My fingers become numb clutching the sodden reins I was advised to hold onto. As soon as Tauriel had finished preparing me, the heavens had opened, and so the company of riders are forced to file out of the kingdom in torrential rain. We number little more than four hundred, but Thranduil is convinced that our force is strong enough to combat a rabble of orcs. I, however, while I tentatively ride through the downpour between Thranduil and Tauriel, am beginning to have second thoughts.

The tension between Thranduil and Legolas was evidently not enough to stop Thranduil giving Legolas his own section of the company to lead—the left flank, numbering about a hundred.  Another hundred on the right flank are under the command of an ellon called Feren, while the remaining riders are to be led down the centre by Thranduil.  Tauriel takes care to practically sandwich my horse between her own horse and Thranduil's elk, making the animals' drenched hair brush up against each other and the elk snort in annoyance.  We ride to a certain point, then come to a halt.

'I have not had chance to speak to you at all since you left.'  Thranduil's melodious voice catches my attention, and glancing round to him, I blink away the raindrops that have settled on my eyelashes.  'I see you chose some fine blades.'

'I lent her some of mine,' Tauriel chips in.  I've come to notice how eager she is to please her King since the events of last winter, and the amount the two have reconciled since then is almost unbelievable.  Perhaps Tauriel has noticed how Thranduil does in fact have love in him. I believe that is down to me, which I am extremely proud of.

'It is a pity I am not trained in how to use them,' I admit grudgingly as I tuck a lock of waterlogged hair behind my ear.

'If you stay mounted, you will have the advantage,' Thranduil says after a moment of thought. Evidently, he wishes he could have given me some more pointers in combat skills, but it's too late now. We wasted time locking lips rather than crossing blades.

'Do not forget, the orcs will not be in battle formation when we arrive.' Tauriel attempts to reassure me, and in doing so earns herself an odd glance from Thranduil. Again, his intention is clear: make it obvious that he takes care of me, not her. It's almost enough to make a smirk tug at the corners of my lips—for even now, after all the recent events, he feels the need to mark his territory.

My horse, a rather irritable chestnut mare named Cenlyn, had been the only remaining horse in the stable that did not belong to someone else. She is currently having her own conversation with Tauriel's horse and Thranduil's elk, mainly comprised of snorts, whinnies and tosses of the head. The three of them don't seem to be getting along all too well, much to the amusement of their riders.

I don't ask why Thranduil is waiting so long before ordering the attack, for he surely has his reasons. I do, however, notice a heavily armoured Tavalon out of the corner of my eye, wearing his typical scowl as the raindrops slide down his smooth forehead and into his ebony hair. If possible, the scowl is actually intensifying by the second.

His platinum hair plastered to his back from the downpour, the King calls for us to move out, and the thundering of hooves pulses through my body as the ranks begin to ride in their assigned directions.  My heart leaps into my mouth.  It's actually happening.  My fate could be returning completely unscathed from this battle, having my mangled body left to rot on the sodden forest floor, or somewhere between the two.  It's up to me to decide.

The impact of Cenlyn crashing headlong through a group of shrieking orcs is enough to send my head into a whirlwind.  Unable to control her, I let the galloping mare carry me right around the orcs' camp, trampling anything in her path.  One hand struggles to maintain a grip on the reins, while the other instinctively reaches to pull one of Tauriel's blades out of its sheath, but it's all moving too quickly.  It's all too much for me to keep up with.

I hear voices crying out my name, and the shrill whinnying of horses, and the snarls and roars of the orcs, and the whooshing of arrows past my head, and the pounding of my heart and blood and fear and adrenaline as everything falls and breaks around me...

And I'm down again.

This time, it's a slow, agonising fall—one where I can feel the strange combination of anticipation and rush tearing through me before I tumble straight into a bush, the thorns etching marks on my damp skin.  I find myself incapable of crawling out from the thorns, while the screams from outside drive into my brain, and I realise that hot, salty tears are flowing down my face as I gasp and splutter for air.  My head is ringing, the cuts on my body smarting, every limb aching from the fall.   Through my blurry vision I can roughly discern the chaos of elves and orcs and horses; I can also see Cenlyn lying motionless a few feet away, an orc arrow protruding from her neck.

Is this where I reach my end?  On the wet ground, my body battered and shaking, with tears of pain streaming from my eyes?  Is this where I die?

I'm in control of my own fate.  I will not willingly submit to the beckoning hand of death when there are still things I have to live for. 

It takes more than this to kill a Star.

So despite my entire body being in agony, I strain to heave myself out from the mass of thorns and stand on my own two feet. I then feel my fingers close around the hilt of Tauriel's blade. 

