Faeryn didn't want to think about what would her father say when she come home.

Faeryn didn't want to think about what would her father say when she come home AND alive.

No doubt that there would be miles long of lecture waiting for Faeryn the moment she saw the palace's gate about how her mother would have a heart attack and die again if she ever knew what her precious daughter had done. And then her father would die of a heart attack too, when he discovered the bleeding stab at the back of his daughter right shoulder, right after he had killed her first.

Being the daughter of a royal healer, Faeryn found herself incredibly lucky. Gifted for the hands of a potential healer was one, befriending prince Thranduil, son of their king - Oropher was the best thing Faeryn could have ever asked for.

They both met one day when young Thranduil was stupid enough to trap himself inside a guard's armor. As the little royal elf was stucked, he persitantly smashed the metal together and to the wall, desperated for any possible attention. None was given from the older elves, but a lot was from an elleth in the reading room nearby.

"Have you any idea how rude it was to interrupting someone's reading?" Asked the elven kid annoyingly as she eyed the royal joke.

Faeryn usually spent all day reading inside his father's study inside the palace, where every single parchment, book from old to older about medical and herbs was kept safe. The storage was Healer Laebon's precious and also, was the only reminder of his late wife. When she was alive, Faeryn's mother would always give her husband a hand with the herbs, helping him with miles long of records as their daughter hoping around with a book on the little she elf's hands. Faeryn's mother loved reading and researching and so did Faeryn; courageous, resourcefull and caring were the traits that she inherited from the royal healer's wife. The child was the ghost from the past of her mother, from the inside to the outside, and that sometimes saddened Laebon, realizing how much he missed his wife.

So just like any other day, whilst her father was in the forest looking for healing grasses, Faeryn stayed in with her books. The young elleth had always wanted to be a healer like her father, to help curing the others. To Faeryn, what her father Laebon did was miracle and could only be performed by one's pure kindness from the heart.

It could have been a normal day, it could have. As young Faeryn would wait until his father got back then help him sort the ingrediants out, and they would have dinner together before she was sent back to her room, studying. At night, Laebon would come and tuck her in, which used to be Faeryn's mother job before she passed away; father never told her how and she did not curious.

Meeting the young highness changed all of those familiars. She helped him, of course, since the noise Thranduil made was irritating her, but above it all, Faeryn was a kind elf, she liked to help.

"There you go." The elleth said, after had put down the last piece of armor dangling on the prince's blond hair. She carefully placed the rest of them in a corner so that no one would trip on it later, or no poor elven child would end up like their prince did.

"Comfy now, aren't you?" Faeryn's corner turned into a gentle smile as she started braiding Thranduil's hair. The armor had made his hair a mess and he was, clearly, not comfortable with that.

"You know how to do that?" The prince spoke for the first time, watching the elleth; he had gone to a conclusion that they were about the same age, his father taught him how to understand people by observing them, it will help you rule someday, my son, the king said.

"I do my own hair, my lord. My mother passed away when I was little." Faeryn answered the elf with respect. Of course she had soon realized he was their prince, King Oropher's one and only son, the heir to the kingdom's throne. His clothes said it all, how it was made with such sophistication and expensive fabric spoke highly of its owner's position in the society.

"You don't have a mother?" He asked, incredulously. Faeryn could not help an tingle feeling of offensive as the prince said so. But soon realized the Queen had passed away, too.

"I DO have a mother, actually. She just dead."

Thranduil stood up on his feet. Faeryn did not notice how tall he was until he was looking down at her. "What's your name, elleth?" The demanding tone in his voice annoyed Faeryn, he was royal, after all.

"I am called Faeryn, my lord." She replied, looking at the prince in his eyes. How bold she was, thinking back to that moment. However, his eyes attracted her; the irresistible shade of blue that Faeryn could not pull away from as those were the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"Be my friend, if you would, Faeryn." He offered her a hand to hold. She took it.

And there she was now, standing high and tall with Thranduil against her back, both were taking down layers and layers of their enemies. Thranduil was a good warrior, a strong one indeed, every of his strike was fast and clean while Faeryn was more fond of skills and technique. She quickly ducked the flying mace and stabbed a nearby Orc on its foot, the creature screamed in pain and fell down. With that, she sprung herself forward and slitted it throat, finished it before the poor thing got back on its feet.

Faeryn's right shoulder started aching again, her magic had probably worn off and soon she would no longer able to shoot an arrow, let alone to hold a sword. All her magic could do was to ease the pain, not healing, and for the first time, Faeryn was unsatisfied with what her gift could do.

