Disclaimer: These chapter are not meant to encourage participation in certain activities mentioned herein, especially because the target audience is mainly made up of non-elves who would quite possibly experience long-term side effects that do not manifest in our pointy-eared friends. However, the author felt that the positive effects that could be gained from reading this humorous collection of chapters would outweigh the small risk of them inspiring her highly intelligent audience to do something unfitting said intelligence.
Translation: This is stupid, despite being funny. Don't do it.
Oropher never knew what to expect from his daughter-in-law; he could never tell when he spoke to her if she was going to smile at him, make fun of him, or just plain ignore him. She had never punched him before, however.
He had never realized just how fast the little monster was. He had seen her stagger out of the feast hall and gone to investigate, wondering if she was ill—while food poisoning was rare in elves, it was not unheard of—and had unwisely continued to approach even when she backed away with a wild look in her eyes. Now he was left reeling from the unexpected blow, at the mercy of a possibly insane she-elf. He held up his hands to defend himself from the expected attack, but it did not come.
. . . . . .
Inside, Thranduil returned from a short chat with Taensirion and looked around, wondering where his wife had gone.
. . . . . .
Oropher dared to open his eyes when he heard a quiet thump, and he quickly realized that he was no longer in danger. Eithryn was lying facedown a few feet away, but she quickly got back to her feet—quickly, but not gracefully, and Oropher smirked as he finally realized what was going on. He offered to help her to a nearby stump, but she slapped his hand away and promptly fell back onto the moss. "I see my son finally convinced you to try wine."
She muttered something that was probably an insult into the ground.
Oropher shook his head. "And I see that you liked it." He made his way to the door, pausing before he opened it to note that the Silvan elf showed no signs of moving and had most likely passed out.
. . . . . .
Thranduil had just reached the door when it opened, and he judged from the way his father's shoulders were shaking that his wife was indeed outside, and that he was going to regret his attempt to get her drunk, which he had thought had failed until she mysteriously disappeared.
Sure enough, there she was, lying with her face in the dirt. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry as he rolled her over, but the choice became clear to him when she moved enough to kick him and muttered, "Goway."
"You only had three glasses!" he half sighed, half chuckled as she curled up in a ball. "Oh, Eithryn." He picked her up, pausing to send an amused glare at his father, who thought all of this was quite funny, and started off through the trees. First that horrid coffee substance, and now this... Perhaps he should not let his wife drink anything from now on, just to be safe.
. . . . . .
Thranduil poked the lump in the covers as he passed on his way to the closet. "Planning to get up anytime soon?"
Eithryn groaned, though the sound was muffled by the pillow over her head. "I hate you."