hard beat in his chest, as if reminding him of what he no longer had. He scolded himself for letting his guard down, letting these memories lull him into compliance just to drown him for his negligence. He was about to pull away from this woman who made him feel too much when she did so first.

“All done,” she chirped, a smile on her face as she looked up at him. He stepped away, eager to put distance between them as he let the magic shroud his face again.

“I will jar the rest of this and you will need to apply it daily, which I can help you with.” When he gave her a look, she gave him a look right back. “I can help you with your face. As for the rest of your body, that is up to you.” She turned her back to him and headed back to her workbench. “We will have to continue coming to the conservatory for application, as it is a very delicate application and this room has the most natural light for me to work with.”

Setting her mortar and pestle on the table, she turned toward him again and angled her face toward the light, closing her eyes. How fortunate was the sun to stroke her face without judgment or apprehension.

As she opened her eyes and turned to look at him again, the glass of the windows webbed against her skin and gave her irises a copper ring.

“If I am not in the infirmary or in the library, I will most likely be here.”

Cloistered away and enjoying the touch of the sun.

Thranduil nodded silently and turned on his heel to leave. After being in a room flooded with daylight, the halls felt even darker than usual, the flames of candles and lanterns a sorry replacement.

For the first time in recent memory, he slowly ambled through his halls, studying the high ceilings and rough texture of the walls. Candles, lanterns and blazing hearths usually lit the corridors and rooms, as well as the occasional shaft of light from beneath a door that led to a sunlit room near the peak of the stronghold.

Reaching up, he ran his fingers along the still numb areas of his face, remembering the feel of her touch.

Maybe he could bring her the sun, but it would require a very well written letter…

Chapter Text

Celeb, male, aged 26

Arrived March 14th

Day 1: Presented to his village healer with a black, painful wound on the bottom of his right foot. 

Day 8: The child was moved to the Elevenking’s Halls after the wound grew across his body and his temperature rose to a fever. His body has succumbed to paralysis and his wounds have grown to cover most of his body. No progress made with traditional elven treatment.

Day 12: Child is unable to walk and the rise in his fever has caused concerning hallucinations of seeing his deceased mother and grandfather. His speech is slurred and the healers cannot discern what he is asking for when he attempts to speak.

Day 13: Despite an initial inability to speak, child has begun screaming in pain and his body is too hot for healer’s to touch without injury. He has devolved into uncontrollable spasms.

Deceased March 28th

Daerwen, female, aged 47.

Arrived April 4th

Day 3: Child was brought to her village healer by her grandmother with a black wound covering her back from hips to neck and a growing fever.

Day 11: Healers from other realms are showing no progress in treating any of the child’s symptoms.

Day 14: Two healers attempted to hold the patient to his bed during spasms and were subsequently injured. Patient passed on the floor of the infirmary. Those in attendance believe he might have been reciting a prayer.

Deceased April 18th

Gliron, male, aged 19

Arrived April 23rd

Day 1:

Deceased May 1st

Nitya, male, aged 34

Arrived May 3rd

Nisa shut the journal with a clap of sound that echoed against the halls of the infirmary. Erchor frowned in his sleep and stirred, but did not wake. The infirmary, bright with the sunlight, was largely empty, only her, Erchor and a healer she had not had the time to introduce herself to occupying the space.

The evening before had been a favorable one. After a few hours spent in the conservatory after applying the king’s balm to his face, she was called back to the infirmary to see many of the wounded soldiers up and moving about as best they could. Their hesitant smiles and excited eyes were quite delightful to witness as they shuffled about and tested their balance. She had been about to order them all back into bed, but the room was very quickly overflowing with their excited comrades, ready to celebrate their recoveries.

Nisa had decided to watch them all silently for the better part of an hour as the sun sank beneath the trees, hissing a warning at the well meaning who greeted their wounded brothers and sister a bit too zealously, and fielding questions as they came.

Despite a majority of her better judgment, she had allowed the recovered soldiers to move back to their barracks, with strict orders to check in every morning and every evening and report any pain.

Only Erchor remained, watching forlornly from his bed as his fellow wounded laughed and celebrated before being led back to the barracks by their friends’ steady hands. All who had visited wished Erchor a quick recovery, many leaving treats, gifts, and squeezes of the hand. Even a well-worn sketchbook had been left on his chest, left by a woman who stroked his hair maternally before she parted.

The young ellon had watched his friends’ retreating backs with such dismay, Nisa found herself wandering over to him and standing at his bedside. He didn’t seem to notice her immediately, still staring forlornly at the now closed infirmary doors and she stood awkwardly above him, clenching the fabric of her robes in her hand as she thought of what to say. When she tried to offer comfort to her brothers, they usually snarled at her for hovering.

“Would you like me to cut one for you?”

Erchor had started and looked over to her in surprise. He blinked before answering. “I’m sorry?”

Nisa nodded at the basket of fresh picked apples on the bedside table, bright and round. “It’s about time for you to eat anyway.”

“Oh, I…yes. Please.”

After scuttling away to locate a knife and empty bowl, Nisa had pulled a stool to his bedside and began slicing silently.

“You will be on your feet within the next day or two,” she finally reassured him when his miserable expression did not fade. “I am sure none of you are used to being bedridden with any injuries, but the throat is quite a delicate area and must be considered as such. The last thing we want is your stitches to tear at an inopportune moment and you end up right back here.”

As if remembering he had stitches, Erchor stretched his neck, but stopped when Nisa paused her cutting and narrowed her eyes at him.

“What will happen to these stitches?”

“Your body will break them down and they will dissolve naturally. You just have more than your comrades.”

The initial awkwardness gone, they sat in companionable silence as Nisa continued cutting the apple into manageable pieces that would not bother his throat. She noticed he continued squirming in his position, twitching this way and that before huffing when he couldn’t get comfortable.

“You remind me of my brothers,” she finally noted as she set the now full bowl on the bed near his hand. “They can never sit still, especially when they are forced to do so.”

Erchor gently placed a cube of apple in his mouth and chewed slowly. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Six.”

He winced, which was the usual reaction she received to that fact. “My sister often says one brother is too many.”

His expression became miserable again. “I wish she was here sometimes.”

“Where is she now?”

“Minas Tirith, helping rebuild their weapons cache.”

“How interesting. My brother, Arodalph, builds his own bows…”

They had sat like that for a better part of the morning until Erchor had finished his apple and nodded off to sleep, his sketchbook moved to the window ledge above his bed.

After assessing his breathing and the state of his stitches, Nisa had trudged to the library for the dreaded task of reviewing the notes of the last children who had died of this strange illness. It was usually a task she looked forward to, like pushing together pieces of a puzzle, but she took no excitement in reading about the suffering of children when there was no remedy in sight.

Now, firmly engrossed in a dour mood, she tossed the notebook aside and scrubbed at her eyes.

The time frames between the death of one child and the arrival of another had grown smaller and smaller until, in Nitya’s case, there was only two days between them.

How long had she been here? Most of the time she did not know if the sun or moon hung in the sky and certainly could not judge the days by the meals she ate or the scant amount of sleep she found.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, she guessed it was about the eleventh or twelfth day of Nitya’s stay. Was there a sick child at their village healer being fussed over by panicked parents? Were they already on the road to the Elvenking’s Halls? Walking through the woods? Raising a fist to knock on the great oak doors?

Shaking her head against the oncoming spiral of thoughts, Nisa planted her hands on the table in front of her and pushed herself to stand. She stood there a long moment, her head hung against her chest as she attempted to combat her growing disquiet.

Hoping the day would eventually bring a decline in her anxiety and an incline in her mood, she finally tucked the notebook beneath her arm and trudged from the library with the words she had read still echoing about her skull.

The halls were blessedly quiet, which had become more and more rare as the days went by. It seemed as though many of the halls’ occupants had been sent elsewhere during the war, but had now migrated back to their home to resume their lives.

She felt a twinge of bitterness at that. When was this place supposed to feel like her home? Everywhere she turned, it felt like there was more work to be done, more mysteries to be solved, more towering expectations to meet. The only places she felt truly at ease were her bedroom and the conservatory, both of which she found scant time to be in.

“That is quite a face, hina .”

Nisa looked up as Miluiwen came to a stop in front of her, arms folded across her chest as she gave Nisa a slow once over. Her eyes narrowed on Nisa’s disheveled braid and she looked for a moment like she might reach out to fix it, but Nisa’s grim expression seemed to give her pause. Nisa herself couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t bite the other woman’s fingers off if she strayed too close.

“It’s been a long day.”

“It is not yet eleven in the morning.”

“Exactly.”

“And I see you have let yourself fall apart when I am not trailing after you. When was the last time you took a bath?”