The first orc that comes charging at me is met by a silver sword slicing through its throat, spattering thick blood onto my face and neck.  The next meets a similar fate, the blade cutting its deformed head clean off in one swipe.  My limbs are still burning, but my senses are overpowered by the pungent reek of the blood on and around me.  It's all become a part of my mind.

'Elena!' Thranduil comes haring out of nowhere, his long swords gleaming in the dappled sunlight.  Upon reaching me, he looks around to check for incoming orcs, before sliding them neatly back into their sheaths and wrapping me in his arms.

'Meleth nín, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...' I blurt, my eyes beginning to sting.

'It's alright, I've got you now,' he says lovingly, holding me tightly to his chest.  I bury my face in his neck, the top of his silver breastplate rubbing hard and cold against my chin.

I'm too caught up in the moment to realise why Thranduil suddenly spins around and takes me with him until we're facing the opposite direction.  It's the low cry of pain escaping his lips that finally alerts me.

'Thranduil!  Meleth!  Thranduil!'

He doesn't respond.  He simply stands, breathing heavily, his bright eyes widening.  Feeling the panic rising within me, I slip out of his arms and move around to his other side, where I'm greeted by a horrific sight.

A long, grey arrow is embedded in Thranduil's back, piercing right through his armour—and blood is blossoming from the wound, staining his clothes, beginning to trickle downwards.  It looks unnervingly deep.

For a split second, I consider pulling it straight out, but a sudden roar catches my attention.  Without thinking, I hurl one of Tauriel's blades straight at the orc tearing towards us, and it sinks right into its chest, sending the orc tumbling to the ground.

'Thranduil?  I need you to listen to me, meleth nín,' I say, my voice wavering as I turn back to the gruesome wound, 'I'm going to pull it out, but it's going to hurt a bit... I'm so sorry...' I bite my lip in an attempt to suppress the tears, while with the hand that isn't clutching Thranduil's, I pull out the arrow and immediately throw it aside.

'Argh!' He staggers a step forward, his breathing becoming even shorter and sharper.

'No, no, you're going to be alright!' I stumble on my words, ripping a piece of material off my own sleeve and hurriedly pressing it to where more blood is issuing from the wound.  'You're going to be fine, I promise, just stay with me!'

'Adar?' Legolas dismounts his horse next to us, shooting me a stony glare. 'Adar, come with me. It's all over, we've won.'

'He's hurt, can't you see?' My voice comes out as an agitated squeak.

'That is why he must come with me. You need to leave him alone.'

'But I know how to heal him!' I cry desperately. It's true, after weeks of being healed by him myself, I know exactly what he needs. Legolas, however, is sceptical.

'If it weren't for you, he would not be hurt! If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened!' With one hand he gestures to the carnage all around us, and with the other he indicates the wound, which has soaked my meagre scrap of sleeve in blood.

'Legolas, stop,' Tauriel says firmly, coming swiftly to a halt beside us.

The prince is resolute. 'No. My father must be taken to some real healers.' 

'I said, I can heal him!'

'You nearly got him killed!' Legolas retorts.

'So then it is my duty to heal him.'

'You are not worthy to be near him. You are not worthy to be a Star.'  The prince's words bite the heavy forest air.

'What do you know about me? Nothing!' I snap, 'now let me save him before it's too late.'

'Are you sure you can do it?' Tauriel interjects before Legolas can speak.

'Yes,' I reply, my voice still shaky despite my efforts to remain firm.

'Then go. Quickly. We're wasting time quarrelling about it,' Tauriel urges me, gesturing for Thranduil and I to take our leave.

'Tauriel!' Legolas exclaims in disbelief.

'Let them go.'  The Captain of the Guard places one hand on Legolas's shoulder, while still waving us away with the other.

After giving Tauriel a nod of gratitude, I begin to usher Thranduil back towards where the surviving horses are being mounted by their riders.  His elk, besides its shaggy fur being matted with orc blood, seems to be mostly unharmed, to my relief.  The animal emits its usual grunt as I pat its thick neck.  Thranduil, despite having been rendered unable to form a sentence, seems to be heeding my words as I cautiously instruct him to mount the elk.

Within seconds, he is too high up for me to support him. The last moment before he goes crashing down to the ground, Tauriel has appeared on the elk's other side and shifted Thranduil back into a balanced position. 

'Thank you, mellon nín!' I climb gingerly on in front of Thranduil, my legs screaming in protest as I swing them over the elk's broad back.

Tauriel merely smiles before slapping the elk on its hindquarters, and sending us on our way back to the safety of the Woodland Realm.  Thranduil leans slightly on my back, and I wish with all my heart that using himself as a shield for me is not going to cost him his life.

***

Elvish:
Meleth = love
Adar = father
Mellon nín = my friend