"Are you alright?" Thrainduil asked, he had noticed something was not right as his company breath had turned into panting, painful panting.

"I'm fine. Do not worry." Faeryn shook her head as her body began to shiver.

"More will come, we have to move. My father is still fighting. We should go and help him." Worrying for his father, prince Thranduil told her. Faeryn nodded to the plan and moved closer to him as they quickly cross the field.

They approached where the battle happened the deadliest shortly. There they saw Oropher fiercefully pushing off the surrounding foes in his well made armor. They fight had gone for too long and the king was tiring as every second passed; his act became slower and each hit turned weak.

That was when it happened. The moment the king lost his strength, a shadow slowly casted down on him from the back. And before Thranduil got a chance to call his father's name or Faeryn could let out a horrid scream, King Oropher fell down on his knees with a black sphere was thrusted into his back.

"No..." Faeryn heard herself whispered in disbelief when a known figure ran pass her. By the time Faeryn reacted, Thranduil had already kneed by his father's dying body in panic.

"No, no, no... Please, farther! Open you eyes..." Faeryn heard his crying. Thranduil never cried, at least in her memory, but right now, the prince was more vulnerable than ever as he was frantically pleading king Oropher to look at him. "No, please, look at me!"

The king's body laid still, but he hadn't died, yet. Faeryn could feel it since she had always had this special connection with life. The king would part away, soon, he could not be saved now and his time was short.

"Thranduil..." Faeryn whispered his name, the sound was small and weak, however to Thranduil, it was his last hope, Faeryn was his last hope.

"Faeryn... Your magic! Save the king! Save my father!" He said as he caught her wrist into his hand. Thranduil's grip tightened as he was desperated for the healer's daughter help, not realizing he was hurting the elleth.

"I... I can't... I'm sor..." She shakingly said. The wound on her shoulder was burning, her wrist would recieve a bruise afterward, no doubt; while those were just physical pain, seeing Thranduil fooling himself that the king would not die killed Faeryn.

"What do you mean you CAN'T?! AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT HEALING?!" Faeryn was startled by Thranduil's sudden outburst. Looking into his eyes, she knew that he had understood the situation: King Oropher would not survive the injury. That thing went through him, literally; his son simply did not want to believe it.

"My so... son..." With his last strength, king Oropher called for the young royal elf next to him. Thranduil let go of Faeryn immediately as he bent down to his father, tears in his eyes.

"Yes, father. I am here... Your son is here, father." The prince said between the uncontrolable chokes. Faeryn stood quietly behind him as she watched the father and son's last moment together.

The king's blood was now a pool, and soon it would be enough to water the whole area. The foul smell of the thick red liquid took over Faeryn's scent and she felt sick; sick of the blood, sick of the deaths, sick of this battle. What were they fighting for? She asked herself. Power? Freedom? Were these death not sufficent? Her vision became blurred and a single tear slipped away from her eyes, though so, Faeryn did not brush it away. She was mourning for King Oropher, for Thranduil, for the fallen elves, for the fallen men.

"Make me proud, son... Make me proud..." With his last breath, Oropher told his son and drifted away to the Undying Lands.

It was over. The battle was over. They won, at least that was what Faeryn heard from one of the survived warriors who ran pass them. But it was also over for King Oropher. The king had parted away to a life beyond here, to the Queen, perhaps.

Oropher's eyes closed shut and inside Faeryn, something had flown away. It was the king's soul and she knew it was too late for anything. Faeryn kneeled down beside the weary prince as she pulled him into an embrace. When her mother died, all she understood that she had journeyed into better place; today, King Oropher had died and both of them were awared of the terror and cold-blood of war.

Thranduil cried as his head rested on her chest. Everything there smelled like smoke and death, and Faeryn graved for a scent of home. She did not regret going, though, she knew if she had stayed, her prince would be alone. They sat there quietly beside the king's dead body. No one was going to come and attack them anyway; they won, did they not? Still, they lost their king's life.

"Oropher... Oropher..." From the distance, she could hear the faint calls: The commanders had came.

Only four came back, that enough told the elleth that Admir did not survied either. This battle was a lose. Despite winning, what they had lost would forever a haunted memory.

Durin IV stepped closer but stopped when the figure of Oropher hit him. Not a sound did anyone make. All what could be heard left were the heartbroken sobs of prince Thranduil.

"We won. Admir and Oropher did not die for nothing." King Gil-galad announced.

The rest of the lords nodded in agreement, they looked down to the young prince mourning over the death of who was once a great king.

They did not die for nothing...

Die for nothing...

Nothing...

Everyone heard. But not everyone wanted to hear.