“I’ve been busy,” Nisa grumbled as she fussed with the billowing sleeves of robes she knew also needed a wash. She felt a child, dirty and grumpy and scolded by her elders. She eyed the envelope in between Miluiwen’s fingers, the stock a deep, familiar purple. Her heart perked up in her chest.

“Is that from home?”

Miluiwen shifted slightly but nodded as her fingers flexed around the letter. “Yes, it is from your mother.”

Nisa’s dark mood lifted its head at the thought of hearing news from home, especially from her mother, who had never been hesitant in writing about the going ons of home while Nisa was away. Many a time she had written her frustration with her many sons, her adoration or her grandchildren, and how Nisa’s precious plants and wildlife were faring in her absence.

Nisa held out her hand expectantly eager for even a glimpse of her mother’s flourishing script. “May I have it?”

Miluiwen’s did not move and did not offer up the letter, but her face wrinkled in what appeared, strangely, to be pity. 

“It is not for you, hina . Your mother wrote a simple missive to me and asked for me to keep her appraised of your well being.”

Slowly lowering her hand, Nisa felt her heart wilt as well, and an unfamiliar melancholy take root.

Her time in Eryn Lasgalen had been a panic-plagued haze, so full of pain and terrible anticipation. She could barely squeeze in a proper meal, let alone worry about correspondence. Now, she wondered why it took her so long to realize she had not received a single letter from her family or otherwise.

“Has anyone from my family written to me?” She hated how small her voice sounded.

Looking like she herself wanted to cry, Miluiwen stepped forward and squeezed Nisa’s arms. Nisa’s body reacted severely to the touch, but she managed not to slap the other woman’s hands away, even despite a sudden strong desire to hit something.

“Do not be angry with your family, hina ,” Milluiwen responded, her mouth twisted at Nisa’s distress. “Things are quite restless in Elfalia at the moment and they are often engaged with keeping peace.”

This time, Nisa did shake off the hands on her arms. Miluiwen stepped back with practiced grace and crossed her arms again, as if preparing for battle.

Well, Nisa could give her a battle.

“What is going on at home, Miluiwen?”

If there was one thing she could be given an answer to, maybe it could be this, but she did not have high hopes.

As she predicted, Miluiwen only sighed in response. “Your father has sworn me to discretion, Nisa,” she explained. “He and your mother did not want to add any more worry to your time here. All this change for you was already so sudden.”

Nisa exhaled sharply through her nostrils and ground her teeth before speaking. “Have any of you considered that not knowing is more of a burden. Do you know what it was like to find out from someone else that something is wrong in my own home?”

Miluiwen looked a bit taken back, no doubt because it was rare that Nisa lost her temper in any serious way.

“And who are they to decide I cannot stomach change? My entire life has been change and illness and death. I was unaware you all thought me so delicate.” 

Only years of royal coaching kept her from raising her voice to indecorous levels. A deep part of her also knew it was unfair to take her frustrations out on Miluiwen, who, ultimately, had sworn fealty to her father and not to her.

She felt so…tired. Of what, she wasn’t sure. Confusion? Loneliness? Hopelessness? Nothing made sense and no one was telling her anything. Or maybe her mind was already waiting at the doors to the palace for another sick child to shuffle in, skin black and pain dark in their eyes.

Feeling the heavy weight of resignation, she reached up and rubbed her temple, the flyaway hairs from her braid suddenly fiercely irksome.

“It is fine, Miluiwen,” she finally stated, her voice tired with another battle lost. “Write my mother and tell her I am doing well.”

“Nisanthiel—”

“Miluiwen. Please.”

The crack of her voice had two guards looking over their shoulders and fixing the two elleths with serious looks.

Also knowing when she had lost a battle, Miluiwen kept her mouth shut and nodded, her knuckles white around the letter in her hand.

Nodding at the two soldiers, who looked away in response to the diffused situation, Nisa continued past her lady’s maid, the healer’s notebook burning against the skin of her arm.

Walking into the infirmary, her eye first went to Erchor, who was sketching in his bed, his face creased in concentration. His lunch had been cleared, as well as three apples he had been gifted. He would likely return to the barracks by the evening.

Even as she approached, he did not look up from his work, his brow hard over squinted eyed. She could not quite see what he was drawing, but his hand moved almost violently across the page and a black lump of charcoal left smudges across his hand.

“May I see?”

Erchor leapt nearly a foot from his bed and Nisa had a horrifying premonition of his remaining stitches bursting from his neck. Thankfully, he settled quickly, an embarrassed blush blooming on his cheeks.

“Oh, your majesty, I…”

He seemed at war with himself and she quickly jumped in again.

“You are under no obligation to show me your work, Erchor. I understand wanting privacy.”

She herself had developed a strange habit of snapping her teeth at people who approached her when she was experimenting with delicate ingredients.

That seemed to calm him and he settled back into his bed. “It is nothing important,” he explained. “It just…helps me think, I guess. Gets everything out of my brain and onto a page.”

“I understand,” Nisa said, unable to meet his eye at the lie. She wished it was that easy, that she could also put everything in front of her and make it make some sort of sense, if even for a moment.

“I think you will be ready to return to the barracks by this evening.” A change of subject put her at ease and she felt her mood lift an ounce as he visibly perked up at her words. “We will take a look at your stitches this evening, test your movement, and see where you are.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Erchor reached out and grabbed her hand. Though her body revolted at the skin-to-skin contact, she didn’t pull away. “For everything.” His young face was so solemn, she squeezed his hand back with equal fervor. “You’re very welcome, Erchor.”

With that, she released his hand and turned, almost running into Arniar’s chest. Her mood plummeting once again, she all but lifted her lip in a snarl. Even the face of this ellon made her vision cloud with red.

“You should not be so familiar with those of lesser stations, my lady,” he started, his voice dripping with its usual vainglory, even as he deliberately snubbed her title.

Bristling, Nisa looked to see if Erchor had heard the blatant insult, but he was once again engrossed in his sketch, his nose all but pressed against the page. Her eyes snapping back to Arniar, she hoped they were as venomous as they felt. Arniar lowered his chin in reply and all but set his stance wider. He had been looking for a fight.

“I do not consider any of my subjects unworthy of physical comfort when needed, Arniar,” she said in a low tone. “And I do not appreciate your implication.”

She wove past him, but he was close behind her. 

“I implied nothing, my lady.”

“You implied many things, you simply did not state them outright, which I would appreciate in the future.” She did not often understand snide comments, but she knew when she was being insulted.

His condescending smirk made her want to rake her nails down his proud face. “I didn’t come to argue with you, my lady,” he replied smoothly, as if he could not imagine such a thing. “I came to update you on our young charge’s condition.”

Coming to a stop, she bit her tongue and turned to face him. “What is it?”

“He has spent most of the morning sitting upright in bed, holding his head well on his neck and his muscles are generally under control except for a few errant tremors.”

“How are his physical tasks?”

“He is being stretched every hour and lifting items of lesser weight. He goes on a short walk up and down the private infirmary every two hours.”

“Scars?”

“Compression garments have been applied to flatten them and range-of-motion exercises seem to aid with flexibility.”

“Good. What is he doing now?”

“Attempting to eat lunch. The red haired girl seems to do well with this task, but I cannot seem to locate her, unfortunately.”

If he was deliberately trying to land Gwaeniel in trouble, he had failed.

“Gwaeniel is doing some menial tasks for me,” Nisa explained. “She is creating a supply of tonics, topicals and other medicines we can use if needed.” She was also keeping a close eye on the Calima Beetle, but Nisa imagined that would give Arniar another excuse to bother her and insert himself where he did not belong.

“I will help Nitya eat his lunch. If you are not currently engaged in a task, I am sure Oriel or Thendor have something you can help them with.”

Arniar looked ready to argue, but held his tongue. He turned on his heel with more flourish than she could ever hope to manage and swept from the infirmary. Giving her neck an unladylike crack, Nisa all but stormed into the private infirmary.

Attempting to check her mood at the door, her heart gave a flutter at the sight of Nita sitting at a small table, bent over a tray of food. It was a sight equal parts pathetic and hopeful and she could no longer find it in herself to be upset about the day so far.

“How are you feeling today, melda ?” she asked as she approached him, careful not to startle him. Nitya managed to turn his head slightly to look at her, but not for long. He was no doubt exhausted from many rounds of exercises, stretches and physical activities meant to strengthen his body. Such efforts often left the mind wearisome.

Looking at his tray, she took in the thick yellow soup, bed of greens and brown roll in front of him. Beleg had also taken up a post on the table, close to the hand Nitya had clutched around a spoon. She could tell by the undisturbed liquid in the bowl that he had not quite managed a bite yet.

