Two days! Look, everyone, I finished a chapter in two days! Apparently I'm motivated at the moment. We should throw a party.

We're jumping forward in time a bit here.

"Aww."

"Look at that."

"So cute."

"Haven't you two only been married half a century? When did this happen?"

"Storm, you knew Caliel was pregnant. You couldn't possibly have missed it."

"I could if I tried hard enough."

"May I hold him?"

"Galion, I'd be careful giving your baby to Taen if I were you. You might not get him back."

"Have you named him yet?"

"Firith."

"Hi, little Firith. You look like your ada."

"Except for the pink hair."

"Well, at least he doesn't have stripes, Storm."

"Sad, right?"

"There's nothing wrong with pinkish hair, you two. Be nice. Taen, can I hold him?"

"No."

"It's my turn."

"I thought you got to hold him this morning?"

"He was all squished-looking then, and you still have to share."

"I guess we shouldn't be surprised to see Taen and Kilvara fighting over a baby."

"I have an idea. Give him to Thranduil; he needs the practice."

"Ah... no, Taensirion, you can keep him... That is not necessary..."

"Your wife is right, my lord. It benefits me to give you a turn."

"Hold the baby, Thranduil. He won't bite you."

"Might spit up on you, though."

"Shush, Storm."

Thranduil looked down at the tiny pink creature in his arms, having no idea whatsoever what he was supposed to do with this thing.

"Talk to him, Thranduil."

Feeling silly, he did so. "Hello... My name is King Thranduil..."

Everyone else put their heads in their hands. "Here, let me show you," Eithryn said, holding out her arms.

He gratefully handed off the baby and backed up a few steps.

"Hi, Firith," Eithryn said in a singsong voice. "Welcome to Greenwood! Don't mind Thranduil; he's kind of scared of you, but don't worry, he'll come around soon." There was a huge smile on her face as she gently bounced the baby up and down. She gave Firith back to Thranduil, ignoring her husband's attempts to escape. "Now try again."

"Um... Kilvara, you take him."

She eagerly did so. "Sorry, Sky."

Eithryn folded her arms at Thranduil and tapped her foot.

"There will be plenty of opportunities later."

"Later," she muttered. "It's always later."

"I promised we would have a baby within a century."

She put her hands on her hips. "Exactly, and you're running out of time. So get over there—" Kilvara was taking the baby over to where Felrion waited out of sight of Taensirion (Why on Arda couldn't those two get along?), while Taensirion and—oh dear—Coryn talked with Galion about fatherhood. "—and get over your irrational fear of babies!"

Thranduil sensed that he was going to be in trouble if he did not make some attempt to interact with Galion's newborn son. "...Perhaps I could watch while you hold him?" He took in her expression and quickly realized that was not going to work. "No?"

"No. Look, let me say it like this: If we're going to have one of those soon—and we are; that's not up for debate—you need to learn how to interact with them. Got it?"

He sighed dramatically. "Very well, have it your way. Perhaps we could visit Galion and Caliel tomorrow for parenting lessons?"

"You'll learn to like them," she promised. "And yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking. I'll ask Galion in a minute." She kissed his cheek before running over to see the baby again.

"My wife is beginning to act like a queen," Thranduil observed to Taensirion, who came over to join him; Galion had evidently decided it had been too long since he held his son, and was now attempting to reclaim him from Kilvara. "What is the world coming to?"

"I would say she is acting like a mother," Taensirion corrected. "Though those may not be so different."

"I suppose it is nearly time to start a family, now that everything is getting sorted out."

"With all due respect, my lord, I think you are well past 'nearly time'."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"And, again with all due respect, I believe your wife is right when she accuses you of being afraid of children."

Thranduil started to shake his head, but Taensirion continued before he could disagree.

"I am referring especially to the thought of having your own. It is only natural, Thranduil."

Perhaps he was right.

"Though I do not expect your discomfort around babies will remain for long once you have one of your own. I give it five minutes at most." He smiled at Thranduil's doubtful expression. "It is quite an experience, holding your child for the first time; just ask your butler."

