The Uncommon Tales
Tales of the Jade King: Scroll One
Chapter Two: Mischief and Mayhem
One small note from Katharine before we kick off chapter two: I've gone back and changed the timeline of JK to fit with Master Tolkien's edict concerning Elven aging. The introduction and first chapter have been amended accordingly. This Tale is now set in TA 113…the readership may want to crack out the Tale of Years in Appendix B of the LOTR Trilogy, because the world was a lot different then… thanks, and enjoy!
The tale continues…
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Brethil Bronaduion stared solemnly about the room he stood in. It was a small chamber, the walls painted a soothing green that reminded the child of the shadows that lived beneath the ferns in the woods. No fancy carpets or rugs graced the cool stone floor, only a thick braided rug of soft brown and russet cloth. The room's furnishings were spare and simple, though beautifully crafted of rich wood, darkened with age and use. The only ornament Brethil saw was a framed picture on the wall. The Elfling moved across the room to peer up at it curiously.
It was an ink rendering of a young Elf woman, obviously in a late stage of pregnancy. She was smiling in such a gentle and loving fashion that Brethil was reminded of his own mother—except that Lady Glaurhunant's hair spilled in waves as pale as those of her son, whereas the woman in the picture possessed thick tresses as dark as a raven's wing, woven with hints and flashes of a rich blue. The long locks cascaded over the slim white shoulders, flowing down her back in a pleasing contrast with the flowing lavender dress she wore. The silver and blue embroidery about the garment's neck matched the luminous tints of the woman's eyes. One delicate arm reached down to encircle her swollen abdomen, while the other arm rested atop it. The position of those graceful limbs spoke of such tender devotion and protectiveness that Brethil found himself swallowing a hard knot in his throat.
The young Elf sighed as he continued to gaze up at the picture, wondering who she was, and why she was hanging on the wall of the stern Master Archer's bedroom. His young eyes took in the skillfully drawn lines, and he marveled at how the face had been rendered so realistically. Then, Brethil caught sight of three small smudges that marred the portrait. It looked as though drops of water had splashed onto the ink while it was drying, smearing it slightly in blossoming circles.
The sounds of muffled laughter and hurried whispers drew his attention, and he turned to see Legolas and Tavor standing together beside the low bed, their eyes bright with mischief. Brethil frowned, his gaze dropping guiltily to the cage he carried in his slim hands. Five of Greenwood's squirrels were huddled inside, their dark eyes sparkling like polished onyx pebbles. They look up at him and scolded him softly for such treatment. He quietly apologized to them, his gaze moving once more to his two much bolder friends.
"Legolas? Tavor?"
The two were so absorbed in their own conversation and the mischief about to be unleashed that they didn't hear him. Brethil could not have known that, though his friends appreciated his company, they had learned to ignore his voice without really thinking about it. He took a few hesitant steps closer to them, and tried again, pitching his whisper to be heard over their excited murmurs.
"Legolas? Tavor?"
The impassioned chattering died away, and the two turned to look at him. Brethil frowned once more, not liking the looks on their faces. "This is going to get us all into a lot of trouble," he began, knowing that they probably would not heed anything he said, but feeling that he had to say it anyway. "I know you are angry with Master Tanglinna because he wouldn't let you go with your Ada on the hunting trip, Legolas, but—"
"But nothing, Brethil," Tavor interrupted. He patted the cage he had set down on the carven chest at the foot of the bed. "Master Tanglinna wasn't very nice to you, either," he continued with a nod, reaching one long finger between the wooden bars. One of the captive tree-leapers nipped the digit, and he let out a slight yelp, withdrawing the finger and shaking it in consternation. "Brethil…he said you were slow. He might not let you go with us on our hunt if he thinks you are too slow, and not up to the rest of the class."
Brethil shot his older friend a look of stunned disbelief, the pale grey eyes filled with hurt. "He wouldn't do that," he murmured, wondering if indeed the Master Archer would do just that. "I am not that slow…am I?"
Legolas scowled at Tavor. This was not the best way to approach the situation, he well knew. Tavor shrugged apologetically, realizing the same thing, if somewhat belatedly. "Of course you aren't, Brethil," the young prince said, moving to drape a reassuring arm over the younger Elf's shoulder.
"He is just an Old Sourpuss," Tavor snorted, then snickered at the not-so-nice nickname Legolas applied to the Master Archer.
"And he needs some…fun," the young Elf finished with a sly grin that worried Brethil.
Legolas smiled as his shining eyes met Tavor's. He knew that the other Elfling felt highly affronted because of the scolding Tanglinna had given him earlier, and that Tavor was as eager as the prince for this prank to be played; but they could both see the reluctance in Brethil's expression about this "trick." Too, there was a lurking worry that he might not be allowed to accompany them on the squirrel-hunting expedition. Legolas thought fast, inwardly rolling his eyes at Tavor's blunder. They couldn't afford to have Brethil running to the Master Archer now, not when they were so close to their revenge!
"You see, Brethil," Greenwood's youngest prince said in a low, soothing voice, as he moved to examine their little captives, "this is going to be fun! Can't you just imagine Master Tanglinna's face when he sees all our cute little squirrels sitting on his bed?"
