Once again unbeta'd let me know if there are any mistakes, I will fix them.

By late-evening the healers concluded that the human would live but, strongly recommended multiple weeks of rest. The woman's wounds extended far beyond a spider bite. The healers reported a superficial head wound in addition to a leg wound; a through and through puncture caused by an unknown weapon. From their description whatever caused the wound tore straight through the muscle barely missing the artery. Unfortunately, the bottle cap sized wound bleed excessively just like the spider bite; it took a heated arrow to both spots to finally cauterize the wounds. The human apparently passed out before she arrived otherwise Thranduil imagined he would have heard screams. In the update, Balan specifically expressed concern over the limb loss. Extensive damage often result in limb removal, and with the venom it appeared to be a likely event. Thranduil felt a small hint of sympathy rise within his core, the venom commonly known to be an anticoagulant flesh eating nightmare. Within a few days Balan would decide if she could keep her all limbs or not.

With a quick signature Thranduil acknowledged the report returning it to the messenger. He sent a low-ranking soldier equipped with a sword to be stationed inside the healing chambers. His order simple, if she attacked anyone, kill her. Thranduil trusted first impressions, if her impaired state gave any indication to her true nature he preferred to be prepared.

Thranduil had been called away to deal with the more managerial side of his kingdom. Construction, harvest, hunts, festivals were just a few aspects of Mirkwood that needed constant attention. He often delegated most of the oversight roles to other trustworthy elves unfortunately most of their orders required his approval. These advisor meetings took all day though, each one bickering over where the king's attention needed to be paid. Generally he made his decisions in private where advisors couldn't try to persuade him.

When the last advisor finally exited the room at an achingly slow pace Thranduil sighed in relief. Quietly he began the lengthy walk to the healing chambers. By the time he arrived the stars finally rose to litter the dark sky. Quietly he slipped into the room, a faint yellow glow radiating from the flowers encased on the wall. The light highlighted his silhouette. For a brief moment he looked like the embodiment of heaven: nimble, handsome, and deceptive. When the light faded he once again returned to an elven king.

He passed by the beds laid out in rows, each covered in white sheets and pillows. It had been many days since even half the beds were occupied with soldiers writhing in pain. Now, most warriors sustained their injuries through carelessness or training. Thranduil preferred it that way; the number of lives lost in wars bordered the astronomical. Early on he decided that his people suffered through enough bloodshed and grieving.

At night he still dreamt of gore, blood-soaked hands, spilled intestines, and splintered bones that pierced through the skin in an unorganized fashion. The dead in his dream rarely were faceless, his father, the captain of the guard before Tauriel. Sometimes he would could call to them by name, but lately he simply watched them die. After these grotesque images he'd wake to sweat soaked sheets, dreading the next war that would come.

The sounds of Mirkwood drifted in hooting owls searching for their mate, snorting steeds wanting more food, even the leaves communicating to the trees. At the end of the room tucked off into a side alcove Balan sat hunched over a florescent vial, a new concoction surrounded by a plethora of hastily scribbled notes. Tangled gray hair fell a few inches past his shoulders, bushy eyebrows furrowing with each tap he gave the vial.

Balan, an adolescent in elf standards but he looked much older, his pale complexion and stress lines painted him well into his twilight years. His dark robe's linen sleeves were pulled back to his elbows, he worked carefully to avoid contaminating the scattered ingredients. From what Thranduil could tell from a distance the plants were all of a poisonous variety. Normally, he would interrupt but he felt a slight paternal instinct for Balan, so in quiet he watched the elf tinker.

A nearby flask gurgled causing him to peer up, his eyes finally detecting Thranduil. He stood hastily nearly knocking his notes to the ground. Balan secured them to the desk with a dagger's weight before bowing.

"Her condition?" Thranduil inquired. They moved out into the main room, both turning to watch her slow tempo-filled breathing from afar. She rested in a bed a few cots down, in some spots the sheet obviously stained crimson. The cadence of her breathing similar to elves but a bit faster, Thranduil did not know if the rate difference was because of her race or injuries.

