"Never, never, never have I seen such blatant disrespect!" Geoda spat.

Jailil whimpered and twisted as Geoda's hot spittle landed on his face. Geoda held a tight handful of Jailil's dark hair and now he jerked it.

"Ow!" Jailil cried. "I am sorry, I am! But she was dying—"

Geoda smacked him. "You could have killed her, you stupid child! The King's own horse."

Tears made Jailil's cheeks burn. "I only wanted to help."

Geoda reached behind him and scrabbled until he found a riding crop where it hung between two stall doors. "I am going to teach you a lesson you will never forget, you understand? And when I am done with you, the King can have his say!"

Jailil screamed. Up and down the stable, horses neighed and stamped their hooves. Geoda's flushed face reddened further and he dragged Jailil toward the tack room at the foot of the stairs leading to the loft. Jailil cried as he felt some of his hair pull free.

Geoda flung him in a corner. Jailil bruised his elbows and his knees, but he scrambled to his feet and backed against the wall. Geoda raised the crop.

"You are cruel!" Jailil cried. "Would you ever do this to a horse?"

Geoda shook a finger at him. "Never, never hit a horse! One strike and the animal will never trust you again. And without trust how can you hope to ride? If I ever catch you hitting a horse, you will never forget the day."

Jailil curled his arms over his head. "If it is so bad to hit a horse, you are wicked to hit me! Should the same thing not apply to people?"

"People!" Geoda hissed, but he lowered the crop.

Jailil pressed his face to the ground and listened to Geoda stalk from the room. He squeezed his eyes shut, staving off visions of the horse—Mayapple—convulsing in her stall, legs stretched out straight, eyeballs rolling. No. No! He heard Geoda returning; the stable master's boots stopped beside him.

"Get up," Geoda said.

"No," Jailil said into the floor. "I do not want to look at you."

Geoda's back slid against the wall as he sat down. "You did not kill Mayapple."

Jailil raised his head and peeked between his fingers. "I thought you said you were going to teach me a lesson I would never forget."

Geoda looked at him. "I am."

Jailil sat up. "Um—I heard Mayapple snorting and stamping from the loft and, when I went down, she was practically convulsing. It looked like she had eaten bindweed, and I knew what to give her from reading Herbal Lore."

"Why did you not come to me?"

"There—there was not time," Jailil faltered.

Geoda banged his fist down on the floor. "Lies!"

Jailil's head drooped. "I was afraid to come to you. Every adult I have gone to for help in the past has rejected me."

"Be thankful Mayapple is one of the King's retired horses," Geoda told him.

"Are you going to tell him what I did?" Jailil asked meekly.

Geoda shrugged. "What is there to tell? You have Mayapple the right thing, though I doubt she was dying when you found her. In the future, this will not happen again else we are done here."

"It will not happen again."

Geoda patted his shoulder. "Good. Get a good night's sleep; come dawn you and I are going to look for and burn that bindweed."

"May I see Mayapple first?"

"No harm in that," Geoda answered. He crossed his arms as Jailil ran out of the tack room.

Jailil patted Mayapple's long neck over her stall door as she lowered her head to breathe down his neck. He leaned against her warm hair. "I am glad you are safe. I hope the same for Hyrondal."

The next day, after a long ride through the horse fields to find the bindweed patch, Jailil met Nimrethil in the kitchens. He accosted Harune shaving carrots for a salad.

"I must say, I am surprised you would have me work for an elf who threatened to beat me!"

Harune looked at him. "Did Geoda beat you?"

"No," Jailil said. He picked up a carrot and munched on the end.

"Then you know why I recommended him," Harune said. "I know people who are willing to learn."

Thranduil wriggled his feet under the table as he sat and listened to the council member speak. The council chamber, one of many, stretched wide around the square table. Thranduil sat beside Oropher at the head of the table, facing the stained-glass window throwing golden light into the room.

Even though it was his tenth meeting, Thranduil still struggled to make sense of why what the elve around him said was important. He made notes in the book open before him and watched the glistening black ink dry on the white paper while he tried not to frown.

"It seems to me the last gala ball was grossly underfunded, my king," one elf said. "As such, it is no surprise only two marriages came out of it."

Thranduil tried hard to stop himself from putting his head on the table and moaning.

"Also, I hear the servants are growing restless. They have the audacity to demand more pay. Look at this petition."

A servant circulated the table, pouring wine from a silver pitcher. Another servant refilled plates with small, sugar-crusted sweets. Thranduil nodded his thanks as one elf slid a plate in front of him. Meanwhile, a councilmember unrolled a scroll dotted with signatures for Oropher's view.

"A fifty percent increase in pay?" Oropher said, examining the scroll. "What in Mirkwood for? I think not; the servants are already better off then they were during my father's reign. They should be grateful for what they have."

"Quite right, my king," the council applauded. "We recommend raising the tax a fraction to remind the working class how well off they are. An increase in tax would also pay nicely for the gala ball."