"Well," Brethil hedged, his gaze darting to the cute little squirrels in the cages. They were all fretting at the bars, and he knew they were not happy about being confined in those small coops. "They are very cute," he conceded at last.
Tavor rolled his eyes and snorted slightly, which earned him a punch in the arm from Legolas. "Master Tanglinna will really like this, uh, surprise," Thranduil's son assured. "You know he likes squirrels. He has agreed to take us squirrel-hunting with my Ada, after all. All of us," he finished, glaring again at Tavor.
Seeing the sense in Legolas' words, Brethil nodded and set his cage down on the chest next to Tavor's. "You are certain that Master Tanglinna will think this is fun?" he asked, gently stroking one furry head through the bars.
They never seem to nip at his fingers, Tavor thought sourly as he glared down at his own caged squirrels. The little animals' stares seemed full of amusement, as though they were just waiting for him to try to pet them again. "Of course we're sure," he said impatiently, sticking his tongue out at the squirrels. They didn't have time to stand here and argue with Brethil; that could take all day. Tavor cast a nervous glance at the closed door, keenly aware that at any moment Tanglinna could come traipsing down the hall and into his room. That would be disastrous. The Elfling shivered slightly; he could not begin to imagine what sort of trouble this would get them into if they got caught. He suspected they would not be allowed on a hunting trip until they were as old as Tanglinna…and they all knew that he was as old as the Valar! "He will be running to, er, thank us for our gift, I am sure." Tavor grinned over at Legolas, who was stifling a giggle at this sentiment. Tanglinna would be running all right, but it was more likely that the Master Archer would be running after them, not to them.
Brethil nodded again, mostly mollified, though secretly he still harbored some doubts. Yet, as Tavor and Legolas never ceased to remind him, they were older than he was, if only by a few years. To their minds, that made Brethil the laes, the baby of the group. Therefore, Brethil assumed that he was right to listen to them, in deference to their greater experience and wisdom. "Very well," he said. "Do we let them out now?"
Tavor grinned widely, his dark grey eyes sparkling. "Yes, I suppose we had better let them out. They don't look very happy. They will be delighted to run about this nice room." A new thought hit him then, and he continued, "You are doing them a favor, Brethil, both them and Master Tanglinna, really! They can run about to get the exercise they need, and they'll entertain the great Master Archer at the same time!" Tavor nodded confidently, feeling very pleased with his logic.
Legolas smiled over at his suddenly clever friend and winked as they moved to the doorway, pulling Brethil along with them, the cages clutched firmly in their hands once more. This was going to be so much fun! Until they got caught, which he knew they would…eventually. It will be fun until we get caught, the princeling amended to himself. If Ada is on the hunting trip for a few days, then Master Tanglinna will have time to get over his anger with us before he returns. Well, most of his anger, anyway. Maybe this time we will be lucky, and we won't get caught at all! I am sure I will think of something to say if Master Tanglinna suspects us…
If anyone had been about a few minutes later, they would have seen the three young Elves slip away from Tanglinna's room, a wicked grin plastered on Tavor's slender face. Legolas was giggling quietly, and they both had their arms linked through Brethil's, to prevent him from going anywhere near the Master Archer and spoiling the "surprise." And inside the room, fifteen squirrels leaped and bounced, happy to be freed from the cages, which had been hastily stashed behind a hanging across the hallway.
No, Legolas concluded brightly as he began to sing. Tavor joined in immediately, and Brethil a moment later. We won't get caught. Not this time. Who would suspect that we managed to catch such fine squirrels, only to let them loose in Old Sourpuss' room? No one. I can't wait to see the look on his face!
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Later that evening…
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Tanglinna made his way down the torch-lit corridor to his room, a small smile of amusement lingering on his lips as he pondered the joke Nondil the fletcher had related over the evening meal. Jests involving tree stumps had become quite popular with the palace staff after word of Prince Legolas' unfortunate encounter with one had spread through Thranduil's halls. Tanglinna's smile widened. Perhaps that will teach the young prince not to brag so elaborately, the Master Archer mused—then sighed and shook his head. Knowing Legolas, it likely will not teach him anything, save that he must be sure to choose a hideaway with less branches the next time he wishes to frighten his sister.
As he always did, Tanglinna slowed his pace as he reached the last hallway that led to his quarters. His silvery eyes moved over the wall to his left, taking in the woodland mural so skillfully painted there. Towering trees stretched into the azure sky, their roots buried in cool green ferns and flowering plants and herbs. Fierce birds of prey circled the cloudless climes: eagles, hawks, and falcons, the majestic royals of the sky. Smaller birds nestled in the leafy treetops; sparrows, cardinals, blue jays, chickadees, and robins, winter and summer inhabitants of the Greenwood mingling together in one joyous gathering. Bright-eyed deer peered cautiously from behind mossy trunks, or grazed in the knee-high underbrush. Rabbits cavorted in the bushes, as foxes gamboled nearby, streaks of rust amidst the verdant grass. And in the abundantly leaved boughs, squirrels romped with wild abandon—grey, red, and Greenwood's own black, their velvety little ears perked, black eyes shining with mischief.