Pulling up her own chair, Nisa took a seat next to him and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and the notebook still clutched in her elbow.

“How about we eat some lunch, hm?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

What felt like many hours later, Nisa lumbered from the infirmary and into the hallway. Much like she did the night those soldiers came in on their deathbeds, she crossed the hall and leaned her forehead against the cool stone. Two hours spent sitting hunched over Nitya, watching with rapt attention as he moved one slow spoonful after another from the bowl to his mouth. Always waiting for him to drop the utensil, spill the hot liquid, loll his head from exertion and choke.

She was exhausted and she was not even the one that was ill.

As she considered taking a quick nap right there against the wall, she heard the patter of quick moving feet and knew she was in no such luck.

“Your majesty!”

It was Tauriel’s breathless voice that made her grunt in reply.

“There is a commotion in your chambers. The king is there with some guards.”

Hû.

Feeling a murderous surge of anger, she all but shoved past the captain and stormed down the hall. 

It was a quick stride to her rooms and she threw open the doors with a clatter, having heard the cacophony of voices a full hallway away.

Her chambers certainly were full. A group of armed guards stood around the king, who was glaring fiercely at Hû, the dog looking happily up at him. Gwaeniel stood on the other side of the room, the Cailma Beetle jar clutched in her arms and a terrified expression on her face. When she caught sight of Nisa, her blue eyes brightened with tears.

“I’m sorry your majesty,” she rushed as Nisa strode to her side. “Arniar followed me in from the conservatory.”

The ellon stood next to the king, his arms crossed proudly over his chest, his face serious. Ignoring the problem at hand, she pinned the healer with a furious glare. “You entered my rooms without permission?”

“I simply followed Gwaeniel in,” he retorted as if it was nothing.

“Healer Gwaeniel has my expressed permission to enter and leave my chambers as she pleases,” Nisa replied, her voice rising. “You do not.”

As Arniar opened his mouth to argue, Thranduil’s voice was a resonating snap of noise.

“That is enough. Both of you.”

Arniar and Nisa glared at each other for another moment before turning their heads to look at the king. He was looking at Nisa, more furious than she had ever seen him.

“Why have you brought a warg into my halls?”

“I…beg your pardon?”

“You have brought one of those infernal beasts into my halls and I demand to know why.”

Hû had meandered over to Nisa and shrugged his oblong head beneath her palm, licking at her skin. She looked down at him, the horrible reality setting in.
She had never seen a warg, only heard stories from wide eyed survivors.

Such teeth…a mouth to swallow your leg whole…strong as an oxen and all but bigger…a snarl like the call of death…agony in its eyes…

Hû made a snuffling noise and shoved at her hand when she did not respond to his pleas for affection. 

She could certainly so the physical traits others described, certainly his massive skull and teeth, his shocking size. But as he stared into her face with unashamed adoration, she felt a fierce wave of protectiveness. This was something she could save. 

Clenching her hand in the fur of his skull, she threw her shoulders back and met eyes with the king.

“This is my pet. I found him injured on the side of the road during my travels here and gave him aid.”

Arniar scoffed, but Thranduil paid him no mind, his eyes still on Nisa’s face. She could not find it in herself to shy from his anger. If she did, it was over.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed furiously. “These creatures are demons and they have taken thousands of lives. Innocent lives.”

“Hû is not but 5 months old, at most,” Nisa answered, keeping her eyes on the group of guards she wasn’t sure were inching closer or not. “He has not harmed a fly and eats from my hand. He sleeps next to me at night, as well as through most of the day. He has not hurt a single person and he has been here as long as I have.”

The doors to the room flew open again and it was Miluiwen who bustled in this time, her face set for war. Slapping away the hands of the guards that reached to push her back, she took her place at Nisa’s side, somehow the tallest person in the room at that moment. Nisa was grateful for her support, despite their many arguments about Hû’s presence. Tauriel trailed in after her, her face crestfallen as she closed the doors softly on this impromptu meeting. When she spotted the back of Arniar’s blonde head, her lip curled in distaste and Nisa would have laughed if not for her fear of Hû’s life.

“You have had that thing here since you arrived?” Thranduil asked incredulously, his voice still hard despite his apparent shock.

“Yes,” she answered honestly, feeling very alone in the face of his ire. “I could not just leave him on the side of the road. And you have my word, on my kingdom’s honor, that I had no malicious intent. I thought he was simply a malformed wolf pup and did not think him strong or able enough to release into the wild. He was too young to hunt when he was found and he has now only been hand fed. He will die if he is released at this time.”

As Hû licked her palm, she felt a sudden wave of sadness at the thought and her chest gave a short heave. Her heart yawned into a pit with no end in sight and a hopelessness prowled forth, darker and stronger than any she had felt so far in Eryn Lasgalen. 

No one spoke for a time and Thranduil cocked his head imperceptibly to the side as he and Nisa stared at each other. He seemed to pull back slightly, his arms over his chest.

“I cannot allow a warg to stay here.”

“He has done no harm.” She hated the small pleading in her voice, but her hand in Hû’s fur tightened with resolve. “He is a babe and he acts as such. He has not so much as nibbled my hand, even when I am holding food. This is my pet.” 

Thranduil cocked a brow. “This is a battle you are willing to fight?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her answer. If Hû left, so did she. The inclination was completely irrational, would not hold up in front of her father or even a gentle questioning from her mother, but this was the hill she would bloody herself on. She needed to save something, if not a wicked warg puppy that could not keep his tongue in his mouth.

“I am well acquainted with this warg, your majesty.” Tauriel’s voice was a ringing bell over the room and there was a clatter of armor and metal as everyone turned to look at her. The captain moved through the gaggle of guards and came to Nisa’s other side, gently shouldering the still shaking Gwaeniel a bit behind her.

“I have spent afternoons with her majesty and this…pet. I do not think it has a malicious bone in its body.”

Nisa felt a stab of panic for the captain, who was already on tenuous ground with her soldiers and the king’s grace.

“I have as well.” Gwaeniel’s voice was shockingly strong as she jostled for a position at Nisa’s side. “He naps at my feet when I do work here and I’ve seen him chase fireflies that make it through the windows.” She looked down at the panting warg. “He is quite dumb if I may say.”

“I know my opinion does not mean much in these halls,” Miluiwen cut in, her voice drawing everyone’s attention like a boom of sound. “But over ten millennia of life have given me good judgment of the creatures I come across.” A nonchalant shrug. “He is more apt to lick your face than bite your hand.”

“This is preposterous,” Arniar suddenly cut in with all the authority of the king himself. “That thing does not belong here and it will be removed.” A jerk of his head and the guards moved forward.

“I said no!”

Nisa’s voice was a crack of sound as anger shot through her. The guards came to a clambering stop, confused as to who to defer to. Arniar had been in the Elvenking’s halls for thousands of years, stood as close companion to the king, but Nisa was queen consort and royalty in her own right.

It was Thranduil, the unequivocal authority in the room, who shot them the look that made them pull back and stand at attention, the ends of their bows rattling against the floor. Arniar exhaled furiously, but wisely held his tongue.

No one spoke for a long moment, Hû’s grunting the only noise. Looking from his soldiers, to Arniar, to Nisa, Thranduil raised his chin at her. She braced herself.

“You will take full responsibility for this creature?”

“I have been since I arrived.”

His jaw worked beneath his skin and she noticed the muscles in his temple jump. His emotions were warping the magic concealing his scars.

His voice became dangerously low and she felt the first draft of fear since this standoff began. “If that thing harms a single living soul in these halls, you will reap the consequences. Do you understand?”

A slow nod.

Thranduil turned on his heel, holding furious eye contact with her as long as he could before his eyes narrowed on the side of Arniar’s face. The other man was too busy glaring at Nisa to notice, but soon trailed after the king, the guards close behind.

When the door clicked shut behind them, air seemed to flood the room and the remaining women sagged.

Gwaeniel spoke first in a rush. “I’m so sorry, your majesty,” she babbled. “Arniar saw me coming from the conservatory and demanded to know what was in the jar.” She clutched the Calima Beetle protectively to her chest. “I did not expect him to follow me into the queen’s chambers.” Her eyes flashed with indignation “I can’t believe he had the nerve.”

Nisa could well believe it. Laying a hand gently on Gwaeniel’s cheek, she held her gaze. “He had no right to come in here, Gwaeniel. You did nothing wrong.”

She felt…violated. Can anyone enter without her permission? Gwaeniel and Tuariel were her friends, Miluiwen her lady’s maid, Satardil one of her father’s most trusted guards. Who else had been in here? Touched her things? 