"The same, my Lord. Strong willed. Healthy physical shape. Sustained significant blood loss, quick recovery – unlikely. But should recover. Assuming the leg and arm refrain from infection. A nasty infection could lead to possible removal." He rattled off, it had been about two months since Thranduil spoke to Balan, in that time he forgot the unusual pacing of Balan's speech. "Yet to determine cause of leg wound." He pinched the bridge of his short nose, "The damage extremely extensive. Cannot fathom the weapon."

She turned in her sleep the sheets rustling until they settled along the length of her body. Balan politely requested the King to accompany him to the other room. A single table stood in the middle of the room, on top the soldier's armor laid out. Not a single piece of it even remotely familiar to Thranduil.

In the center of the table, the tunic armor piece. Thranduil picked it up running his fingers along the uneven fabric. The tunic weighed more than most, the cloth encased a heavy but flexible material. When Thranduil knocked on the tunic it returned a dull sound nothing like the sound of knuckles against metal. Next to the tunic a pair of ankle high tan boots splattered in dried mud. His finger nail scrapped the sole, they were made out of something other than leather. Almost all of this armor was composed of materials unknown to the races of Middle-Earth.

He moved on, a vest filled with various pouches each contained an array of metal items. The knife, Legolas had mentioned in his report, a rather mundane looking piece of metal but solid craftsmanship. Her pants held multiple side pockets those empty, but a holster of some kind strapped to the upper left thigh. Too low for a sword, but something clearly fit into it.

In addition there appeared to be another linen tunic embroiled with symbols and letters, CPT. Davis, he read assuming it to be her designation. He threw it back onto the table knocking two metal scraps connected by a chain, upon closer inspection similar information had be pressed into these as well.

Then finally, an enclosed metal case that couldn't be opened despite Thranduil's strength. He touched the sleek side causing the screen to light up. A beam of light burst forth startling both of the Elves, in surprise Thranduil dropped it onto the table. He soon realized that it wouldn't harm them, he glanced at the screen again, 'UNLOCK' in big bold white letters stared back at him. Other colors floated in the background, confused and unsettled he set it on the table.

"Magic, my Lord?" Thranduil paused, never had he encountered or been told of such a creature. Something dark dropped this human upon his door. This woman filled him with anxiety, his reports on the humans resembled normal settings, swords and shields, not metal filled with light. While the most recent full report only ten years ago, it seemed unlikely that the humans progressed this far in a short period of time.

He wanted answers.

"I shall find out." He replied and then exited the room without another glance back.

/-/-/

Unfortunately, Thranduil remained entangled with a number of elven affairs preventing him from truly following up on any of the many lines of inquiry about Captain Davis. Upon Legolas's suggestion he sent his son out to pursue any information from neighboring human settlements, with as much discretion as possible. A few carefully placed questions might clear this up.

To Thranduil's dismay, Legolas's idea of discretion resulted in another human in his domain. A creature he did not want gracing his halls. The large man stood before the King his black beard curled unkempt, it clearly uneven in length. His teeth held a faint yellow tarnish, and his voice sickeningly sweet. The man's leather boots were covered in clay, his tunic and pants covered in blood and other fluids. Thranduil nearly gagged at his stench, he cast a stern glare at Legolas how could he have believed this to be a good idea. The ugly man's stance happened to be rather casual but he was still nervous constantly directing his gaze towards the walls. Avoiding Thranduil in his entirety.

Taran's, the human, responses to the King's questions consistently border on being useless and full of conjecture. He would rub his hand and start with an open gesture, but he never actually supplied Thranduil with any information.