Tanglinna's gaze came to rest upon three of these ebon denizens of the wood. The objects of his scrutiny were playing together in the branches of a great beech tree, frolicking as though they hadn't a care in the world. The Master Archer shook his head and smiled once more. Antrenartew, the mural's expert creator, had painted this trio of mischief-makers to honor their youngest prince and his two friends, whom Tanglinna had often likened to squirrels. The three had such divergent personalities, yet they complimented one another, making them the best of friends since earliest childhood. Legolas was the natural leader—which wasn't surprising, considering his royal lineage, though Tanglinna knew there were minor clashes at times…especially between Legolas and Tavor.
Thranduil had always found those minor disagreements highly amusing. "It is in their blood," he would chuckle upon hearing of such conflicts, his silver eyes shining affectionately. "They cannot help themselves." Tanglinna snorted with amusement at the recollection; he well knew that Tavor's maternal grandmother, Laureahiril, still harbored resentment against Thranduil for her own husband's choice to follow Oropher to Greenwood in ages past.
"An exile," she called it, telling anyone foolish enough to listen to her bitter ranting. "An exile from civilization and all its comforts, is what this is. Forcing us to live in the untamed wilderness – what foolishness!" Indeed, Laureahiril had clashed with Oropher, just as she now clashed on occasion with Thranduil.
Tanglinna closed his eyes briefly, the memories of various courteous arguments quirking his lips upwards. "Norn dolant lhingrilam!" Oropher had typically growled under his breath with grudging amusement. Hardheaded spider-tongue!
"Tarlanc argalenas!" was Laureahiril's usual reply, laced with deference that was so faint as to be invisible at times. Obstinate leaf-king!
The Master Archer gave a low chuckle at this remembrance as he continued on to his room, wondering how the newest tarlanc argalenas was faring. He truly hoped Thranduil was enjoying his outing; the king had been forced to endure much grief in recent years, and every opportunity for cheery diversion was a gift to be treasured, in Tanglinna's thinking.
His thoughts wandered to the younglings then. Tanglinna hoped Legolas was recovering from his grand disappointment. The Master Archer hadn't enjoyed denying the child the pleasure of accompanying his father on the hunt, but the rules that governed their lives were in place for a reason. They had been time tried and tested, and ultimately proven necessary. A young Elf's first hunt was an important occasion, one filled with excitement tempered with anxiety. Today was most definitely not the day for the princeling's first hunt. Tanglinna knew that his young charges were not yet ready to take on the challenges they would be expected to face, and that they would not be able to meet those trials with confidence and skill for some time to come. On the day when Legolas and his age mates rode out on their first hunt, however, Tanglinna would be there with them, to share in their victory as they took their fledgling steps toward adulthood.
The young grow up so quickly, he thought with a sigh. One day they were mere babes stumbling about on chubby, unsure legs as they pulled away from their parents' guiding hands…and in the next eyeblink, they were grown with babes of their own.
"May they stay young as long as they may," the Master Archer murmured to himself as he opened the door to his room.
The door folded back onto utter chaos. Tanglinna stared in disbelief, blinking to assure himself that he was indeed standing on the threshold of his own room.
Fifteen black squirrels were scattered about the room, chattering and scolding one another. They were perched on the furniture, clambering about the carved dresser and headboard. One was sitting upright on one of the chairs whose backrest had been carefully wrought by Bronadui himself. The little animal was fretting over an acorn that wouldn't pry loose despite its best efforts to free it. Three of the others were seated in the middle of the bed's soft coverlet, huddled together, prattling at one another. They turned as one, however, to gaze up at the tall Master Archer as he stood transfixed in the doorway.
Tanglinna growled low in his throat, shaking free of the shock that had momentarily overtaken him, and thought ironically of how he had just wished the young ones would stay young for as long as possible. "Or not!" he muttered loudly, his voice carrying so fiercely in the small room that the tree-leapers started in fright. The Master Archer moved purposefully into his usually neatly ordered room. The candles placed on the dresser and the small table had been overturned, and a few of them bore telltale bite marks in the fragrant honey-colored wax. Tanglinna's annoyance was such that he felt only the slightest twinges of gratitude that he did not leave the candles lit in the daytime.
The three bold squirrels sitting on his rumpled bed leapt nimbly to the carved chest at the bed's foot, blinking up at him, bushy tails twitching and curling. He frowned at them, which caused them to jump to the floor and scurry out the door into the corridor, scolding him loudly as they ran. The others, seeing their fellows fleeing, quickly followed suit. The last one, a small creature with a frizzy tail, collided with Tanglinna's leg in its haste. It clung to his boot for a moment, then shrieked its fear and annoyance before bounding away.
The Master Archer shook his silvery head, still scowling fiercely as he moved to set the candles upright and smooth the bed covers. A few precious books had dropped to the floor from the table. He knelt to retrieve them, but sprang back upright when he heard a loud crash from the hall and a startled cry. Laying the books on the table, Tanglinna moved swiftly into the corridor.
A young Elf stood a few feet away, shaking his head in disbelief. The tray he had been carrying graced the stone floor at his feet, and its former contents lay scattered about the hallway. Tanglinna moved to pick up one of the silver goblet, and raised one brow as he surveyed the dent that marred its shining surface.
"I am sorry, Master Tanglinna," the Elf apologized as he bent to retrieve the tray. His fair face paled when he saw the damage the fall had caused several more of the goblets. "Oh, no. This is very bad," he murmured, holding one aloft, his grey eyes filled with worry. "What am I going to tell Galion?" He glanced over one shoulder, his brows quirking with annoyance. "And how did all those squirrels get into the palace?"
