Hopeful whispers

But now she was fighting on her own, a good fifteen men at that. She nocked an arrow onto the bowstring and took aim, releasing it into the neck of a beefy looking man a few feet away from her. As her mind cleared she took noticed of their armor— Ministry footmen, and archers alike.

"At least the Imperium has gotten off our backs," The elf ducked down as a warrior’s blade came swinging past her head. A summersult and a quick side step put her on the other side of the attacker. With her bow in one hand she pulled a dagger from her belt with her free hand, swinging it effortlessly in comfort. The blade plunged into the mans back, pushing through the armor with great force. Her hand retracted quickly, the blade still lodged in the armor as he swung around. His sword flew heavily at her torso and her foot rose quickly to land a swift kick to the man’s unarmored face—sending him backwards in an unbalanced stupor. The sword fell from his hand and skidded across the earth.

A heavy huff escaped Fern’s mouth and her eyes widened at the men that now seemed to surround her. An arrow whizzed past her head, missing just barely enough for comfort. She moved quickly, nocking another arrow to her bow and releasing it without aim. Another hit, but only to the armored shoulder of a nearby man.  She could flee, but at this point they would catch her in minutes.

Another heavily armored soldier lunged at her, missing his mark but catching her arm just enough to knock off one of the leather arm guards she adorned. The soldier’s shield was made of heavy steel and he wasted no time with catching her off guard, sending his shield forward and knocking Fern to the ground.

The blow knocked the wind out of her, and her ears were ringing so loudly she could barely think. Fern thought for sure she was bleeding but she slowly pushed herself up. She could hear more arrows flying nearby but none of them seemed to be aimed at her—either that or Demetri could only manage to hire a bunch of cheap shots. A series of shouts and yelling filled the area— exclamations of surprise and confusion, it sounded like.

As Fern finally got to her feet, she noticed that there was another in the fray of the fight. A blonde man, close to her kin in appearance stood in a heap, arrows lodged in his armor and heavy breaths racking his body. He held a bow tightly in his left hand, the string pulled back to his cheek and the arrow waiting to be released. Only three Ministry soldiers remained, one already sputtering with an arrow just beneath his collar bone.

A whistle.

The arrow  jumped from the bow, flying into the wounded man’s neck with a fatal wound. Fern picked her bow up off the ground, and nocked an arrow to take aim at one of the remaining attackers. She took a shallow breath, pulled the string to her cheek and released, exhaling as it went. The arrow found its home in the left eye socket of the bigger of the two men and the other elf made quick work of the other. A dagger flew from his hand and sent the small usurper to the ground, blood pouring out his mouth.

"Are you alright?"

Fern took a second to respond, her fingers bleeding from how rapidly she had shot. Several scratches and cuts decorated her body and she was almost certain the fall from the shield did some form of internal damage. “I think, I’ll survive. If anything.”

Her eyes examined the multitude of arrows protruding from the elf’s armor— light leather and rosewood from the look of it, “You’ve been hit.”

The others eyes looked down, and he forced some form of laugh (that really just sounded like a distressed groan). “Only a little.” While he tried to make light of the situation his body made a very evident protest, his knees shaking underneath him.

Fern rushed over, taking his weight over her shoulder, “You saved my life.” Her voice was stern, nearly demanding as she spoke, “Let me look. I can help.”

There was a certain connection between the elf kin is one most could not comprehend. Although they just met, the aura of the other was clean—free of harmful intent and possessed a  good nature, and It is customary to aid kin in a time of need.

A reluctant sigh passed his lips, “Very well, ti’arh ilai.”

"Good— you haven’t got a choice." A pause, "What should I call you?"

He grunted, the arrows in his abdomen making it much harder to move, “Legolas.”

"That’s a name," Fern mused, "A good—Arivian name at that."

Tension seemed to linger in the air as he looked over at her, expecting her to say more. She looked back, “Wha—Oh! Right, Fern. You can call me fern.”

"Not, Arivian." He commented, "Why?"

She hesitated, “I have my reasons.”

Before he could ask anymore questions, Fern removed him from the clearing. She was limping herself, but not enough to slow her down too bad. They relocated to a small grotto that housed a small, almost clear, pond. “Lay here.”

She put him down gently, resting his head on the slightly damp grass. Her long fingers immediately wrapped around the arrows and she placed her left hand at their tips, “It’s going to hurt— don’t squirm.” Quickly she pulled it out, ignoring the groan and grunts from the other. Four more time she did this, ridding his body of all the arrows before going to her pack and retrieving a small phial.

"That wasn’t so bad, now was it?" Fern teased as Legolas was clearly not in his best state. "We’re almost done." She popped the lid of the phial open and splashed the contents into her hands. It was blue in appearance and smelled sweetly. She put her hands on his chest and closed her eyes, concentrating very carefully on her aura, extending it from herself and to the liquid. It began to glow with a dull light.

The sensation was warm, like all of the nerves in Legolas’ chest simply having a candle held over them but, the pain in his torso seemed to stop instantly. The wounds were healing rapidly and Fern held her focus carefully. It was very important for her to hold her aura until the spell was finished.