"Perhaps I can take a gand'r at this girl. I determine if she came from my village." His tone cheerily but overly so. The man grinned. Only causing Thranduil to want to remove Taran's head from his shoulders. With his patience running thin Thranduil gave a nod to a nearby guard, who left to retrieve the woman. At the very least if he could not identify the woman he could get this human's stench out of his kingdom. Taran stroked his beard before resting his dirt caked nails on the pommel of his sword.

Captain Davis hobbled after the guard, distrust and irritation clearly present on her face. Her short hair parted to the side and her armor traded in for a brown tunic and pants. Apparently there had been a lengthy dispute about the tactical fallacies with wearing robes. From the gist Thranduil managed to hear Balan relented after the third hour of her rant. The tunic cut large on her torso, it hung loosely but most of the excess tucked into her pants. She stood with her back ramrod straight and hands clasped behind her back. A very similar stance that his soldiers took when not carrying weapons.

A complete opposite to Taran.

Taran, inspected Cpt. Davis his vision roaming her body with a predatory gleam in his eye. He took a walk around her as if inspecting horse. Thranduil waited for a response or even complaints about her injuries. The man quickly nodded, rubbing his blistered hands together.

"Yes, I remember her one of the more interesting villagers. She was to be sent to Kenth, a starting village. Must have gotten lost along the way, poor dear. Terrifyin' experience I bet. Feminine brain' you must understand it causes them to get lost." He made some more vulgar gestures before returning to a more respectful stance. He bowed in apology and kept in line with the king-peasant conduct. Thranduil peered at Davis she seemed unnerved even more than before, her hands clasped behind her clenched, her jaw locked. Her muscles indicated a clear dislike, perhaps an even violent response. His guards noticed this also, their stances adjusted to be a little wider. Their weight now on the balls of their feet, he doubted she would attack them.

Unsurprising this man seemed to irritate her at the least. She didn't comment however, but according to Balan her medicine regime was rather loaded with sedatives to ease the pain.

"A new settlement, you say?" Thranduil rested his chin on his hand, content to see how this played out. The man clearly unaware Thranduil caught onto his lies.

"Yes, my lord a small settlement to the north. Already in construction, the weather a bit nippin' but I'm sure the man she's promised to will see she's taken care." He crafted his story with fairly accurate details, a human or dwarf might have been susceptible. He smiled widely his teeth showing the full extent of his tooth decay. Thranduil made no move, fairly comfortable upon his throne. He contemplated how long to play along with this man's charade.

"Right and I'm God." The words came from Davis, her arms now folded across her chest. The sleeves were rolled up showing her bandages. Even through the heavy layers of dark cloth, the wound decay noticeable. The blood and skin had soaked into the cloth, darkening them even farther. Thranduil imagined the puss and rotting skin that lay below. He rarely turned his sight at gore, but infectious flesh wounds did the trick.

The captain's darkened pupils followed Taran's movements closely.

Taran gave a slight laugh, moving closer to Davis and gently touched her shoulder. His hand stayed on the edge of shoulder but Davis still bristled. Thranduil smirk internally to himself.

"Sweetheart, I heard you hit your head rather hard." His words disgustingly sweet a complete opposite tone to hers.

"Removed your hand. Now." Her tone dark and authoritative. He apparently hadn't registered the serious nature of her words. He slid his hand along her shoulders, preparing his next statement.

Davis reacted, her elbow slamming into his ribs, she retched Taran's arm forward turning around before kneeing forcefully his groin. With ease she punched him in the face and while he tumbled to the ground she pulled his sword nearly nicking him. With the steel now pointed at his chest, she grinned. The guards raised their weapons, Thranduil held up a hand.

"First, when anyone tells you to remove your hand, you do it." She snarled, the sword resting pointedly on his chest bone, "Secondly, being female doesn't affect my ability to kick your ass, mentally, physically, or emotionally. Understand?" He cowered below her glare and weapon, he nodded rapidly. She relinquished the pressure on his chest and his wrist, where her foot had been pressed. He scurried away to the other side cradling his right wrist. Within in seconds the elven guards surrounded Davis, she adapted a defensive posture. The sword raised in her right hand and her left instinctively reaching for her thigh, only to find it empty.