Thranduil did not see quite how that would work, but he decided to take his friend's word for it. "I wish..."

Taensirion put his hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "You wish your father could be here to meet his grandchildren."

He did, and even more, he wished Oropher was there simply to tell him he could do this thing that somehow seemed more intimidating than becoming king. "Yes."

Taensirion sighed softly and managed a smile. "There is always Valinor. Perhaps someday he will."

"Perhaps."

. . . . . .

"Hi!"

"Hey, Galion! How's Firith?"

"Oh, he's wonderful—come in!" Galion seemed no less enthusiastic to show off his son than he had the day before, though Thranduil did note that he appeared rather tired, not that one would have known it from the way he was beaming.

Eithryn had already found the baby. "Aww, look at you! I think you got even cuter, didn't he, Thranduil?"

"...Yes," said Thranduil, who was trying to find something attractive about the pink squishy-looking thing.

"He's pretty adorable," Caliel agreed sleepily. She was sitting on the couch with Firith bundled in her arms, looking about ready to pass out.

Galion circled around to lean over the back of the couch, gazing lovingly at the baby. "Isn't he?"

Thranduil resolved to pretend he thought the child was cute, at least in front of his parents. And Eithryn. And Kilvara and Felrion and Taensirion and Lanthirel. Perhaps he could tell Coryn his honest opinion.

Unfortunately, his wife had plans. "Caliel, can Thranduil hold Firith?"

"Sure," Galion's wife said, handing the baby to Eithryn. "My arms are tired, anyway."

Just your arms? Thranduil thought, gingerly accepting Firith from his wife. He had been lectured that morning on how he was not allowed to decline any babies who happened to be offered to him for holding. Thankfully, no one told him to attempt communication again.

"Caliel, can I ask you some questions about pregnancy and such?" Eithryn asked.

Caliel yawned. "Sure, no problem."

Galion turned to Thranduil. "My lord, would you like to go into the kitchen and talk as I make dinner? I'm not sure I am qualified to give you advice yet, but maybe I could answer a few questions, too?"

"Very well," Thranduil agreed, not wanting to stay and listen to some of the unpleasant details his wife would probably ask about. He followed Galion out of the room, being very, very careful to hold the baby exactly the way Eithryn had showed him. It—he looked so fragile.

Galion led him into the kitchen and took out a pair of fish wrapped in leaves, which he placed in a frying pan while turning on the stove—the one he'd asked for after learning to use Thranduil and Eithryn's—smiling at his son all the while. "Isn't he just perfect?"

Thranduil wisely just smiled and nodded. "So... ah... what does he do, exactly?"

"Oh, not much yet," the butler said with a shrug. "He sleeps a lot, and he cries, of course. And we have to change his diapers."

Thranduil tried not to gag.

"He must like you," Galion observed. "He started screaming his head off yesterday when Storm held him."

At least he and Firith had something in common, Thranduil thought, smirking. He did get along reasonably well with his brother-in-law these days, but even so...

"And he can do this," Galion announced proudly, and he tickled the infant's palm. His finger was promptly grabbed.

"Very impressive," Thranduil said, not feeling impressed at all.

"I know! I love him already!" Galion was giddy with excitement, which Thranduil attributed to a severe lack of sleep due to the aforementioned crying baby. The king did, however, take that opportunity to return Galion's child to him, as the butler seemed momentarily finished with the cooking.

. . . . . .

"How does he do it?" Galion wondered, returning from washing the dishes. "Sky, you saw it, didn't you? Firith started crying and Storm handed him back to me, and I rocked him and sang to him—right?"

"Right," Sky agreed.

"But nothing worked. I was about to give up, but just then—you remember, Sky?"

"Taen came along and asked if he could try it..."

"And almost as soon as he took him, Firith was happy again!" Galion shook his head in amazement. "I need to learn his secret!"

"We've got to ask," Sky agreed.

Just then, Caliel came back from the other room, where she had been feeding Firith. "Who wants the baby?" she asked tiredly. "I'm going to bed."