Feeling another wave of exhaustion, she collapsed onto the side of her bed, burying her face in her hands. She could feel the other three women looking down at her in concern. Tauriel’s voice was soft with it when she spoke.

“Your majesty?”

“I wish to be alone,” Nisa grumbled. She was being unspeakably rude, should have been thanking them for their support against the king’s ire, but it took great effort to even speak.

The three women left without a word, no doubt exchanging uneasy glances. Nisa did not raise her head from her hands as she listened to their steps. Miluiwen, predictably, hesitated at the door before pulling it closed.

As soon as the lock clicked into place, Nisa burst into tears.

Hû padded over to her, snuffling in concern as he nosed at her hands. Throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his coat, she let the long absent feelings of triumph and relief wash over her. 

It may have been just a sinister, sharp toothed warg, and she may have lost all grace from the king, but she had saved a life today and it felt like the sun had finally risen in the Elvenking’s Halls.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

“He is being insufferable today.”

Nisa sighed at Miluiwen’s observation. Having exited the tub a few moments before, she had been weaving her wet hair into a braid when Miluiwen came in from the hall, Hû greeting her enthusiastically at the door.

“I know. I do not know what has gotten into him.”

“All the excitement from yesterday,” Miluiwen pointed out. “He is now aware there are other people besides us, the captain, and that nervous little healer running about.”

“And Legolas.”

“Lord Amarher says the prince has not been seen in days, most likely off in some forbidden part of the forest to hunt the last remaining spider nests.”

As they stared down at the warg, Hû sat happily on his rump, panting and looking from one of them to the other with giddy anticipation. 

Knowing he was a warg was a relief, as Nisa had never liked such mysteries, but it dealt a new hand of worry. How big did wargs grow? Would he gain another ten pounds? Another hundred? His head was already past her hip, nearly to the ribs on Miluiwen’s abnormally diminutive frame. He could not be cloistered in here for much longer, having already taken to pawing a scar into the door.

“We should try and take him outside for longer times. I do not think the quick stints we have done for him to relieve himself have been sufficient,” Nisa conceded as she tossed her tied back hair over her shoulder. It had grown so long it bumped the small of her back even in a braid. “Maybe at night so no one sees.”

Miluiwen sniffed and waved her hand dismissively. “Elves gossip like hens, hina . Every ellon, elleth and hên are aware of him now. No use hiding him any longer.”

Nisa shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. Despite her many confrontations the day before, she had always been loath to upset others unnecessarily. It was one thing to keep a growing warg in residence, quite another to parade him through the halls without a care. She was already met with suspicion from many of the woodland elves and this would not aid her case.

“I am not sure, Miluiwen…”

“He is growing restless and will soon scratch a hole through that door, Nisanthiel. Exercise and a run through the forest will do him good and rid him of some energy. You were much the same as a child.”

Rolling her eyes, Nisa gave her braid a tug, shuffling away when Miluiwen reached out to slap at her hand. She finally huffed in irritation and threw her hands out.

“We can’t take him out like this. He needs a bath and a brush before anyone else lays eyes on him. I’m already ashamed he was seen like this yesterday by so many people, as well as the king.” He did look frightful with his wild, untrimmed hair and uncut nails.

Miluiwen was already striding to the door and pulling it open. “I will send a guard down for Satardil and some grooming brushes—Don’t you dare!”

Nisa dropped the brush she had been reaching for on her vanity, blinking at Miluiwen’s proclamation. “That brush is near as old as me and you will not use it on that mongrel.”

A few snipped words at a passing guard, who changed direction toward the stables with a stiff back.

Nisa snorted. “They’re afraid of you.”

“They’re afraid of you.”

Rolling her eyes, Nisa ran a hand through a few tangles in Hû coat. “That is ridiculous, Miluiwen.”

“You exercised your right as queen consort for the first time yesterday, hina .” Nisa looked up at her, confused. “I exercise my authority often.”

“Yes, as a healer. Not as a queen with weight of word.” Miluiwen’s lip curled in much the way Tauriel’s had. “The nerve of that Arniar, ordering the guards about. He is lucky the king did not remove his head. And entering your chambers without permission!”

There was a silence as Nisa worked away a few stubborn tangles, Hû nipping at her fingers. “I still think they fear you.”

Miluiwen turned her nose up. “As they should. I was alive long before the first of their lines were even a thought.”

Satardil poked his shaggy head in at that moment and Hû bounded to his feet with a bark that nearly shook the bed frame. Bounding across the room, he rose onto his hindlegs and placed his front paws square on Satardil’s chest, knocking the sturdy elf back a step. Satardil recovered quickly, running his hands roughly over Hû’s ears. The warg’s eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“A warg, eh? Been wondering what you are, you great beast.”

Still scratching vigorously behind Hû’s ear, he let the sack slung over his shoulder clatter to the floor. Thick-bristle brushes and combs scattered across the stone. “These might work, but he has quite the coat on him.”

Nisa sighed as she leaned down and gathered up the brushes in the sack again. “We will have to make do for now. I can’t imagine how the horses will react if we take him to the stables to bathe him. Let’s get him into the tub.”

“Absolutely not,” Miluiwen snapped immediately. “You will not destroy that beautiful tub with this mutt.”

Nisa turned and went glare to glare with her. “Miluiwen. He needs a bath. I am pulling rank here. He must be bathed before he is brushed and that is final.”

Miluiwen’s lips twisted in the way that meant Nisa usually needed to guard her ear from a sharp slap, but the small woman just cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Let us get this over with.”

The three of them slowly moved toward Hû, who sat there happily, completely oblivious.

The process was relatively painless. Hû just seemed happy for attention and to be involved, bounding into the tub and pawing at the gathering water until Miluiwen rapped him hard on the snout. He actually seemed to greatly enjoy the process, closing his eyes as they rubbed the water into his fur and combed through the many knots.

It was only when he bounded from the tub and gave a vigorous shake that they cursed and took cover, Miluiwen complaining about having to explain the mess to the maids.

“Your majesty?”

Gwaeniel’s soft voice had Hû’s head whipping around before he bounded back into the bedroom.

“Hû!”

Nisa burst into her bedroom just in time to see the warg rear back onto his hind legs and greet the willowy Gwaeniel with an enthusiastic lick to the face. The young healer’s face burst into that bright smile as she wrapped her arms around the hound and welcomed his kisses.

“I’m sorry, Gwaeniel.” Nisa cringed as she approached. “He is soaking wet.”

“He looks lovely,” Gwaeniel replied as she began smoothing the damp hair on his snout and around his eyes. “Much more handsome than before.” Hû huffed as if in thanks.

“We need to take him outside,” Nisa explained, her heart tight with anticipation as she squeezed the fabric of her robes in her fists. Once. Twice. “I am worried of frightening people.”

“I will do it!”

Nisa blinked at Gwaeniel’s enthusiastic proclamation, taking in her bright smile and excited eyes.

“You do not have to, Gwaeniel…”

“Oh, I’d love to. I have been inside for days and I would very much like to go on a walk.” Her delicate mouth twisted. “Arniar is also hovering constantly and I would like to be free of his presence at the moment.”

Making a mental note to approach Oriel about assigning Arniar and Gwaeniel to as many separate tasks as possible, Nisa looked to Hû, who was still staring up at Gwaeniel with undisguised adoration.

“If you are comfortable with the possible judgment you will receive from the people you pass, then yes, of course you may take a walk with him. But please remain close to the Halls and do not venture far into the woods. And go with a guard. Not that you would make it far without one, I assume.”

Anxiety was a heavy beat in her chest. She felt much the same way when watching her nieces and nephews endeavor too far from her sight while out on walks and flower-gathering excursions. If Hû took off, there was no catching him, even for a well trained elf.

Her face lighting up, Gwaeniel bobbed into an informal curtsy before urging Hû along in an excited voice that immediately riled the warg into an excited frenzy. They both took off out the door and Nisa immediately heard horrified gasps from the hallway’s occupants, followed by quick pattering of feet, as if they were rushing to clear a path. That did not seem to deter Gwaeniel or Hû, as Nisa heard her excited murmurs and his pants well down the hallway.

Miluiwen shook her head. “I envy her openness. Oh, to be that young again.”

Forcing herself to release her robes from her fists, Nisa took a steadying breath and also headed for the door. Hû’s presence no longer being a secret was a welcome weight off her shoulders, but there was plenty more to worry about and plenty else to do. 

“I am going to stop by the infirmary and check on Nitya and Erchor,” she said more to herself than to Miluiwen. “Then I will go to the conservatory and prepare more plants. After that, I am sure I will be in the library if you need me.”

Miluiwen shook her head. “So I am to hunt you down through these vast halls, tray in hand, just for the hope of getting you to eat something?”

