The Darkling(Legolas/The Hobbit) Book 1 ✔️

XI

To Chance1998 - for calling Thranduíl a 'good boy'

            "Arya," Legolas whispered for what seemed to be the thousandth time since he had sat down beside her. "An ngell nin, echuio (Please/for my joy, wake up)." Reaching out he gently pushed her fiery red hair out of her face – not for the first time since he had sat down, a small smile on his face as his fingers danced across her cheekbone.

            "Legolas," she mumbled, her face pressing into his palm as he cupped her cheek. For a moment he thought she was talking in her sleep, but her eyes suddenly opened, her long eyelashes brushing against her skin as she blinked a couple of times to get used to the bright light of day.

            "Na vedui (at last)," he whispered more to himself than her, pulling his hand from her cheek as he realized he was still caressing her cheek softly. "You are awake."

            "Iston (I know)," she whispered - her lips curling up into a mischievous smile as she met his eyes. "And I am thinking that is mostly thanks to you."

Legolas blushed at that, his eyes settling on his hands as he laced his fingers together on his lap, unsure of where to put them now that they were not busy fluttering over her. "Goheno nin (forgive me), I just... I wanted to make sure you were fine, and – and... I should not have woken you up. You should rest, I will leave you to-"

            "Legolas!" She interrupted him, a soft chuckle tumbling from her lips as she looked at his distressed face. "I meant thank you - For bringing me here, and for healing my wounds." Letting her gaze wander around the room she furrowed her eyebrows at the extravagant tent – "Mi van me? (Where are we?)"

"We are in my father's tent," Legolas started vaguely, realizing she probably did not remember being told they were moving her here in the first place. She cleared her throat, making him meet her eyes again. Sighing softly he leaned forwards, his elbows resting on his knees as he placed his chin on his folded hands. "With help from some of your company I got you out of Erebor, and carried you over the plain toward the city of Dale. My father, who has arrived here to get back what was stolen from us, decided to help you."

             "And he decided this just because he is so compassionate and kind at heart?" Arya snorted sarcastically, the corners of her lips turning down as she thought of the Elven King.

            "No," a soft but strong voice said from the opening of the tent, making their heads whip around to see the intruder. "He decided to do so," Thranduíl continued, stepping into the room, "because his only son asked him to."

Legolas bowed his head in a sign of gratitude and respect before his gaze was back on Arya, readying himself to calm her down should he need to. He watched carefully as Arya's eyes stayed transfixed on his father as Thranduíl slowly walked into the room, his hands folded in front of him. As he stepped up to the bed and reached out towards her she recoiled into the mattress, hissing in pain as she stretched her wounds. Thranduíl exhaled in irritation and looked up to meet the gaze of his son who only nodded silently before turning back to Arya.

The fire was visible in her eyes now, the soft hazel turning into fiery orange as she breathed in and out deeply. "Arya." He tried carefully, reaching out and softly covering one of her hands with his own. It stung slightly, as her body temperature was rising steadily in line with what they now knew to be the dragon taking control.

Her head whipped around to look at him as she felt his hand on top of hers, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I do not know how to control it, you should pull your hand back." She looked pointedly at his hand before meeting his eyes again, trying to pull her own hand back when he did nothing.