Thranduil and Oropher's physical recovery process took its first big steps. With the allowance and capability of being permitted to walk around their joint healing chamber, first only with a healer present and then independently, Avaron changed their room.
The new chamber was twice the size of the previous one and as well lit. Situated in a corner of the Mirkwood palace healing ward, it offered a wider view of the kitchen gardens as well as a look toward the towering trees blocking the training fields from view. Beside the beds and floor-length window, one half the room contained a dinner table, bookshelf, and sofa beside a low coffee table.
"I expect you to rest often," Avaron told Thranduil, inspecting the healing scars on the prince's shoulder and torso. "Else I will be forced to keep you here longer than is practical."
Thranduil grinned at the elf. "I do not know what you mean. I may look toward the window more than I ought, but I can survive a little longer without running away."
Avaron shook his head and moved away from Thranduil's bed toward Oropher. Jailil took Avaron's place in front of Thranduil as the elf pulled his tunic back down over his head.
"I dare say Avaron suspected you had not stitched me up to satisfaction," Thranduil exclaimed.
"I never feel so sure of myself as I do with a needle in hand," Jailil answered. His eyes twinkled. "It is Avaron's business to make certain healing is taking place. Your body did most of the work, Thranduil, I only helped it along."
"How is the darling Delya?" Thranduil inquired.
Jailil thrust a tin at him. "Rub this into your scars nightly or I will hear about it."
"I must insist after the darling Delya," Thranduil protested, as Jailil made ready to leave at Avaron's beckon.
"She made the salve," Jailil answered. "I dare say, Thranduil, you are as nosy as me!"
"Ah, but you are paid to be nosy," Thranduil called after him, as Jailil shut the door.
Left in the sunny room with Oropher, Thranduil set the tin of salve on his bedside table, noticing Avaron had given Oropher a similar tin, and slid his legs off the bed. He stood slowly and steadied himself before walking across the room to inspect the books Harune had stocked on the bookshelf. He wrinkled his nose; judging by the lettered spines, they smelled of supplemental lesson text.
One book caught his eye. Mirkwood Family Etiquette. He sat down to read it, noticing Oropher's eyebrows went up when he glimpsed the title. Quietly, and behind the cover of his hand, Thranduil grinned.
At the table, Oropher sifted through a stack of official parchments and carefully melted wax over a small candle flame. Over the top of his book, Thranduil watched him adroitly stamp his seal to a dozen letters without pause. It was a pretty movement.
When the sun began to set, it fell down behind the palace. The room turned dim and a maid came to light the wall candles. Thranduil set his book aside and came with care to sit at the dinner table.
Despite the drop in light, the room still glowed with summer's evening warmth, and Thranduil welcomed the heaping tomato sandwich on golden brioche bread beside a salad of fresh greens and toppings the attending maid set in front of him.
On the tray came a neatly folded and plain note from Ailunai, with her regrets for not coming to see him but she was "occupied with some sprouts" and Nimrethil's flamboyant gold-edged paper covered in flowery "Enjoy!'s"
Thranduil cut the towering sandwich in half and pressed it down a little to keep the layers of tomato, basil, cheese, and finely sliced meat from tumbling out. The smell of balsamic dressing brought the taste to his mouth before he bit into it.
As he chewed, he glanced at Oropher's dinner tactfully. He knew it could not be Nimrethil who had cooked the finest cuts off a deer to perfection and covered them in thick white sauce. Served over a bed of greens and mushrooms, with a side of crisped croutons, the dish failed to evoke summer. Steam curled above it, but it lacked smell.
"Would you—would you like half of my sandwich?" Thranduil ventured.
"It would be inappropriate for me to take the nourishment you need," Oropher answered haughtily, still holding his unused knife and fork. "Do not be ridiculous."
"I intend no ridicule, my king," Thranduil said. "It is no trouble to give you half of mine now and ask Nimrethil to assemble another sandwich for us to share. Of course, I understand you may wish to . . . consume the meal at hand. Complements to your personal chef." Under pretense of politeness, he lifted his napkin to his lips.
Oropher glared at him and Thranduil flushed, aware he could hold back his laughter and hide his face, but knowing his blue eyes were screaming with mirth. A small smile parted Oropher's lips. "Very well, I admit I am not impassioned by the talents of my personal chef this night. I accept your offer."
Thranduil passed half of his sandwich to Oropher and aggressively rang the bell for the maid. She appeared. "Yes, my prince?"
"I wonder if you would be so good as to deliver a message to Nimrethil in the kitchens?" Thranduil inquired.
"Assuredly, my prince."
"Please ask her to send up the twin of the meal she provided me. Thank you."
The maid bowed and left. Thranduil turned back to his sandwich.
"Your courtesy towards the servants is noted and unnecessary," Oropher observed.
Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "Let it be noted and necessary. Despite serving dutifully, gratitude is appreciated on all fronts. Allow me to say thank you, my king, for the duties rendered so faithfully this afternoon to the kingdom."
Oropher, in turn, rivaled Thranduil's eyebrow raise with one of his own. "If you refer to the stamp of approval rendered to certain documents, no thanks is necessary."
"But it is appreciated, surely, my king," Thranduil replied simply.
The room door swung open and Nimrethil shattered the atmosphere of the room. Surely the tray she carried so precariously would have crashed to the floor in any hand but hers as she rushed to the table and set down two white places, each with half a sandwich on it. She banged the empty tray against her thigh.
"Well!" Nimrethil exclaimed. "This is an historic occasion! When Anya told me that the King—the King, mind you—had utterly rejected the creation of his personal chef—personal chef, mind you—with a pinched nose, I had to come up and see."
"I object to your depiction of the event," Oropher said.
Nimrethil inspected the unwanted tray of food with malice in her eyes. "Not even fit for the pigs, I see. What I shall do with this orc waste, I do not know! Will you be wanting dessert, Thranduil, my prince?"
Thranduil took care to wipe his lips before replying. "What do you have in mind?"
"I have cooked up a lovely crème brulee with a nicely caramelized top. Plenty of fresh strawberries to go round, not to mention the whipped cream I tortured my under-maid with beating up. Of course, the King's personal chef has also made his own concoction. Perhaps you would prefer a bowl of orc blood with shredded tree bark and a topping of dried slugs?"
Thranduil turned red and coughed out the few chuckles he could not contain. He managed to whisper, "The crème brulee will suit, thank you, Nimrethil."
"I too would prefer the crème brulee," Oropher said sternly. "No doubt the concoction to which you refer so close-mindedly is only raspberry pudding. A personal favorite of mine."
"Indeed," Nimrethil said wickedly. She caught up the unwanted tray of food and fled the room.
Dinner and desert consumed, Thranduil took his book and flung himself upon the sheets of his sleep-ready bed. He lay on his stomach and read until Harune came in to say goodnight and massage Delya's salve into his healing scars. In the scent of geraniums and rose, Thranduil fell asleep.
I have been both surprised and gratified by Oropher and Thranduil's willingness to grow!
Thanks so much for reading, y'all! I have been loving some really in-depth thoughts and comments on My Prince that challenge me to look at the story with new eyes. You make my day!
Next Chapter: "I ask that you call me ada," Oropher said.