“Yes, most likely.”

With that, she grabbed her satchel of seeds from her vanity chair and headed into the hall. 

As she walked to the conservatory, she was well aware of the hostile stares and whispered warg s barely concealed behind raised hands. Two women outright sneered at her, but she looked straight ahead, clutching the strap of her satchel tightly.

She was confident in her convictions that Hû posed no harm to any occupant of the Elvenking’s Halls, but her recent feelings of acceptance were beginning to wane again. A tight inner circle was growing around her, and she was profoundly grateful, but this new open hostility felt like taking a backward leap.

Opening the door to the conservatory, she closed her eyes against the heat of the sun. A hand still on the doorknob, she stood still for a long moment, inhaling deeply, as if she could breathe the sunlight into her lungs.

“Why, hello there!”

Letting out a yelp, her eyes flew open and she spotted a man kneeling on the dirt covered ground. He must have been human, his face and hands carved with the deep lines of age. The smile on his face was as warm as the sun shining through the glass.

“Oh, I…hello.”

Planting his fist into the ground, he pushed himself to his feet with a groan, moving with the speed of someone no longer steady on their joints. 

When he was standing, he huffed and resumed his smile before bowing low to her. “Your majesty. I am Baldorl, King Thranduil’s head gardener.” Nisa must not have been able to hide her shock, because Baldorl gave a great laugh.

“Yes, I am a Man, have been for 87 years. 40 of those years have been spent tending to the green life of Mirkwood. Well, Eryn Lasgalen now. Still trying to get used to the name change.”

Realizing she was being rude, Nisa quickly crossed the room and took one of his glove-covered hands in both of hers, giving it an excited squeeze. “I’m very happy you are here,” she told him honestly. With his free hand, he reached out and patted her own, much like her father often did.

“I have been gone a long while,” he said as he began walking toward one of the benches lining the wall, and Nisa noticed he had a limp as he walked. “I have been aiding in rebuilding the more heavily affected areas after the war. Mirkwood had been affected by Sauron since long before I was even a thought and us gardeners were not needed for long periods of time. The king often sends us out on relief efforts to other villages and kingdoms. I returned only this morning.”

“What brought you back?”

Had something happened? Another thing she wasn’t aware of? Was something occuring in the forest?

“We were all recalled when the king’s marriage was announced so we could aid you in your efforts against whatever this plague is. I just happened to be the first to arrive.” Setting his discarded gloves on the bench, he turned to face Nisa. “So, your majesty,” a hand on his rounded stomach and a bow at the neck, “I am at your service.”

Nisa was already taking her satchel off and placing the packets of seeds on the table. “What do you specialize in?”

“Largely crops, but I have had my hands in the dirt since before I could crawl. There is not much I cannot plant.” His eyes went to the seeds on the table. “I am actually quite excited to see the plants you have brought from Elfalia. They are what Men like me often read about but never have a chance to see.”

“Oh! Well this one…”

Heart heart lighting up at the fact she could finally share her unabashed love of plant life with someone, she took off into a delighted speech about the seeds she had laid out in front of her, starting with the Perfumed Hogweed, a perfectly round blue seed she had to stop from rolling off the table.

Baldorl listened with captivated silence, his eyes darting from her face to the seeds as he nodded along with her words. His mouth parted in awe every so often, his eyes widening when he learned how magnificent and exceptionally dangerous some of her unassuming flowers could be.

“Elfalian flora is….” He shook his shaggy white head as he searched for a word to describe all he had learned in just a few short moments.

“Quite fascinating,” Nisa filled in for him, her face growing sore from the smile splitting her face. “I have brought thousands from home and I have had no one to share my ardor with. My brothers have told me I can be quite obsessive and they have perfected the skill of ignoring my rants.”

Baldorl looked stricken and he patted the back of her hand again in that fatherly way. “Well, my dear, you will never lack an attentive ear while I am in these halls.” Another smile broke out onto his face and he clapped his hands together. “Now! What are we planting today, your highness?”

Her responsibilities in the library and infirmary forgotten, she dove headlong into filling the empty pots and soil-covered floor with zeal. She felt perfectly content as she knelt on the floor, her pristine healer’s robes covered in dirt and her previously clean hair sticking to her skin as the sun beat through the glass.

She felt more at home than she had since she arrived, surrounded by pots and seeds with her hands buried to the wrist in thick soil. She and Baldorl laughed and spoke like old friends recalling fond memories. She told him of her long experience as a healer and botanist, traveling through Middle Earth to see all its plants and wildlife and treat the sick. 

She learned Baldorl had been born in Bree and plant life was in his blood, every generation of his family having been pipe weed farmers. He had traveled throughout his twenties, learning about the plant life of Middle Earth before settling in a small village of Men on the edge of what had then been Mirkwood, marrying a baker woman, and having three lovely daughters. It had been his ability to grow rare herbs and grains for his wife’s breads that gained him the attention of the elves, who often flocked to her shop for her wares. It had been Amarher who convinced him to take up a position at Thranduil’s court as a gardener tending to and growing the remaining plant life in the forest, especially the necessary crops and sources of food. He had been over the moon when he was called back to court and learned through Amarher’s letters that Eryn Lasgalen was beginning to nurse itself back to health.

He eventually leaned back on his heels, taking a deep breath of the recently turned soil. “But now we have this horrible plague on our children. I have heard of nothing like it in my life.”

Wiping the back of a dirt covered hand across her forehead, Nisa sat back on her heels as well. “The Dragonfire balm seems to be working well and much of what we are planting today will provide further pain relief, but there is no guidance as to how to treat whatever the source is. It does not seem to be an infection or a virus. It just…appears overnight and grows from there.”

Baldorl suddenly sighed heavily and placed a hand over his chest, as if feeling physical pain. Nisa scrambled to her feet and rushed to his side, holding his wrist to feel for the beat of his heart. “Are you alright?”

Baldorl chuckled and patted her hand on his wrist. “Quite well, my dear. My wife says I am even more sensitive than our daughters and granddaughters. I cry at the simple drop of a hat.” A chortle. “It’s why I could never discipline the girls. That was up to my wife.”

Relief a wave in her chest, Nisa pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand. “No matter, we are done for today.” Baldorl took her arm and she pulled him easily to his feet. “Unless you would like to continue with the stored seeds in the crates along the wall. I must go to the infirmary and the library before the evening and my lady’s maid tracks me down to eat dinner. She allows me to skip lunch, but never evening meals.”

“Wise woman,” Baldorl replied with a familiar wag of his finger. “A good sleep cannot be found on an empty stomach.”

Biting back the irritation that she may very well have another person to bother her about her eating habits, Nisa headed toward the crates and pulled the lid off the first one. “Some of these can be planted in pots, others in the soil, but some require more specialized conditions. The notebooks on that ledge will guide you through what can be planted where—”

She turned when the doors burst open and Amarher strode through. Looking around, he caught sight of Baldorl and his face broke out in an excited grin. “Baldorl, my good man!”

Baldorl looked over and gave a hoot of greeting and the two men crossed the vast room, Amarher with a wide stride and Baldorl with his uneven gate. Their back-slapping hug was so forceful Nisa winced, mourning Baldorl’s brittle, mortal bones beneath Amarher’s elven strength.

As the two men caught up, Nisa looked down at herself. Her robes were covered in soil, as were much of her bare forearms. She could also feel it on the skin of her neck and face, where she had wiped away sweat and residue. Miluiwen would tear her hair out.

As she tried to sidle past the reunion, Amarher turned to her and bowed. “I actually came in here for the queen consort.” She stopped, blinking in question. Amarher waved her toward the door. When his words came, they did not match his relaxed demeanor. “The king requires your assistance quite urgently.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “Did he say what was the matter?”

“No, just that he needs you in his chancery. Immediately.”

A thousand different crises beating about her skull, Nisa darted out the door and made quick work of getting to Thradnuil’s chancery, ignoring the shocked looks at her filthy robes with practiced ease.

Her heart near bursting from her throat, she burst into the king’s chancery without knocking.

She was met with the calm, composed figure of the king where he stood at the side of his desk, an open tome in his hands and his elbow resting against a shelf of a bookcase. Even at rest, he appeared completely regal and beyond reach. Nisa felt positively filthy compared to his untouched refinement.

They stared at each other for a moment, Thranduil’s only indication of shock being a quick blink. He finally broke the silence and his tone was arctic.

“Is something the matter, Princess Nisanthiel? You certainly burst in here like there is.” He gave her a once over. “And dragged plenty of dirt into my chancery.” He was obviously still quite cross with her concerning the warg situation.

Closing the doors behind her, Nisa wiped her hands on her robes. “Amarher told me you needed me urgently. He did not tell me why but I did not want to waste any time.”