How indeed? Tanglinna thought as he helped the youth replace the goblets on the gilded tray.
"Where is Prince Legolas?" the Master Archer asked calmly, gazing down the corridor in the direction that the squirrels had taken.
"The prince?" The young Elf frowned slightly, thinking. "I believe he and Princess Lelemir were put to bed a few minutes past."
"I see," Tanglinna murmured as he placed the last goblet on the tray. "When you see Galion, do tell him that I wish to speak to him about what happened here."
The younger Elf swallowed nervously. This was not good. The dour Master Archer telling Galion what had transpired would only make his situation much worse. "Of course, Master Tanglinna. I will," he murmured, wondering what punishment he would receive for this mishap. He only hoped it wouldn't be to tell the king in person of the incident.
Tanglinna glanced over at the youth, a smile touching his lips as he saw the other's discomfort and trepidation. "Never fear, youngling," he said kindly, momentarily swallowing his irritation for the young Elf's sake. "I will tell Galion that this was not your fault."
Relief washed over the servant's face. "Thank you, Master Tanglinna," he said brightly, smiling his gratitude. He then bowed deeply and hurried back down the hallway in the direction of the kitchens, as if fearing that any delay might bring about a change in his fortune.
The Master Archer watched him go, his face inscrutable. "Well, nin caun," he said quietly. "Look what you have done now. I don't believe this is exactly what you had intended to happen." He shook his head at the thought of all the havoc the squirrels were likely to wreak elsewhere in the palace, then turned and walked back into his room. He brushed at his bed once more, glowering mightily at the squirrel-hair riddling the surface. Rest well tonight, little prince, he thought. You will need all of your strength tomorrow…
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Much later that night…
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The Elfling peered around the corner into the living area of his home, covering his mouth with one hand to stifle his giggles. The hour was early, far earlier than his normal waking time. He had crept from his bed as quietly as any youngling could manage, knowing that his Nana was already up and tending to various tasks in the household.
The child practically thrummed with the mischievous glee of the very young; rousing early was something of a game he played with Nana. Sometimes he dressed himself and pulled his own hair up into a disordered warrior's topknot, then came striding out of his room, declaring that he had been out hunting all night and had only just arrived back home. Then, while Nana straightened her son's clothing and re-braided his unruly locks, he would relate his nightly adventures with elaborate detail, even going so far as to hint that he had seen Oromë and his great steed ranging through the forest. On other occasions, the child hid under his bed until his mother came to wake him, and upon finding his bed empty she would search all through the house, calling his name and worrying aloud that he had run off and gone to live with the Silvan Elves across the mountains. Then, when she finally returned to her son's room, she would find the Elfling lying in his bed once more, attempting to feign sleep, muffling his giggles with his pillow.
His favorite trick, though, was the one he intended to play on this particular morning. The Elfling watched Nana moving about the living area, her long night robe whispering against the thick woolen rugs on the stone floor. Her golden hair was bound in intricate braids and pinned in a knot at the nape of her neck. The child bit down on his small fist to keep his laughter in. Nana was always so composed and calm—wouldn't she be surprised when he jumped out at her from the hallway!
The youngling shrank back as his mother cast a glance at the hall he was lingering in. He held his breath, keeping as still as possible, hoping to escape her notice. He did not think Nana had seen him; and as the minutes wore on without response from the living area, his smile widened, for surely if she had noticed her son's presence, she would have called to him. The Elfling peeked past the doorway once again and saw, to his impish delight, that his mother's back was turned to him.
Nearly bursting with excitement, the child gathered himself, then raced from his hiding place and sprang at his mother with an ear-splitting howl. To his complete surprise, however, Nana whirled round and caught him in mid-bound, sweeping him up off the floor and cradling his squirming form in both arms.
"You are awake early today, pen-tithen," she said, laughing musically and nuzzling her child's loosely braided hair, which fell in waves of the same shining gold as that which adorned her own head.
"Did I frighten you, Nana?" the Elfling piped, giggling merrily at his own cunning.
"Yes, tithen pen-gorothon, you did indeed," Nana answered with a smile, pinning her wriggling son and tickling him mercilessly. The home was filled with peals of laughter and breathless, pleading shrieks, as the youngling attempted in vain to escape his mother's grip.
A deep voice vibrating with amusement resonated from the entrance to the home. "Ah, thoron-neth nin, it seems your prey has captured you, instead of the other way around!"
The Elfling turned crinkled, mirth-blurred eyes on his father's tall, powerful form standing in the doorway. Ada's dark silver hair spilled over his broad shoulders as he laughed at the spectacle of his wife and son engaged in frenetic combat.
"I frightened Nana, Ada!" the child chirped between giggles. "She did not even see me coming!"
Ada raised one eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest, a smile yet tugging at his lips. "Is that so? Elemmírë, wana-melhíri, how did our pen-glamui escape your notice?"
"I walked quietly, Ada!" the Elfling announced, then added with a flourish, "Just like you showed me!"
The elder Elf gave a hearty chuckle and came over to ruffle his son's disordered locks. "Grandsire Camechuir would be proud, pen-tithen," he murmured.