Thranduil frowned. He sat up straight. He knew eyebrows would rise if he spoke, but his pen scribbled angry lines across his book.

"We will have the tax increase documents for you to sign next meeting, my king," an elf said.

Oropher stood. "Excellent. Meeting adjourned."

Thranduil accompanied the king out the double doors of the chamber, corking his inkbottle as he walked. As he balanced his quill and book, Oropher asked, "Have you anything to say?"

What Thranduil thought was meetings were an excuse for nobles to eat too many sweets and leech gold from the poor. What he said was, "No, my king."

"I fully expect you to become more engaged at these meetings," Oropher said. "You do not learn by listening."

"I do not know that you will wish to hear what I have to say," Thranduil answered. "But I will do as you ask, my king."

"I expect you to be civil," Oropher said. He gestured in dismissal and Thranduil bowed low. When Oropher strode past him, his green robe swishing the floor, Thranduil waited until he could not hear Oropher's steps before he ran past the multiple doors leading to vast council chambers. His running feet echoed past guards until he slowed to a walk.

Finding the family room empty, Thranduil put down his writing materials on the table beside Harune's empty chair and searched until he discovered his father folding sheets in a linen cupboard the size of his bedchamber. Smelling the dried rose petals crushed under the shelves of pastel silks and flannels, Thranduil took up a corner of the rose sheet Harune held and helped him shake it out to smooth the wrinkles.

As father and son met in the middle to fold the sheet into a a square, Harune asked, "How was the meeting?"

"The council is raising tax to pay for the gala ball," Thranduil answered. "How can I even think of attending the ball knowing it is built on the sweat and blood of Mirkwood?"

"You have to attend," Harune said. "You are an of-age prince this year."

Thranduil sighed and took up another sheet from the pile on the round table at his elbow. "I am of age for many things this year, ada. I wish I could stay young forever."

Harune raised his dark eyebrows. "One of the best things about growing up is you can do more and more."

Thranduil frowned as he unknotted the corner of the sheet he held. He looked up. "You are right, ada. I need to do something about this unfair tax increase."

"You are still learning to make sound decisions," Harune said. "If you think of something, I am waiting to hear it."

Thranduil nodded. He stacked the last sheet on a shelf. "I will be in the kitchens thinking if you need me."

Thranduil spent an hour accosting maids and gardeners before he walked to the library. He emerged from the bookshelves with a parchment in hand and ink under his nails. He nodded to the librarians and walked to present his scroll to Harune.

The next afternoon Thranduil sat at his place at the council table. A document lay in front of Oropher along with an inkbottle, a white quill, and a candle.

Oropher picked up the quill. Its whiteness shone against the black of the ink. "Let us commence with the signing of the tax increase agreement and then move on to more important matters."

Thranduil stood up before Oropher's hand reached the page. "I object," he said.

A drop of ink blotted across the paper under Oropher's hand before his blue eyes blazed into Thranduil's. "I beg your pardon!"

The council chamber was silent. Thranduil opened his book and took out a parchment crushed flat between its covers.

"I object," Thranduil said, "To the unfair way you are paying for the gala ball. I object to your discriminatory treatment of the servants. In fact, I fully support the petition for the working classes to be paid more."

"Thranduil Oropherion," Oropher said. "Sit down."

"I will not," Thranduil said. "I consulted a scribe, and I am within my rights to speak at this council. I talked to the servants yesterday afternoon. You may think they are paid adequately, but you calculate off a gross average and—"

Oropher's hand closed over Thranduil's wrist. "Sit down!"

Thranduil met the king's gaze. "You invited me to participate in these meetings, my king. You instructed me to be more engaged, because I will not learn by listening. It would be an insult to you if I sat down now. I warned you that you would not like what I have to say, but 'speak' you said, so I shall."

Thranduil shook of Oropher's hand. "You calculate the servants' wages based off a gross income, but you do not realize how much is deducted for built-in expenses, such as board, before the gold reaches the servants' hands. A million little fees are leeched out of the sum so the actual amount the servants earn is paltry. How can you think of taxing them further?"

"And exactly how, my prince, would you propose we pay for the gala ball?" a council member sneered.

Thranduil's blond eyebrow twitched. "Stop stuffing your fat faces on food that would be better served elsewhere!"

"You have crossed the line," Oropher said. "You are excused."

"My king," Thranduil rose and bowed. He cast his parchment on the table. "I signed the servant's wage increase petition this morning."

Thranduil smirked as he left the council chamber echoing with uproar. He felt a twinge of shame as he realized open sneering was wrong and forced his face to smile. Inwardly, his stomach rumbled with laughter until he reached the family room and recounted to Harune the faces of the council when he referenced their rich eating.

A lesson for Jailil and a lesson for Thranduil. The change begins!

Thank you all kindly from reading; you know I love hearing from you!

Next Chapter: Hyrondal finds a silver lining (almost)