Thranduil immediately donned a furious scowl that took her by such surprise she almost backed into the door. 

“It is this Dragonfire balm,” he snapped, tossing the thick book onto his desk with a heavy thud. “He has been quite irksome about me applying it. We were discussing it not 20 minutes ago and I had to remove him bodily from the room.” His eyes narrowed on her. “It seems he has sicked you on me in his stead.”

“Oh,” Nisa replied, her heart beginning to slow from its earlier panic. “Have you not used it yet?”

He cut her an irritated look. “It would be a tedious process and I have not quite found the time among my realm’s constant troubles.”

She watched, interested, as the tiny muscles at his temple pulled tight as they had when he had been confronting her about Hû.

“Your burns bother you when you feel strong emotions,” she observed, more to herself than to him. 

He glared at her. “Yes,” he snapped, his tone rising as his temper frayed. “It has always been as such. The magic must be constantly maintained, and tedious conversations and arguments make the process difficult.” Another irritated look. “Much like this one is.”

Having treated many bad tempered warriors and their precious pride, Nisa did not bother to hide her eye roll as she crossed the room and aimed for the jar of Dragonfire’s balm sitting untouched on the desk. Maybe it was her recent few hours in the sun and dirt, or the fact that she had managed to assert herself about Hû in front of what had seemed to be half the court, but she was feeling uncharacteristically bold this day.

“We can apply it now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“And why not?”

“Because it is unnecessary and inappropriate. I am also busy at this time.”

“It is not unnecessary, it is for your health, and it is not inappropriate, as I am a qualified healer. As for time, I can apply it twice as quickly as you or anyone else in these halls.”

“Nisanthiel, you–”

“Your majesty,” her voice went up a level, “we do not know each other particularly well, but you are an intelligent man and I believe you have come to the conclusion that I can be quite tiresome when I want something, and what I would like is for you to use this Dragonfire balm that was not easy for me to make, and took a good deal of my time and plants.”

She also wanted to see him take care of himself, take active steps to relieve his pain and lean on what others were freely offering him. Those words did not leave her lips.

His arms crossed over his chest, Thranduil took a slow step toward her, his eyes burning into hers. She was well aware he was trying to intimidate her into submission, but that only steadied her resolve. Twisting her mouth, she tilted her head back to meet his eyes and held the jar of balm resolutely in one hand.

Finally, Thranduil scowled fiercely at her and she almost cowed beneath its intensity, but she had a lovely morning thus far and she was not going to let this bear of a man ruin it.

“If I allow you to do this,” he snarled in a low tone. “Will you and Amarher leave me be ?”

“I promise,” Nisa replied in all seriousness. He did truly seem at the end of his temper and she was loath to push him any farther. He was already allowing a warg in his home for her sake.

His face still furious, Thranduil cursed and jerked away from her, slipping his robe from his shoulders as he did so. Watching him do so felt oddly intimate, so Nisa turned back to his desk, making a show of setting down the jar of balm and preparing it for application. She told him this would be in no way inappropriate, and she intended to honor her words.

As she slowly undid the tight lid, she was aware of him pulling his tunic over his head, revealing the expanse of his back. Even from the corner of her eye she could see the muscles and tendons rippling beneath his flesh. A flash of his hair as he turned back to her and she did the same, facing him with jar in hand.

She had seen many males without their shirts, many even with no clothes at all, but King Thranduil was truly…

Clearing her throat, Nisa redirected her gaze back to Thranduil’s face, which was still very much annoyed. Closing his eyes, he gave a great shudder and the skin of his abdomen and neck began to smolder and wane like a great, suffering beast.

After what seemed an eternity, she was looking at the mangled remains of his chest and throat. Much like his face, it was a ruin of tendons and ligaments, held aloft by the sturdy bones of his ribcage and the curve of his hyoid. 

As she looked upon him, she was aware of the startling absolutes that made up his physicality: clean, forceful lines of his face, from the cut of his brow and the arch of his cheeks, held high by the intractable cut of his jaw, sharp enough to draw blood. His beaten gold hair had nary a curve or angle, falling near to his waist in a severe sheet. The remaining muscles of his abdomen and throat were carved from stone and chord.

Everything about him, thought elegant and highborn, seemed built for violence, both to wreak and withstand.

One touch can cut you open . 

Her mother’s words above the first flower Nisa had ever seen, her small hand hovering precariously above an unforgiving thorn. Though plainly sharp and unrelenting in the sunlight, she had wanted to touch anyway, had still hissed and whined when she saw the tear of red on the downy pad of her finger.

This ellon would cut her open.

In more ways than one.

“Nisanthiel?”

Startling, Nisa blinked up at the king, who stared down at her with an expression akin to concern. His head was cocked to the side and for a moment she could see him as a boy, observing something puzzling.

“My apologies,” Nisa croaked. She reached up and tugged hard at her braid, the pain quickly bringing her back to the present as it always did. “My mind wandered for a moment.”

Looking away from the savage shape of him, she dipped a finger into the open jar of Dragonfire Balm and quickly went to work on finding the patches of skin closest to the fissures of the wound on his throat. 

As she ran a finger along the powerful column of his neck, she was dimly aware of his eyes fluttering shut and his jaw shifting in a brutal line. Her focus did not waver, though, every breath and swallow he took a reminder of the irreversible damage she could cause.

Only after enough time passed that her wrist and neck began to ache from the strain, did she finish treating his neck and able to move down to his abdomen. She wanted to set the heavy jar down, twist her neck on her shoulders and give her body rest before the no doubt arduous task of treating his chest and abdomen, but she did not. The king’s face had contorted into all but a furious snarl of discomfort and pain, the veins and muscles of forearms pulsing beneath the skin of his arms. Unwilling to consider her comfort over his own, she forged on.

For a brief moment, as she assessed where on his collarbone to begin her work, she considered striking up a conversation, as she did to distract most patients from their pain. She thought better of it, however, as she could not continue to provide him aid if bit her head clean off.

She worked quickly, probably the quickest she ever had in such a circumstance, running her fingers deftly along the edges of his wound. Thankfully, he was tall enough that she did not have to bend at the knee or waist for a better vantage point. 

King Thranduil stood militantly still throughout the proceedings, making barely a sound. The silence would have been stifling if she was not so focused on the task at hand.

“I am almost done, your majesty,” she reassured him well over an hour later, her voice almost intrusive in the silence of the chancery. That was, thankfully, the truth, as her wrist and arm were still throbbing from the prolonged use. 

Dipping her finger back into the jar of balm, she ran her finger along the scarred tissue over the top of his breeches, her finger brushing the fine leather of the waistband. As she did so, his body went as taut as a bow, every muscle in his abdomen straining beneath his flesh.

“Only a few more seconds…” she rushed out as she dabbed her finger along his blistered skin, moving the waistband of his breeches down slightly to reach a few centimeters of concealed skin.

Just as she was about to declare herself done, his mighty body gave a shudder and the wound receded like the ocean pulling away from the shores before his entire body jerked away from her. 

Startled at the violent motion beneath her touch, as well as the sudden lack of his body for support, she gasped and stumbled forward. Her hand landed flat against the hard planes of his abdomen and her forehead nearly collided with his chest. 

Despite having been notably close to him only moments before, this felt much more…intimate. 

Profoundly so.

Raising her head, she met his eyes, which were burning with a cold heat she could not find the origins of, his jaw set in a hard line. Opening her mouth, she made to apologize, but the words died in her throat as something bloomed low within her. 

Looking back to her hand on his abdomen, she watched, as if from a distance, as her fingers curled against the ridges of his muscles and she ran her fingers along the well defined lines. Thranduil shuddered again, but it was different from his trembles of pain. From a far off periphery, she saw his blonde hair cascade over his shoulder as he tipped his head back.

Her name came from his mouth as a warning growl, a predator lurking in the trees. 

Despite an animal part of her brain screaming at her to seek refuge, Nisa did not stop in her ill-advised exploration of him, her fingers tracing the curves and valleys of the canvas before her. He was truly a marvel, unlike any ellon or man she had ever seen. 

She understood now, the stories behind the legends of a warrior king, a champion who could cut himself from the belly of a beast, withstand dragon fire, and lead his people to war. There was nothing he seemed unable to endure.

He seemed lit from within, a pale moon beneath his breast; a testament to the power he had been burdened with. His flesh was largely unblemished, save a few shallow scars he did not seem bothered enough by to hide like his burn. She wondered at their stories.

Her finger followed a linear laceration to the right of his navel, most likely from a pitilessly sharp blade. Tapered gashes peppered his chest, much like the ones that developed after she pulled spears and arrows from the bodies of wounded soldiers. A particularly long disfiguration marred his sternum, what could only be from a haphazardly swung sword.