Nana hugged the child and planted a light kiss on his cheek. "I am sure grandsire Elerrínion and grandmother Lórellin will be pleased to hear of your deed, as well," she said warmly. "We are going to see them today, remember?"
The Elfling flashed a sweet smile up at his mother. "Perhaps I will frighten grandmother Lórellin as well," he suggested impishly. "Shall I try it, Ada?"
But Ada made no reply. The child craned his neck to see where his father had gone—
—and to his immense confusion, Ada had fallen to the floor in a tangle of long limbs and ash-hued hair. Thick black arrows jutted dreadfully from the elder Elf's red-smirched chest, and the familiar strong face was frozen in an expression of shock and pain. For some reason, the stone floor had become a quagmire of bloodstained mud. Uncomprehending, and yet terribly, painfully aware of the finality of what he saw, the child cried a soundless cry of loss and fear…
And Thranduil was falling from his mother's arms, the secure embrace dissolving into the mist of sweet memory…
A sudden jolt shook Thranduil from the blank haze of oblivion. The dream faded as quickly as it had come, leaving no more than a deep sense of sadness in its wake. The king opened his eyes and blinked groggily, then gave a faint frown at the impenetrable darkness. A rough cloth of some sort was pressed against his face, blocking out light and restricting his breathing. An annoyed remark rose to his lips, but was just as quickly swallowed as memory flooded back. The hunting party. The attack. The drug…
Thranduil remained still and silent, feigning unconsciousness as he let the activity around him filter through his senses. The continually shifting warmth and muscular tension beneath him could only be a horse, over whose neck the king was slumped like a broken doll. A subtle attempt at movement revealed that his wrists were bound, and the cord had been passed beneath the horse's neck so that Thranduil was fairly securely fastened atop the beast. Sharp pains blossomed all over the king's body, bringing a grimace to his face—throwing one's self down from a collapsing horse has its price, he mused uncomfortably. Thoughts of Hrîwith gave rise to a swell of concern for the others in the hunting party. Thranduil wondered if all were now captives, or if some had lost their lives to the Easterlings' brutal assault.
Rough voices muttered nearby. Thranduil scowled behind the cloth, for the language was instantly recognizable as that of the men of Rhûn. Taken captive by a band of mortals, he seethed inwardly. He could almost hear his father's response. Surely you do not speak of my son, Oropher's voice objected. My son would never allow himself to be taken alive by a ragtag lot of Fírimar!
Thranduil quelled the ire burning in his gut, knowing that he needed to think clearly if he was going to escape his predicament. He was bound and blinded—by a cloth sack over his head, he had determined—and awkwardly situated on an unfamiliar horse. He did not know how many captors surrounded him; from the sound of their voices and the rapid clippety-clipping of their horses' hooves, they severely outnumbered him. Also, he did not know who among his hunting party might have been taken as well, or whether those captives were awake and able to make good their escape as well.
The king wanted to growl with frustration. He was fairly certain he could convince the horse that bore him to break away from its masters and carry him to safety, but that would likely doom any other captives to an unpleasant fate, and Thranduil refused to abandon any of his warriors to the tender mercies of the Easterlings. Which leaves me right where I am, Thranduil thought with a grimace. His position atop the steed was becoming more painful by the minute, especially since the various bruises he had acquired were aggravated by the continuous shifting movement. He supposed, however, that he was fortunate to have escaped with mere bruises—his injuries could have been much worse.
In truth, Thranduil was more irritated than pained. His pride chafed sorely under the captivity. Elves in general did not handle imprisonment well, and those of the House of Oropher were not especially known for patience. Too, the thought that some of his companions might have been killed by the Easterlings' attack stirred the anger smoldering in his chest. Which of them did not survive? the king wondered, clenching his teeth to contain his outrage. The names and faces of the nineteen warriors who had accompanied him swept through his memory like whispers on the wind, each bringing a fresh wave of dread as he considered the possibility that they might have perished. Curulin…Amarthiach…Síralaith…Bronadui…
A gruff voice to his right snagged Thranduil's attention—the speaker was using the Westron tongue in place of his native language. "Are you awake, Elf king?" the voice demanded, his words broken by a thick accent and hesitancy with the unfamiliar words.
Thranduil made no reply. He bit back a hiss of pain as the Easterling's hand clamped round his shoulder and gave it a rough shake; the pressure and movement sent hot, deeply embedded twinges racing through his arm, signifying strained, bruised muscles. The king's temper flared at the belligerent treatment. Insolent creatures! he fumed silently.
The Easterling to the right removed his hand and gave a rough chuckle. "Maybe he will wake up if we cut off a pretty ear," he said, inspiring a round of laughter from his fellows nearby.
A second voice, this one coming from the left side, cut into the mirth, instantly stilling the laughter. "He is likely already awake, and listening to every word you speak," the speaker said archly. Thranduil was mildly intrigued by the sharp tone of that voice; it was cold and precise, and heavily laced with authority. Their leader, perhaps? The second speaker continued, "He will not give himself away unless it is to his benefit to do so. Do not grow lax on account of this pretense, or you will be held responsible to the Master for the loss of his prize. Is that understood?"