Thranduil commanded for the removal of Taran in Elvish. Legolas and Tauriel dragged him with little care for his complaints. On the way out he whimpered and shot death glares at Davis. With a look back to Davis he noticed her arms shaking, her body had barely started to recover, the sword heavy and improperly balanced caused her to strain.

"Relinquish your weapon." He commanded gently. His perception of this human changing to a slightly positive disposition. They stood in a deadlock until Legolas returned, by now Davis had begun to sweat through her tunic. Perspiration falling freely down her face.

"This was found on the man, he apparently took it from the clearing." Legolas pull a metal object out of the dark leather bag. He palmed it loosely in his hand, handling it rather carelessly.

Davis apparently caught an eye-full as well. Thranduil began to speak.

"I se-"

"Wooh, don't point that at anyone." Legolas stared at Davis confused, "Face it down, don't touch the trigger, and check if the safety is on." She dropped the sword either from exhaustion or fear Thranduil couldn't tell, it landed with clang. Davis's hands now raised above her head, in a sign of amnesty. Her genuine concern mixed with rapid orders set everyone on edge. Legolas turned slightly, the object now pointed at her. She squirmed even more, her weight shifted forward.

"Please don't point that at me. For fuck's sake check the safety." She pleaded, her voice fluctuating between frustration and fear.

"Safety?" The word rolled of Tauriel's tongue but the elves stood perplexed at the relation of the word to the item.

"Okay," Davis started slowly, moving her hands down "take the gun and put into your hands like this." Her hands mirrored the object in Legolas's hand. Thranduil considered taking control of the moment but Davis's reaction warranted pause. "Okay now look down next to your left forefinger there is a small almost lever, against the side. Do you see it?"

"Yes."

"Okay good, now push it forward until you hear it click." Davis held her breath until the familiar sound of a click resonated in the air. She visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropped and her breath started to even out.

"A gun?" Thranduil pronounced the word rather sloppily the first time.

"Uh," Davis stuttered, opening her mouth a number of times before finally settling on snapping her jaw down tight. Thranduil repeated his request and Davis refused to answer, her eyes down cast and she swallowed heavily, a whiff of sweat and blood coursed through the air. A quick glance down confirmed the wound on her leg had reopened, blood soaking into the pants.

"You shall answer me human. I am a King giving you an order." He spewed in unbridled rage. Information like this he needed, clearly no other human would know. She stayed defiant. He gave a swift nod to the guard next to Davis the elf forced the soldier on her knees. She grunted in pain, her breathing labored. Thranduil moved from his throne and stood before her, his fingers grasped her chin and he proceeded to jerk her head up forcing her to stare into his face. She could not hide in the wood beneath his feet.

"Tell me." He snarled, her guarded expression gave him nothing. She pulled her head back. He nodded again to the guard, this time the elf shoved his fingers into her leg wound. The guard's gauntlets quickly became coated in blood. The red liquid glistening along the metal. She gritted her teeth, her eyes slammed shut. The human trembled in what was likely unimaginable pain. He nodded again and the metal pierced farther.

"My name-" she grunted "is Captain, ah- Davis." She paused briefly relenting to the increasing pain, "Identification: Foxtrot, three, Alpha, Rico, seven, four, United States Military." She continued to state her designation and identification until tears streamed down her face. Every once in a while she'd bite her lip and cry out. It continued for a good fifteen minutes. The same question, the same response. Eventually Legolas intervened, only to inform Thranduil that Balan waited for the return of his patient. Thranduil stopped, the look in his son's eyes was unmistakable, disappointment. He waved his hand the guard stepped away from Davis, her gasps and crying echoed about them. He informed Legolas to have Balan meet Davis at the dungeon, no longer would she live in luxury, she now officially became a prisoner of war.