As she reached up to touch the puckered scar, Thranduil suddenly lashed out and grabbed her hand, enveloping it tight in the heat of his own. She gasped again. The muscles bared to her had not even flinched when he reached out.

Instead of pushing her away, he kept her hand in his and pressed their joint grip to his chest, his cupped fingers keeping her skin from reaching his.

Looking into his eyes again, she was met with that same biting heat, too cold to touch, too bright to avoid. An unforgiving winter sun.

He said her name again, this time his tone low and gentle, as if trying to rouse her from a deep sleep.

The tenderness of his voice, so unlike what she had heard from him, brought her crashing back into reality. Shame hit her like a closed fist, knocking the air from her lungs until her next breath was a choked convulsion. 

Stumbling back, she jerked her hand from his grip with enough force to throw herself off balance. Thranduil released her easily, and she was distantly aware he had made that choice for the both of them.

“I’m-I’m so sorry , your majesty,” she choked out, letting the jar fall from the crook of her elbow to the top of his desk, lunging to steady it when it also toppled over onto his papers. Thranduil did not respond, nor did he move as she flailed.

Clenching her jaw until pain pulsed into her temples, Nisa bobbed into an awkward curtsy before darting for the exit. Once again, the king did not stop her as she hauled open the heavy door and stumbled out into the blessedly empty hallway.

Emotions were a violent tidal wave through her entire body, her robes felt too abrasive, her braid too heavy a pull on her scalp, skin too tight over her very bones. She yanked hard enough on her hair that pain shot through her scalp, desperate for the distraction. Knowing she was liable to start pulling chunks of her hair out like she did when she was a child, she reached down and clenched the fabric of her robes in her fists, squeezing until she felt the hot sting of fabric on her palms.

You have to learn to control yourself, hina, Miluiwen had advised her many moons ago. She had sat beside Nisa, who had been sniffling pathetically in a waning bath, a chunk of her hair missing and already-healing scratch marks down the sides of her face. Or you will tear yourself apart.

Her breath was coming in panicked gasps by the time the magnificent doors of the library came into view. She stumbled forward, her shaking hands closing around the handles and hauling the heavy doors open with a creak that resounded off the stone walls. 

Slipping inside, Nisa felt a small, instant relief as the silent chill of the room hit her skin. She closed the doors quickly and leaned back against them, as if she was locking out her feelings along with the rest of the world. The silence of the library was nothing short of glorious, a blanket of peace and seclusion. Steady breathing from scribes and keepers, quick scratches of quills and slow turning pages were the only sounds of life.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the doors, still clutching the handles in her palms. She took a deep breath, as if the very air, cold as stone, could ease her pounding heart, her constricting airways. 

Feeling another presence, Nisa cracked an eye open to see Thínthel blinking at her, a bundle of scrolls cradled in her arms. Her expression was calm and open, with no trace of judgment or pity.

Instead of shying away, Nisa used the scribe’s tranquil presence, as steadfast as the stones around them, to ground herself in the moment. Neither of them moved until Nisa took a trembling breath, her body as exhausted as if she had trekked across the entirety of Middle Earth.

Offering Thínthel a tight smile, Nisa finally unwrapped her hands from the doorknobs and tried to make her away across the library as elegantly as possible. Upon realizing there was no grace left in her, she finally ducked her head and scuttled to the furthest, darkest corners of the library.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thranduil tossed The Tale of Years onto his desk, not bothering to pick up the papers it sent to the floor. Running his hands through his hair, he once again began to pace across his chancery, and once again wished the room was bigger. He felt like a caged beast, all but clawing deep scores in the wood of his door.

He had read near every word in his chancery, from the most mundane patrol reports to the most unforgiving tomes, and still his blood pounded a heady beat beneath every inch of his skin. If he was not restlessly scanning the lines of a letter or ledger, he was pacing a near hysterical beat across the room, whose infinitesimal size he had never considered until this day.

He truly thought he had known the deepest depth of temptation and triumphed in its face. Watching Nisanthiel tilt her head back and close her in eyes in pleasure as she bathed in the sun, her bronzed skin revealed lower and lower on her chest until he was sure some God above was taunting him…holding her delicate chin between his fingers to take in the dark earth of her eyes. He believed he had confronted the great beast of longing and smote it.

Then the lovely princess had touched him with curious hands and a fascinated part to her mouth. It had been a startling switch from efficiency to eagerness, and he was quite sure it was a baffling change to her as well, considering she had nearly cried on her way out of the chancery. 

Now, he had barred himself in the windowless room, denying himself the touch of the sun, the company of others. It was nowhere near sufficient punishment for his weakness. He had reached out desperately just for enough control to grab her hand, stop her exploration before he had put his hands on her in a much more unforgivable way, pushed her onto his desk, eased her robes over her waist…

Raising his fist, he brought it down hard onto the top of his desk. 

The thick, ancient wood split with a mighty crash. Papers, books and quills leapt as if in surprise. A bottle of ink overturned and he watched a black river make its way across a supply inventory.

Even as he stared at the splintered hole in his father’s desk, his fury only heightened upon realizing the flash of pain had not been enough to chase away the indecent thoughts.

He was painfully aware of her, sure he could feel on his own skin even a fleeting touch of hers on a wall of the cave hundreds of rooms away. Leagues of halls and rooms could separate them and he was still sure her breath grazed his throat when he was alone. It took everything in him not to grip his cock in the silent hours of the night like a callow youth.

Boundaries would have to be set with his wife as long as she dwelled within these halls and within his reach. As far as he was concerned his vows to Calieth would last until the day his soul passed to whatever afterlife his actions had earned him.

 No longer would he allow himself to be alone with Nisanthiel, allow her hands on him in any capacity, personal or medicinal. 

Interactions would be short, curt, and happen only as needed. Then, once she had fulfilled her use, he would see about sending her back to Elfalia in as diplomatic a way as possible, ensuring her honor and his own remained intact.

A knock at the door brought him from his self-loathing and, turning from his destroyed desk, he wrenched the door open with much more force than necessary, making his captain startle and blink at him in confusion, though she was wise enough not to inquire further.

“What is it?” He bit out. 

Tauriel recovered quickly, clearing her throat.

“I am concerned as to the prince’s whereabouts,” she explained, her brow creasing in evidence to her words. “It has been…some time since I have seen him. I do not doubt his ability to care for his safety, but this is the longest he has been away—”

Thranduil did not wait for her to finish. Grabbing his cloak and sword in a well honed flourish of movement, he swept past her, not caring if she followed.

As he clipped the cloak into place at his throat, Thranduil tried and failed to ignore the shaking of his fingers. It was only in times like this he felt the echoes of true panic, the uncontrollable beat of his heart cracking millennia of well hewn resolve.

No matter how many times Legolas ventured out on one of his unannounced jaunts, Thranduil felt the same unparalleled panic, a singular experience that, while manageable thus far, threatened to suffocate. It took much internal reassurance that his son was a capable warrior, one of the best trained elves in Middle Earth, to bring himself back under control.

“Has a search party been sent out?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Any reports?”

“No, your majesty.”

That was not unexpected—he had trained Legolas better than that—but he still had to grit his teeth against a now familiar wave of anxiety.

“Return to the barracks, Captain. If Legolas arrives, send him to my chancery.”

He didn’t bother looking to Tauriel as she gave a quick bow and darted quick as a doe to the barracks.

It took him little time to make his way through the palace and out of the stables, mostly because no one got in his way. The woods loomed before him, open and endless. The trees were beginning to green with the promise of a bountiful summer and a light breeze rustled the leaves in a symphony of sound.

It was a beautiful, almost inspiring sight, but he knew well the horrors that still lay among its trees, clinging to the echoes of Sauron’s miserable reign. He stopped himself short before venturing further and closed his eyes against the feel of the breeze on his skin.

I have always come back, ada…

His son’s words echoed in his head and gave him pause.

It had been about the third or fourth time Legolas had disappeared and sent the entire palace into a panic. When he had returned three days later, Thranduil had all but dragged him into his chancery by his ear for a berating unlike anything he had given him in well over 1500 years. Legolas had stood there and taken it all quite calmly, which really only enraged Thranduil more. 

I have always come back, ada… after all that has happened, at times I just want to be… alone .

It had been devastating to hear those words from his affable, lighthearted son, who so easily bid hello to people in the hall and listened hopefully to the growing songs of the trees. He was much changed since his journey, in more ways than one. Though he remained the cheerful prince, he had become more solitary, had sudden fits of disengaging from conversations, his eyes—so like his mother’s—turning grey with distance. Thranduil had sat at his bed many a night since his return, pondering how he could help his only son, but always coming up short.

