The Darkling(Legolas/The Hobbit) Book 1 ✔️

XVI

To LOTR_fangirl_nerd - because her favorite dragon is Ancalagon (so sorry for making you cry in chapter 10).

"This is not going to work," Arya yelled to Thranduíl as they were continuously pushed back by the orks. It seemed as if whenever they cut the head off one, three more would pop up in its place.

"I agree!" Thranduíl yelled back, "we could sure need a dragon right about now."

Arya twirled around and glared at him in anger, "don't you think I would have turned into the blasted dragon if I knew how to do it?"

Thranduíl's reply was only a small smirk, before his face turned serious again, motioning for her to duck before he swiped at the ork that was about to attack her from behind.

"Thanks," she huffed as she got up again, but before they could share any more words another ork surged forwards, his blade hitting Arya in the upper arm, making her yell out in pain.

"Rhaich (curses)!" Thranduíl exclaimed upon seeing her wound, his eyes lifting from the wound on her arm to the elven men fighting around them.

"Daro a maetho, dago I goth (stay and fight, kill the enemy)!" Thranduíl shouted to his soldiers, a couple of more orders leaving his mouth before he turned towards her again, his arm outstretched in a gesture for her to come with him, "aphado nin (follow me)."

With that he led her away from the battle, going through the maze of side streets until he was certain they were far enough away from the battle that he could safely stop and check her wound.

"I'm fine, Thranduíl." She huffed once he slowed down, but his sharp eyes did not miss the way she was pressing her hand over the wound on her shoulder, blood seeping into the tunic she was wearing. "There was really no need to pull away from the battle."

"My son would feel differently about the case, I'm sure." He said calmly before stepping forwards, his sword already sheathed as he reached for her arm completely disregarding the huff that fell from her lips at the mention of Legolas.

Grabbing her tunic just below the wound on her arm he swiftly ripped it off, before gripping the fabric again, tearing it upwards until he could see the entire wound. He hissed slightly as he saw how deep it was and placed his hand over it, soft elvish words leaving his lips as he worked on knitting her wound back together.

She pulled away before he could finish, her wound still partly open, but no longer gushing blood. "You should save your strength, King. The battle is long from finished I'm afraid."

His eyes were hard as they met hers, and she realized she might have offended him by assuming the healing would drain his powers. She offered no apology though, only stood her ground as she stared back at him.

After a while he broke away from her gaze, nodding his head once in agreement. Using the piece of her tunic that he had ripped off he silently wrapped her wound up tightly, tying the knot a bit tighter than he probably needed to, his ice cold eyes warning her about arguing with him.

So she stayed silent.

He was after all the elven King.

And with a wounded pride he was most certainly not someone she could be bothered arguing with at the moment.

"Hîr vuin (my lord)!" They heard the soldiers voice a couple of seconds before he came around the corner. Frowning once she saw the distress on the soldier's face she waited eagerly for his message.

"The prince-" he gasped, his words failing him slightly but quickly returning as Thranduíl stepped forwards, fire in his eyes: "WHAT ABOUT MY SON?"