A fearful murmur ran through the gathered Easterlings. Thranduil mulled over what had been said. He did not like the astuteness of the second speaker; he had detected a disquieting intellect in the voice, as well as a fair amount of tightly-reined hatred. If that was indeed the leader, Thranduil knew he would have to make good his escape through one of the underlings' blunders. When I have determined that I can do so without abandoning any of my people, that is, he amended, frustration welling up once more.
A whisper of air to his left alerted Thranduil that someone had drawn near. The second speaker's voice was but a murmur now, but it speared through the cloth sack and burrowed with chilling purpose into the king's awareness. "You would do well to keep your peace, Elf king," the speaker, the leader, hissed softly. "For if you do not, the earth will drink the lifeblood of your companions, and that most deeply."
Thranduil did not give any indication that he had heard, but he got the distinct impression that the Easterling leader knew already. It was a notion that both irritated and disturbed him. He was glad to hear that at least some of his party had survived, but for how long? It was fairly obvious that the attack had been staged for the sole purpose of kidnapping Greenwood's king. How long can I keep the others alive, Thranduil wondered darkly, when they are no longer needed to keep me in check?
The answer to that was far too disturbing to contemplate…
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Acknowledgements:
Bronadui, Lady Glaurhunant, Nondil the fletcher, Antrenartew, Laureahiril, the young Elf in the hallway, et al belong to TreeHugger.
Elemmírë, Camechuir, Elerrínion, Lórellin, et al belong to Katharine.
The Very Bad Man™, who as yet is only a cold voice at Thranduil's left side, belongs to both Kate and Tree. We don't really like him, but he doesn't seem to care a whole lot.
As always, everyone and everything else belongs to Master Tolkien.
Translations:
Nin caun = Sindarin, "my prince"
Pen-tithen = Sindarin, "little one"
Tithen pen-gorothon = Sindarin, "little horrifying one"
Thoron-neth nin = Sindarin, "my eaglet"
Wana-melhíri = Sindarin, "fair lady love"
Pen-glamui = Sindarin, "noisy one"
Fírimar = Elvish for "mortals"
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Well, folks, we're going to reply to every reviewer, as promised…but we're going to do it Tree 'n Kate style! ^_^ You may want to read the next section in its entirety; it promises to be…entertaining!
One room, somewhere in the Realm of Impossibility. One computer, tuned in to Fanfiction.net. Three favorite characters, two tall 'n tasty, one short 'n spritely.
Tanglinna surveyed the review board displayed on the computer screen with a raised eyebrow. "Well, well, aranhîr, look how popular you have become of late."
Thranduil shook his head and sighed. "What did you expect? It is just a pity that I have to be—" he glanced down at the small Elf between himself and Tanglinna, and lowered his voice to a whisper, "—kidnapped and tortured to get any attention."
Oblivious to his father's remark, little Legolas jumped up and down and waved at the reviewers on the screen, grinning cheerfully. Tanglinna harrumphed in response to the youngling's antics, and offered a caustic, "Yes, nin caun, we all know who usually gets the attention, don't we?"
Legolas gave a sweet little smile. "'s not my fault I'm cute."
Thranduil grinned and ruffled his son's blond head. "Certainly not, little Greenleaf. It is in your blood."
"Only on his mother's side," Tanglinna objected acerbically.
The Elvenking shot his Master Archer an annoyed glance. "Do you intend to help little Greenleaf and I answer our devotees, or shall I tell Katharine and TreeHugger to send you back to Greenwood?"
Tanglinna snorted and folded his arms across his chest. "They wouldn't dare," he said archly.
Before Thranduil could formulate a sardonic reply, Legolas tugged on his father's verdant cloak excitedly. "Ada! Look at what The Evil Old Woman said! She says we are 'too cool for words'!" The Elfling looked up at Thranduil expectantly. "What does that mean?"
"It means, meliôn nin, that she adores us too much to express in mere words," the king explained. "'Tis a high honor, indeed."
"JastaElf reviewed twice, if somewhat out of order," Tanglinna remarked, leaning in and smirking at the screen. "She said I was 'fantastic as always.' How flattering."
"Hmm…and she is 'not at ALL happy with what has been DONE to' me," Thranduil added. "That is very odd. She seems to relish such lovely matters as torment and anguish. But you see, she calls me wonderful." The king smirked back at his Master Archer. "They do adore me, you know."
Legolas stood on his tiptoes and blew a kiss at the screen, grinning. "I like the bow-making song, Jasta!" he piped.
Thranduil studied the review board, the smile lingering on his lips. "Two more from PuterPatty," he remarked. "Further praise for both of us, Tanglinna. You are apparently 'marvelous,' and I am evidently myself—a 'noble king and loving father.'" He squeezed Legolas' slim shoulder affectionately. "That much is true."
"Patty also appreciated the descriptions used," Tanglinna mused aloud, reading further. "Hmph. Legolas, the readers seem to be enjoying your mischief."
The princeling grinned brightly. "Really?" He caught the Master Archer's disapproving frown then, and the smile disappeared. "Um, that's, uh, terrible. How naughty of them," he amended hastily.
Thranduil hid a grin and looked back to the computer screen. "Well, Tanglinna, Tamsin FlameArrow is certainly concerned for my well-being. But who in the name of Manwë on high devised the nickname 'Thrandy'? It is highly annoying!"