What was the use of being king, living for longer than parts of Middle Earth had even formed, if he could not give aid to his own child?

I have always come back, ada…

Thranduil fell back a step, forcing a breath through his nose. He had denied for so long that maybe isolation was what was best for his son during his times of struggle. Maybe his son took after him in that unfortunate way… 

“Your majesty?”

The voice behind him had his hand going to the hilt of his sword and he turned on his heel.

Nisanthiel blinked at him with those guileless eyes, the setting sun against her white robes giving her an ethereal glow. He felt a renewed sense of irritation at her that she could take him by surprise. Taking his hand from his sword, he fixed her with a withering glare and a stern tone.

“What are you doing out of the halls, Nisanthiel?”

Of course, she took no notice of his obvious attempts at forcing distance between them. Instead her face went slack with worry.

“Hû did not come back with Gwaeniel,” she explained as she reached down to twist her robes in her hands. “She said he wandered off alone before she could catch him.”

“What is a ‘hû’?”

Nisanthiel fidgeted guiltily. “The warg.”

Another surge of renewed anger and he was walking toward her until they were nearly toe to toe. She tipped her head back to look up at him in a way that made him want to undo her braid and weave his hands through her hair.

“I still cannot believe you brought that thing into these halls,” he snarled at her. She only squared her chin at him, her expression hard with stubborn resolve. He felt his breeches tighten.

“I have already explained that he was injured and I brought him here to nurse him back to health. By the time he was fully healed, he was fully domesticated. I do not think he would last three days on his own.”

“You had no right.”

Her brow furrowed with temper. “I did not even know he was a warg when I found him on the side of the road. I have never seen one except in illustrations, and he does not look like many of those drawings.”

Thranduil clenched his jaw. She was certainly not mistaken. Many illustrations of wargs were of snarling, twisted creatures with burning red eyes, tearing apart screaming victims with jagged teeth. Hû looked like he barely knew which way was up and which way was down.

Thranduil pulled back from her, but did not soften his glare. The fact that he could still feel her wandering hands on his skin only enraged him further. “I should hang both your hides from the trees.”

Nisanthiel rolled her eyes and he felt a renewed twitch in his breeches at her impertinence. “I think we have greater concerns, your majesty,” she pointed out, her tone just this side of haughty. She took a few steps back and looked out to the woods, her face softening again with concern. “Why are you outside as well?”

He wanted to tell her not to meddle and not involve herself in things that did not concern her, but, unfortunately, he did no such thing.

“The prince has been gone for some time and I am debating whether to venture after him.”

He was vaguely aware of Nisanthiel’s dark head whipping around to face him. “Oh, I…I had no idea. I have not seen him in some time, but was told he is most likely ousting the rest of the spider nests.”

Thranduil shook his head, his gaze never wavering from the thick tree line. “No. He knows better than to chance that without reinforcement.”

A moment of silence before Nisanthiel spoke again. “I’m sorry but I am confused. I would think a missing prince would garner much more…panic. One of my brothers snuck out once and my father all but cordoned off the entire kingdom.”

“He has taken to doing this since his return,” Thranduil revealed with a sigh, suddenly feeling weary. “Disappearing for days at a time without notice, longer and longer each time. Tauriel and I keep it between ourselves and few others.”

A narrow eyed glance at Nisanthiel. “And I expect you to exercise discretion as well.”

“Of course.”

No mockery or derision in her tone, just a soft concern that made his frustration wane slightly.

“I can’t imagine the things he saw,” she continued, seemingly more to herself than to him. She had turned to look out at the forest as well. “The things he was forced to do.”

“He must be unwavering if he is going to be king one day, no matter how distant that future might be,” Thranduil snapped. He turned on his heel to face her, ready fora  fight. The setting sun was casting delicate rays through the trees and gold flecks in her eyes shone as she turned her own neck to meet his gaze, her expression serene.  

“As a prince and a soldier he will never have a life he can simply run away from.”

Now Nisa’s dark brow furrowed and she turned fully to face him. “He is coping the best he can, your majesty. The horrors of Moria alone would have been traumatizing. He fought in the fiercest battles Middle Earth has seen in years and lost people he can never get back. As an immortal, he will have to live with that for millennia.”

“We have all had to live with tragedy. He shows weakness when he runs away like a child. That is not something we can afford so close to Sauron’s fall. Our people are relying on us for strength.”

“I wonder if he finds more comfort outside the halls than inside.” She looked back to the forest

Feeling like she had slapped him clear across the face, he wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, a familiar gesture he had done to calm himself since he was a child. “What could he possibly find out there that is not provided for him here?”

Nisanthiel shrugged one delicate shoulder. “Expectations are heavy, your majesty. They leave no room for error or feelings. It is quite suffocating.” Her eyes dimmed and her mouth parted slightly, as if she were recalling a long forgotten memory.

He watched her for a long moment, traced his eyes along the slender line of her throat as she breathed slowly. Suddenly she reached up and gave her braid a healthy yank. Just like that, she was back and clearing her throat as she turned to look at him again. 

“I’m sure you know all about the weight of expectations, your majesty. I refuse to believe you never struggled when you were Legolas’s age.”

He was intimately acquainted with struggle, had seen upheaval, war and loss. The fall of Doriath, the annihilation of Beleriand, the loss of his father and so many others at Dagorland…then being expected to lead with wisdom, strength and resolve.;

“I know expectation and loss very well, Nisanthiel,” he finally responded, his voice low but hard. At the sound of her name, she met his eyes. “And I have hardened myself against such feelings.”

Nisa’s eyes glowed in the fading light and she looked a spectre come to reap his soul. 

“An eternity without feeling or emotion. Why would you want that for your son?”

Before he could answer, a low growl broke out from the trees. All other thoughts receding, he grabbed Nisa by the collar of her robes and dragged her behind him, his hand going quickly back to the hilt of his sword.

“No!” 

She lunged around him and gripped his wrist, her other hand going to his own on his sword. He reared back to snarl a warning at her when something came sailing through the trees and bounced off his cloak, landing at his feet. Both of them stilled.

Hû came bounding from the treeline a few seconds later, his tongue lolling out of his gigantic mouth and his eyes wide with excitement. He appeared to take no notice of their presence as he leapt toward them and locked his jaw around what turned out to be a pinecone. Planting his feet in the grass, he wagged his head back and forth violently. They both stared at him, not moving. 

A melodic laugh made them both look up and Thranduil took an instinctive step forward at the familiar sound, his heart pounding. 

Legolas strolled from the trees, a wide smile creasing his face as he followed Hû to where Nisanthiel and Thranduil stood. Leaning down, he grabbed Hû by the ruff and gave him a vigorous rubbing. Hû looked up at him in adoration, barreled chest heaving and pinecone still held securely between his teeth.

“Great beast,” Legolas said fondly with a final scratch behind one of his ears. Finally seeming to notice his audience, he bowed deeply to his father and the queen consort, though he could not seem to help his smile. “Is this a—”

“Warg, yes,” Nisa finished for him, her voice cracking slightly.

The prince made an amused expression and placed his fists on his hips, his white blonde hair rippling over his shoulder. “He’s certainly unlike any warg I have ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few. I thought they had all gone extinct after Sauron’s fall.”

“Nothing goes away completely,” Nisa suddenly said after clearing her throat. Both Legolas and Thranduil looked down at her. She straightened against their gazes and cleared her throat again. “Once something has existed, it cannot unexist. It can change or evolve, appear different, but never go away completely.” She looked down at Hû, who had plopped down happily to lean against the prince’s leg.

“Some forces have stronger echoes than others. The wargs did not disappear with Sauron but they may be…different now.”

Thranduil looked from her to Legolas and his son straightened under his appraisal. “Return to the barracks, Legolas,” he ordered. “Tauriel will want to know of your return.”

Legolas bowed deeply again before murmuring something to Hû. The warg made a sound of excitement before trotting after the prince, who was already making his way toward the stable doors.

Having been left alone again, Thranduil was once again viscerally aware of his wife’s presence at his side. Looking down, he noticed her grip was still tight on his arm, one hand clenched around the fabric at his wrist and the slim fingers of her other hand wrapped around the bare hand he had removed from the hilt of his sword. Following his gaze, Nisanthiel looked down as well.

She didn’t blanche at their touching hands, as he expected her to. Instead, she ran the pad of her thumb slowly along the bare skin of his hand, sending a shudder up his spine. She did not seem to notice. They stayed like that for a long while, their breathing and the rustling of the trees the only sounds. Suddenly she was pulling away and turning her back to go back inside, leaving him to feel haunted with her touch.