The Last Light of the Star

29 - To The Solider, The Civilian, The Martyr, & The Victim

One of the smaller sectors of the Mirkwood Guard had come across a trail of spider nests on patrol—larger than they had ever seen before. Additionally, one of the villages on the edge of the kingdom had been attacked by a small guild of orcs—suspected to be a scouting group. Luckily, Aredhel's patrolling team was not far off and came to their assistance. However, this, of course, caused the anxieties of war to return—especially considering that the numbers of the vile creatures were rising and they strayed closer than ever before. This struck a cord within the King. He knew something had been stirring in his woods—ever since the orcs had gotten into his own walls. And Lady Galadriel had confirmed as such. Therefore, this new development increased his concern. So, Thranduil had ordered his elite force, the 12th and 13th sectors, to make way to the village. They were to ensure the people's safety and brings supplies before perusing the spider nests and bringing them to ruin.

The two sectors entered the village in military formation on horseback, led by the Prince. It was quiet as they trotted though the seemingly vacant town. With a scowl, Arryin observed the area. It was like any small village—dusty paths worn by hooves and elvish feet, sturdy houses made from stone and wooden planks, and fenced in livestock chewing loudly on whatever they could find. But there was and eerie aurora shrouding it—no children running upon the grass, no mothers calling out after them, no men working on building new creations.....no nothing. Instead, those dusty paths had parts that were burning, those sturdy houses were chard and broken, and the livestock were producing roaring sounds of anxiety. It was a village that had been raided and the ruins left unattended to.

Where was everyone?

The answer was soon given to her as she laid eyes on the heart of the village. The people. The elvish sector that came to their aid had taken command to assist them. They had tasked every able-bodied elf to rummage about collecting useful debris and supplies while the warriors tended to the wounded.

Legolas and the first row of elves behind him—Faelynor, Belanor, and Arryin—dismounted when they approached the group.

The Ranger continued to surveyed the stretch of land from her new position on soil. It seemed that there no fatalities besides the orcs, who's corpses were currently burning at least ten leagues from the village. Still, she could smell the vile stench. One would have thought she would have been used to it by now—especially considering her skill set; however, no matter how many times that scent hit her nostrils, it always made her want to vomit.

The brown-eyed captain, Aredhel, who had been tending to a woman's wound, called out with surprise and relief in his voice. "Prince Legolas!"

The blond haired ellon nodded in greeting. "Aredhel, a report on the situation?"

"No fatalities, only injuries—some extensive."

Legolas clenched his jaw. "What can we do?"

The captain sighed. "Medical supplies, food, water."

The Prince nodded and signaled to Beyla and Rowan who immediately started unloading dried meets, fruits, vegetables, lembas, and waterskins. Faelynor begun distributing medical supplies as the army assisted Aredhel and his men with the injured. Everyone got to work quickly.

However, the Ranger opted to further study the situation. She narrowed her eyes as a female elleth in neat grey robes approached Legolas, who was currently in deep conversation with Aredhel. She was cradling her one hand and had a strange expression upon her face. The elleth seemed to push out her breasts and draw her shoulders back before speaking in a timid tone.

"My Prince, I was hoping you would aid me with my injured hand."

She held out her arm to reveal the cut to him. It crested upon her palm and formed around her finger. It was bloody, but nothing near terrible.