Tanglinna chuckled. "TreeHugger refers to us as 'Thran and Tan.' I find that amusing."
"Then you may also find this amusing," Thranduil answered. "None was anxious to find out how Legolas and his friends were going to have their revenge on 'poor, innocent Tanglinna.'"
"Innocent?" Legolas rolled his eyes. "Right, and I'm a great spider's nephew."
"I am not certain your uncles would find that humorous, nin caun," Tanglinna said with a raised eyebrow. "It seems that both None and Princess ArWen of sMirkwood are both fretful for your sake, aranhîr. ArWen also wants to know where Katharine and TreeHugger learned Elvish."
Thranduil rested one arm atop the computer screen. "When I visited Katharine to inform her that she was going to write this Tale for me, she was sitting at her computer with a staggering quantity of books piled round her. One of them was The Languages of Tolkien's Middle-earth by one Ruth S. Noel, as I recall. I believe she refers to that more than anything else."
Tanglinna nodded, a slight grin tugging at his lips. "She sounds exactly like TreeHugger; piles of books and papers everywhere in her 'corner.' 'Tis strange how that corner has grown of late—it now spills into the living room, as well. She has a rather tattered copy of the Sindarin dictionary from Hisweloke, among other things. Hmm…Ruth S. Noel is popular, it seems. TreeHugger's copy is a rather ancient one from their world's 1980s." He shook his head, muttering, "She must be nearly as old as I am."
"Ada, gemstone called you a 'nice guy,'" Legolas giggled.
"Hm, yes," Thranduil murmured, reading the remainder of the sentence through slitted eyes. "Writers portray me as an 'unloving father,' do they?" He cracked the knuckles of his left hand loudly, causing Legolas to jump and Tanglinna to quirk a brow in surprise.
"Aranhîr, that was rather uncouth," the Master Archer remarked.
"It is a human gesture of warning, one I think most appropriate," Thranduil muttered. "How I wish I were able to hunt down every last one of those maligning reprobates and teach them the error of their ways."
Tanglinna gave a nod. "I would join you, to be sure."
Legolas, meanwhile, read the next review, and halfway through it he grimaced and stuck out his tongue. "I think I agree with Lily Frost. 'Not too much mush.' Mush is gross, isn't it, Ada?"
Thranduil threw a sly glance at Tanglinna, then replied in all seriousness, "Why, little Greenleaf, your Ada has been known to be quite mushy in the past."
Legolas made a face. "That isn't funny, Ada," he grumbled.
"'Tis no jest, nin caun," Tanglinna said gravely. "I clearly recall stumbling upon your father kissing your mother, more times than I can properly recount." The Master Archer leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, "Kissing on the mouth."
The princeling made a gagging sound. "I did not need to hear that, Master Tanglinna," he moaned, covering his eyes with both hands. "That is so gross…"
"I am never going to marry him off," Thranduil sighed aloud. He smiled and winked at Legolas' horrified expression, then turned his attention back to the review board. "Seaweed evidently likes me, as well. That brings the count to seven for me, three for you, Tanglinna," he added with a smug grin.
"Four," Tanglinna replied acidly. "Seaweed complimented me, as well."
"And me!" Legolas added, peering out from behind his hands. "That makes five for me!"
Thranduil chuckled and tousled the Elfling's unruly hair. "Yes, little Greenleaf, that is five for you. And, my dear Master Archer, Angaloth adds another to my tally, raising it to eight." He scanned the next review, then laughed outright. "Nine! Laura used TreeHugger's words: 'poor Thranduil'!"
Tanglinna harrumphed. "She also expressed extreme concern for the elves, aranhîr. Since both Legolas and I fall into that category, we shall each take another for our counts."
Thranduil's grin broadened. "Certainly you may, but it will not avail you much."
"Ada, a lot of people have asked about Brethil," Legolas pointed out. "Why can't we let him come in and answer them for himself?"
"Because, nin caun, then we would be here for years incalculable, and the story would never be finished," Tanglinna answered.
Legolas opened his mouth as if to disagree, then shut it and nodded. "Yes, that is likely true," he admitted. "Well, I shall have to tell him that so many people like him. He has a count of four already."
"He would like that, little Greenleaf, I am sure," Thranduil told the Elfling. He gave Tanglinna a wicked grin. "Oh, and Tanglinna, my tally is now ten. the evil witch queen also called me 'poor Thranduil.'"
The Master Archer ignored the king, peering at the second part of the review. "Ah, but she also apparently wishes to see your princeling accomplish the impossible—rescue you using an aspect of bowmanship that he has not perfected yet." Tanglinna shook his head. "Preposterous."
The princeling in question jumped up and down, tugging on his father's hand insistently. "Can I, Ada? Can I? Please?" he asked excitedly, not knowing precisely what he was asking for, but willing to plead for it anyway.
Thranduil smiled at his son's pleas. "I am afraid I must agree with Tanglinna, little Greenleaf. I would sooner let a spider chew off my feet than place you in such a dangerous situation."
Legolas giggled at the visual, but managed a disappointed pout. "I never get to do anything."
"Your time will come, nin caun," Tanglinna murmured, almost to himself. "It seems that addicted is upset by the authoresses' choice of Chapter One's stopping point."