Sky pointed to Thranduil, who reluctantly got up to take Firith. He wondered if the child had any way of recognizing him, or if he only responded to if and how he was being held. He had yet to do anything except lie there and blink when Thranduil was holding him, though he had started crying when Eithryn had him a few minutes before, apparently expressing hunger.

Galion got up to give his wife a goodnight kiss, and as she disappeared into their bedroom, a knock came from the door. Galion rushed to open it. "Silana! Come in!"

Taensirion's youngest daughter, now fully grown and promoted to the rank of captain, equal to Coryn (Kilvara was a commander now), did so. "Hello to all of you—especially you, Firith." She smiled at the baby, then bowed to Thranduil; bowing to the queen was still strictly forbidden. "My lord, there is some trouble up north, and my father sent me to find you—"

"I've got it," Eithryn interrupted, darting outside before Thranduil could volunteer and thus escape his predicament.

"He said you'd volunteer," Silana whispered to Thranduil, "but I guess she got to it first. Don't worry, King Thranduil, you are quite good with children, even if you haven't figured it out yet. I should know." She winked, then ran outside. "Bye, Galion! Sky, wait up!"

"Look at her, all grown up," Galion remarked to Thranduil as he closed the door and returned to the couch. "Who do you think she looks most like?"

"Her mother, I suppose," Thranduil replied, trying to shift Firith to a better position so his arms would not fall asleep again.

"She does have her hair," Galion agreed thoughtfully, referring to the rich, deep red-brown Lanthirel's two younger girls had inherited. "And she is as graceful as her mother. But her eyes are her father's."

It was true, and not just in color. Thranduil often thought he glimpsed a bit of Taensirion's wisdom in Silana's gray eyes, or perhaps he only thought so out of his growing respect for the young she-elf.

He suddenly found himself wondering what his children would look like. Green eyes, or blue? Copper hair, or silver-gold? Mischievous grin, or amused smirk?

Galion was thinking along similar lines. "Who do you think Firith looks like?"

Thranduil considered the baby in his arms, whose brown eyes had drifted shut. "He has your eyes, and her hair." He could not get much more than that out of the child's chubby features.

Galion could, apparently. "I think he has Caliel's nose, and the shape of the eyes is hers, too, but his ears and his mouth are mine."

Thranduil found himself staring at Galion's ears, searching for something unusual about them.

The butler yawned and put his head down on the table. "Thank you for coming to visit."

Ah, this was the long-awaited hint that he was allowed to leave now. "You are most welcome, and thank you for indulging my wife's desire to habituate me to children."

There was no response.

"Galion?" Thranduil whispered, his eyes going wide as he reached out to shake his butler. He did not wish to be in charge of putting the baby to bed, however one even did that. Though Firith was already—

Firith was not asleep. Thranduil's failed attempts to wake Galion jostled the baby, and he now looked up at the king sleepily.

Oh, no. "Please do not cry," Thranduil begged, not wanting to wake up the child's exhausted mother, or get in trouble for waking Firith up again, or whatever else he might have done wrong.

Firith wriggled a little bit and let out a whimper, like he was thinking about screaming for his mother, but was not quite sure yet if he was awake enough.

Thranduil looked around for inspiration, trying desperately to remember if he had ever seen someone put a baby to sleep before, and his eyes fell on a rocking chair in the corner. He moved over there, walking carefully so as not to further disturb the baby, and settled down in the chair, anxiously watching Firith's face as he pushed back and forth, back and forth. "Go to sleep," he whispered.

The baby yawned widely and closed his eyes. Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief.

He rocked Firith for a few more minutes, until he was sure the baby was not going to wake up anytime soon, and then he cautiously made his way across the room, not sure where Firith was supposed to sleep. He felt uncomfortable going into the bedroom, but, not sure what else to do, he knocked quietly and opened the door.

Ah, there was a crib. He eased Firith into it and tucked the miniature blanket over him, feeling an unexpected surge of warmth. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, he was starting to like the baby after all.

"Good night, Firith."

Thranduil has started his journey to the dark side.