Okay, so now that about half my story is AFTER Sky's death (not originally intended... darn "Challenge" chapters) I really need to speed up the story. So, from now on most chapters will be at least a century apart. Not much else to cover until Tauriel anyway (evil laughter that is definitely not related to evil plans I've been waiting a loooong time to put into action). So this is like... T.A. 600? 700? Darn math, too.
"Taensirion."
"Felrion."
"..."
"Are you ready to go?"
"I am. It's been a while since I went on patrol."
"I imagine you will remember the routine quickly."
"I'm sure I will."
"..."
"I ought to check in with the others."
"Right."
. . . . . .
"Felrion... may I join you?"
The healer glanced up, surprised anyone was still awake; he always found himself gazing into the fire on overnight patrols these days, remembering the old days when he went orc-hunting with Kilvara and Sky and Storm. He'd never done the actual hunting, of course, but they said they needed a healer (which was often true). And anyway, the company as they told jokes and stories around the fire was the best he'd ever found. Sky, he remembered, had loved to throw dead sticks and leaves into the fire, and Storm would stare into it broodingly until someone elbowed him and snapped him out of his trance. "Aren't you going to bed?"
"In a minute." Taensirion settled on the log next to him. "Do you mind if we talk?"
"No, that's fine." Felrion turned toward the Sinda politely, wondering what this could be about. Their relationship had been civil since they'd made up after Sky's death, but they'd only had two or three real conversations in the last few centuries; things were still awkward despite their cooperation to help Thranduil and—more recently, and still continuing—Alagon and Kimbrel.
Taensirion took a long time to speak. Finally he said softly, "I want to be friends again."
Unexpected. But it shouldn't have been.
"I have been thinking lately," Taensirion continued. "About everyone I have known, and how much everything has changed. All the elves I wish I had known longer, or better. The things I wish I had done differently."
"I can understand that."
"I respect you greatly, Felrion, and we used to get along quite well. I miss that. I do not care anymore what happened many years ago; I want to know you as I should have known many elves before this chaotic world sends us spinning again. Do you see?" He held out his hands imploringly.
Felrion sat back and considered the Sinda. He respected Taensirion too, and they'd been pretty good friends until their fight, even if they didn't talk much outside of work. They had a lot in common; even their political opinions lined up closely. Wordlessly, he held out his hand.
Taensirion clasped it. "Thank you. It means a lot."
"For Sky," Felrion explained.
"And for our wives?" Taensirion winked.
He chuckled, then became serious. "About that day."
The Sinda folded his hands and listened.
"I'm so ashamed of what I did. I've never, ever done that to another patient, I promise—it's just—" He had to close his eyes before he could continue. "I'm so afraid I'll fail the elves I love."
"Because you cannot fight," Taensirion provided.
"Because I can't fight." He sighed shakily. "Sky—Sky and Storm's parents died because I couldn't help them."
A gasp. "Really?"
"Well—no. But maybe I could've saved Rose. She hadn't been—"
Taensirion stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Did you save Sky?"
Had Storm told him? Or Thranduil? "Maybe."
"Who else have you saved?"
"I know, I know."
The Sinda leaned back and echoed his posture, gazing into the fire thoughtfully. "I wanted to be a carpenter."
The image of one of the most powerful elves in the kingdom making furniture was so foreign Felrion had to laugh.
"No, really. One lived near my best friend, and I always asked to see what he was doing as I went by. I was only an elfling, of course; that dream did not last long."
"What happened?" Felrion was generally curious.
"Morgoth and the orcs. Male elflings were not required to join the military, but there was a lot of pressure. My parents tried to keep me out of it, but the king insisted I go into training; that was how I met Oropher."
"You knew the king? I hadn't realized."
"My parents did." Taensirion shrugged, embarrassed. "They were nobles—first-generation, remember, so they were high-status. Thranduil's mother was noble as well."
"I thought Oropher's parents were craftsmen?"
"They were, though they were as well-off as mine; do not take what you have heard about Doriath's social classes too seriously, as all the elflings grew up together and we mixed often enough—perhaps more than here." He waved the thought away. "Anyway, as I was saying..." He shook his head and waited for a long moment. "Sometimes I wonder how I ever got here. Life can be cruel in ways we do not expect, do you agree?"
"I just wish..."
"I know. So do I. And before you protest—"
Felrion closed his mouth.
"—remember that Lanthirel has been the target of those who are angry at my policies more than once, though thankfully no one has come close to succeeding... unlike with myself."
Ah yes, the nightshade incident. "I hope you're more suspicious of tea that appears on your desk these days."
"I... try to be attentive to the taste."
The healer snorted. "I'll keep the antidote handy."
"That might be wise." Taensirion yawned. "Anyway, thank you for listening. I would much rather be friends than enemies."
"Me too." They clasped hands again. "You know, we could play a trick on the girls."
"How so?"
. . . . . .
The next day, after returning to the palace to give their report to the king, Felrion and Taensirion walked out of the gates as far apart as they could get on the narrow bridge, glowering at each other. Their wives waited at the far end, and turned slowly to share a look of concern. "Not again," Kilvara whispered under her breath.
"Whatever could have happened this time?" Lanthirel agreed. She stepped forward to meet Taensirion, who sighed deeply and laid his head on her shoulder—something he did to ask for comfort. "What is it, love?"
He didn't answer, and Felrion similarly turned away when his wife tried to talk to him. The she-elves shook their heads at each other in exasperation; Lanthirel stroked Taensirion's hair sympathetically (even if this ongoing disagreement was ridiculous, she knew fighting caused him stress) and realized his shoulders were shaking. "Are you crying?" she asked in alarm.
He burst out laughing. "We got you!"
"Why, you...!" She swatted his arm, and he danced away. "You did, you got us very nicely."
Kilvara was less forgiving. "Good grief," she huffed. "Really." She ducked Felrion's attempted kiss on the cheek. "You've forfeited your kiss. C'mon."
"Your idea was brilliant," Taensirion called as Felrion was towed away.
The healer winked as he was towed away.