The Last Light of the Star

30 - Realization and the Price of Regret

It had been a week since the 12th and 13th sector arrived back in Mirkwood—bruised, injured, and broken-hearted. Arryin had been brought to the healing ward, where she stayed unconscious, and the elves had a funeral for Faelynor. It was strange and saddening for they hadn't had to bury a loved one for centuries. They carried his body to a high mountain peak while singing a lament in honor of his life; there, they buried him under stone with those of his kin who had fallen.

For elves, the grieving process is deeper and more difficult due to the fact that they rarely saw death and feel emotions more profoundly than any other race. Like humans, however, sorrow can initiate reactive responses—shock, guilt, fear, disbelief, sadness, anger, frustration—all of which the warriors were experiencing. King Thranduil, in particular, responded to Faeylnor's death by diving deeper into the stressors of war. Of course, the King wasn't exceptionally close with Faeylnor, but he was well acquainted with Faeylnor's parents. Besides, Thranduil truly did care for his people and he knew the ellon that passed was a friend of his son's. Therefore, the King deemed that it was the evil forces' fault that the elves lost a loved one—which was true—so, he made it the guard's mission to being those responsible to suffering.

Thranduil increased patrols along with training sessions; but sadly, some of these patrol groups had returned with more injured warriors and regretful news. Luckily, no more of elven kin had passed from this world. But still, there was so much devastation at the hands of these vile creatures. It was unforgivable. The elves were at war. However, this divulgence in the nature of revenge withheld time for grieving for the elves. Instead of spending mournful hours of reminisces, they were plundering through the trees and slaying beast after beast.

But not all we're doing so at once, for the patrols took shifts—like usual—and others resided in the healing ward. And currently, that is where the action was.

Halafarin and one of his probationary apprentices, Valinya, had the night shift this week. It was their job to maintain care over the wounded during the dark hours. Quite frankly, it had been a relatively easy job considering the rows of beds were almost empty, save a couple warriors and Arryin. The Ranger, in particular, still had not woken from her unconsciousness since she was brought in—which was mildly concerning to her friends. However, Halafarin insisted that the potion Aredhel administered would have that effect.

Currently, Halarafin and Valinya sat in silence. The moon and stars provided a dim light upon the vast infirmary, allowing them to read through various medical reports. It was quite a peaceful atmosphere given that small shadows were cast on the walls and stone floors, while many little candles flickered among the sleeping patients. It was quiet and content—a perfect environment for healing. However, the silence of the night did not last long.

Arryin woke with a start.

Her emerald eyes were wild with confusion as she sat up. Immediately, she began to transition into an intense physiological reaction—fight or flight. She had no idea where she was and she was completely disoriented and panicked. The Ranger instantly attempted to flee, despite her injured leg; however, Halarfarin reacted quickly.

The healer dropped his papers and was at her side, holding her down before she could escape the confinement of the sheets. At his restraint, Arryin began to shriek and scream while attempting to push him off. She tried to throw a couple punches but he held her arms taught. Clearly, this wasn't one of Halafarin's best ideas. He should have known this would be how she would wake considering last time, but alas, shit happens.

"Get Prince Legolas—NOW!" Halafarin called to  Valinya, who was standing there—utterly useless—with a gaping mouth.

"The Prince? But...but it is the middle of the night and—"