"Considering the implications of that pen name, I am not surprised," Thranduil remarked, scrolling to the next review. "Ah, hiro-tyre is quite the exuberant enthusiast! I can hear Katharine and TreeHugger chuckling from here!" His grin widened. "Little Greenleaf, she said she 'absolutely LOVES' you and I. What is the count now?"
"Eleven for you, Ada, and seven for me," the Elfling said cheerily. "And five for Master Tanglinna."
The Master Archer narrowed his eyes at the prince. "Legolas, do not forget that I am quite capable of making your young life dreadfully tedious and dismal," he growled.
Legolas shrank back against his father, his eyes wide. "Ada, can he really do that?"
Thranduil hugged the child to him, but shrugged evasively. "Certainly he can, little Greenleaf. I cannot guard you every waking moment for the rest of your childhood."
The princeling pressed his lips together and glanced warily up at Tanglinna, who arched one sharp brow. "I am sorry, Master Tanglinna," Legolas muttered.
Thranduil stifled his laughter and gestured at the screen. "Hiro-tyre requested a hug, Legolas. Would you like to do that?"
The Elfling brightened considerably. "Oh, yes! But how?"
"Hug the screen," Thranduil suggested. He lifted Legolas up so that the youngling could do just that, chuckling at his son's enthusiastic grip on the computer monitor.
"Now you," Legolas insisted, slipping back down to the floor.
Thranduil paused, surprised, but leaned in and briefly embraced the computer, trying not to feel overly foolish for doing so. He heard Tanglinna's amused snort, and turned an expectant stare on the Master Archer. "Well?" he said finally.
Tanglinna returned the stare unblinkingly. "Well, what?" he returned.
"Aren't you going to give hiro-tyre a hug?" Legolas asked chirpily.
The Master Archer's brows knitted. "I am not going to hug that monitor," he said flatly.
"Please?" Legolas asked, gazing up at the stern elder Elf with huge eyes. "It would mean a lot to hiro-tyre."
Tanglinna's scowl deepened. "Nin caun, nin aranhîr, I am not going to hug that computer screen!"
Thranduil shook his head and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Old Sourpuss," but Tanglinna let it slide with only the briefest glare. "Well, well, Dragon-of-the-north makes twelve for me," the king continued aloud. "I was granted three smiles in that review!"
"Yes, well, perhaps I shall simply have to demand an absurdly unpleasant tale for myself," Tanglinna remarked caustically. "After all, it is obvious that suffering to a ridiculous degree garners much more attention than anything normal."
"So I learned, after researching all of the stories written concerning little Greenleaf," Thranduil agreed, mildly sympathetic. "Or at least, some bizarre facsimile of him."
"Earl Grey mentioned you, Master Tanglinna," Legolas offered. "Brethil and me, too, and Ada. Earl likes us all!"
"'A bit of a shock,' you say?" Tanglinna mused, reading through the review. "Imagine my shock when Thranduil told me of this inadvisable misadventure he was going to have Katharine and TreeHugger concoct for him. I presumed he had eaten strange mushrooms in the forest and had gone temporarily mad as a result."
"Why do I think I'm missing something?" Legolas wondered aloud, looking back and forth between his father and the Master Archer.
"You are not, little Greenleaf," Thranduil assured the Elfling. "Ah, Invader Iggle has left a rather gruesome review. How very…creative, indeed."
Tanglinna growled low in his throat. "Actually, I rather like it. I may consider utilizing some of her suggestions in the future."
Thranduil raised one dark brow at his Master Archer. "You are quite disturbing at times, do you know that?"
The other Elf mimicked his king's expression. "Yes."
"Last review," Legolas piped up. "From Noone. She doesn't like Katharine and TreeHugger's stopping point, either."
"A common complaint," Thranduil remarked. "Perhaps we should tell the authoresses to halt posting until the entire story is finished."
"That could take some time," Tanglinna replied. "I believe there would be far more protests if they were to do such a thing."
Legolas stood on tiptoe and peered at the screen. "Oh, isn't that great? Brethil is her favorite! He has six now!"
"Which brings the count to thirteen for me, six for Tanglinna, eight for little Greenleaf, and six for Brethil," Thranduil concluded.
"A situation which will hopefully be remedied in the next few chapters," Tanglinna muttered.
Thranduil gave a low chuckle. "Speaking of which, we had better bring this to a close, so that Katharine and TreeHugger can continue their work on the actual tale. Wave good-bye to all of the reviewers, little Greenleaf."
Legolas gave the computer screen a brilliant smile and waved excitedly. "Good-bye, everyone!" he chirped.
"Fare you all well," Thranduil added.
"And we shall see whose count ascends next time," Tanglinna said pointedly, glaring into the monitor.
And the Realm of Impossibility faded out on Legolas' giggles, sending the three Elves back into the forest from whence they had come…
*grin* Well, I hope everyone else enjoyed that as much as we did! Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to all the silent readers, too! Tree and I might show up in one of these reply sessions in the future, but it will likely continue to be handled mainly by characters. The characters may vary somewhat, though. Ta-ta for now, we'll see everyone next chapter! See the teaser below…
Next chapter…the chaos continues! Squirrel capers abound, the Trio faces an unamused Master Archer, and Thranduil is "properly" introduced to his captor, the Very Bad Man™ himself… *shudder*