The council chamber empty save a lone ray of sunshine illuminating the stained glass window opposite Oropher's seat at the table, King and Prince glowered at each other.
Oropher tapped his stack of papers against the table to even the documents into one neat pile. "I do not approve of or care to condone your increasingly rebellious behavior."
Thranduil jerked the circlet off his blond hair and stuffed it into his pocket. "Oropher, I cannot sit quietly while you speak of the humans at the Mirkwood border like—like an orc infestation! Nor can I be silent while you speak of eradicating them in the same manner you might a wasp's nest."
"Thranduil," Oropher said calmly. "I believe we have had this discussion before. You are not equipped to understand the consequences of allowing humans to treat Mirkwood as if it is their own."
"Oropher," Thranduil replied, "I toured Mirkwood, as was my right, years ago. I saw no evidence of threat from humans. What I did see were poverty and disease, and a disgusting caste system that segregates people and denies them rights and opportunities base off their status. How can you say now is the time to focus on some trivial human matter when elves are suffering?"
Oropher pointed a finger at him. "If you must rant in this childish manner, save it for the dinner table! I do not care to be disgraced in front of the council by your petty arguments."
"My petty arguments!" Thranduil gasped. "It is your duty, as King, to attend to the needs of the people! Did the strikes and riots say nothing?"
"A bitter time, indeed, and not one to dwell on. The Crown cannot condone such blatant uprisings."
"The prisons would soon overflow if you had your way!" Thranduil snapped. "I dare say you need to dwell on it. You have missed the message! You would not be so dismissive if the upper classes were in need."
Oropher rose to his feet and tucked his papers under one arm. He swept his mantle about him. "The upper classes are not in need."
Thranduil's emerald eyes darkened, and he clenched his hands. He glared at the pen and ink bottle on the table before him and thought how easy it would be to snap the wooden shaft in two.
"My," said a voice, "This is delightful."
Oropher swung around mid-step and Thranduil leapt out of his chair. Standing near the sideboard nibbling on a cracker stood Nimrethil, her purple hair escaping out from under her cap, black sleeves rolled to her elbows, and her white apron covered in frills. She had a silver tray under one arm.
"How long have you been present?" Thranduil demanded.
Nimrethil raised her eyebrows up. "Why, my prince, your tenor shocks me. I have come, as is my duty, to clear the sideboard. No one, of course, pays the lowly maid much mind."
Thranduil frowned at her. Nimrethil said impishly, "I never heard such fuss about humans at the border. Why, anyone would think Mirkwood is about to be carried away in a flash flood. Now then." She energetically swept empty platters onto her tray.
"There is no 'now then' about it!"
"I see, my prince, you are in a terrible mood. I shall send up a glass of punch to your chambers to placate you." Nimrethil finished filling her tray with the last dishes from the sideboard and turned to face Thranduil. "I hope you are not in too ungracious a mood to attend the party I have put my heart into planning."
"Party?" Oropher demanded. "What party?"
Thranduil sighed. "Forgive me, Nimrethil, you arrived at an unfortunate time. Delay the punch until the party. A celebration is what I need."
"You will need to cough up a more polished speech than that, if you are to make this celebration worth my while!" Nimrethil exclaimed. She winked at Thranduil and pressed the panel in the walls to open the invisible door in the wall opposite the stained-glass window. Plunging into the dim servant's passage beyond, she disappeared. The door clicked shut behind her.
"What party?" Oropher said coldly.
Thranduil's temper flared back. "It is a celebration in honor of my return to health. You would not care to come; it is a garden party for the lowly among us." He snatched his journal and, head held high, whooshed past Oropher. With a touch of malice, he slammed the door.
Only later, dressing in his room as dusk settled outside, did the memory of the brief flash of pain on Oropher's face as he slammed the door bring Thranduil a pang of regret. As he whisked the comb through his hair and loosely braided it, he realized that, while their arguments were tempered with casual conversation over daily meals, they were still arguments going in circles.
Thranduil glanced at the clock hanging over his door. Nimrethil expected him sharply at nine. He had ten minutes.
In a light green tunic over dark leggings and boots to his knees, Thranduil donned a less formal circlet of woven silver devoid of his bloodline's starlight jewels and left his room. He peeked into the family room on his way out, but Harune was not in sight.
His boots tapped against the floor. Thranduil found himself formulating an elegant apology to Nimrethil in his mind as he walked to Oropher's corner of the palace and rapped on the King's sitting room door. Receiving no reply, he tried the bedchamber.
"Come in!"
Thranduil went in, leaving the door half-open behind him. Oropher, his feet up on an ottoman, put a glass of water down on the small table beside his chair, and afforded Thranduil an uninviting scowl.
"I am sorry," Thranduil said. "I do not apologize for what I said, but I regret the way I said it. I have inherited a temper from you and have not yet grown into your composure."
Oropher inclined his head. "Your apology is accepted. Thank you."
Thranduil hesitated. The emptiness of the room massaged the corners of his heart. "I am . . . preparing to attend the garden party. I misled you, however, when I said it is in my honor. It is in our honor. The invitations were by word of mouth, and no one felt you would . . . care to come, hence the omission. I extend an invitation now, abar. If you wish to come, you are welcome."
"Thank you for the invitation, but a garden party is as much an inappropriate place for me as it is for you. I cannot stop you from going, but I do not approve."
A small smile lifted Thranduil's lips. "Enjoy your evening, abar." He shut the door after him and hurried into the nearest entrance to the servant's passage. Taking the narrow route hidden in the walls of the palace, he arrived in the kitchens a handful of minutes late. Nimrethil pounced on him as he stepped off the staircase onto the smooth kitchen floor.
Thranduil grabbed her hand and kissed it. "My dear lady, I cannot apologize enough for the unacceptable time of my arrival. I relay my deepest regrets on behalf of the court in the full confidence a lady such as your charming self will understand."
"Should I be jealous?" Ailunai folded her arms as she stepped to Thranduil's side.
"Definitely," Nimrethil giggled. She pulled her hand away. "Your apology is too charming to deny, Thranduil. Seal it with a kiss?"
Dreamplane: Thanks, love, for reading!
Next Chapter: The party continues.