Time Isn't Healing [Thranduil Fanfiction/The Hobbit]

II. Faeryn. Loss and Pain (Part 2)

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.