Took me forever to get this one done. Sorry.
It doesn't matter for the story, but they're probably speaking only Silvan in the second scene. Technically, that means I should always either translate or not translate the names (with the exception of the Sindarin ones), but oh well. Enjoy.
Updated 8-8-21.
"No," Thranduil told his father bluntly. "It is most certainly your turn."
Oropher stood and began pacing back and forth across his makeshift office in one of the strange Silvan tree houses, rubbing his temples. "This is because of them, I presume."
"Why else?" Thranduil muttered, then, knowing some logic would be required, he said, "I cannot teach while they are there, father. The others follow their lead."
"What would you have me do? If the others respect them, we must make them respect us."
It was three months after the Sindar entered Greenwood, and Oropher's ambitions were gradually becoming a reality: more and more Silvan elves were submitting themselves to weekly lessons on such things as history, higher math, the Sindarin tongue, and, today's topic, fighting. For the most part, they were intelligent and eager to learn, but a small minority was less cooperative, thinking the lessons and/or the presence of the Sindar to be unnecessary, and the ringleaders of this latter group were their very first acquaintances, Coryn and Eithryn. Especially the latter. "I would have you do it yourself, as you are the one who wishes to rule them. Please." He added that last word so as not to make it sound like he was ordering around his father, which would not have had the desired effect.
Oropher sat back down on the other side of the wooden desk. "Their soon-to-be prince should earn their loyalty as well, and it is more his duty to mingle with them. Go." When the younger elf did not move, he narrowed his eyes. "That was not a request, Thranduil."
Thranduil put his face in his hands, resigning himself to what he was about to endure, then sighed deeply and walked out. "A pity we cannot simply lock them up somewhere," he commented as he did so.
"The others would likely rebel against us," said Oropher, mostly to himself. He leaned back in his chair and let out a relieved sigh; he felt slightly guilty for dumping that task on his son, but they truly did need the cooperation of the two copper-haired elves, and in all honesty, they were kinder to Thranduil. Besides, he was beginning to dread negotiating with them.
. . . . . .
"Guess who I just eavesdropped on," Sky announced, dropping out of the branches and into the midst of her brother's conversation with their two friends in the middle of the twenty or so elves who were waiting in a clearing for the beginning of the day's lesson. They'd been promised the topic would be the use of swords, and indeed, there was a pile of vaguely sword-shaped sticks sitting off to the side.
"Oh dear," sighed the brown-haired elf, a healer who had done most of the patching-up of the newly arrived Sindar; his name was Felrion, and he was more sympathetic toward the newcomers than the other three.
Sky made a face at him. "Apparently there was a disagreement about who's going to 'deal with' us today. That's how Oropher put it."
"To be fair," Storm remarked, "that's the proper word choice."
"Completely," she agreed. "My point is, we're getting to them."
"Did we decide what we're trying to do?" the fourth elf, Kilvara—an athletically-built she-elf with bright red hair that matched her personality—wanted to know. "Do we want them gone, or just out of our business?"
"All of the above," Sky replied without hesitation.
"The idea here," Storm explained, "is that we can take care of ourselves, thanks. And if they're going to force their culture on us along with all their fancy education—which they have been so far—then we're just fine without them."
"Although," Sky began.
The other Silvan elves had gradually been turning their attention to the four friends, and now their heads all swiveled to the she-elf.
"What?" prompted Kilvara.
The green-eyed elf checked to make sure everyone was listening, then said, "What if we teach them to be Silvan?"
That gave the others pause; until now, she'd been all for kicking the Sindar out of their forest for good.
"It's what they said they wanted, isn't it?" she said with a shrug.
Storm was skeptical. "Did they say that?"
"I don't think they were asking for whatever you had in mind," Felrion observed. "But tell you what—you do whatever you want, and I'll fix you up afterward, but don't get me on their bad side, please."
"Can do." Sky paused. "Do they scare you?"
"Yes," Felrion answered without hesitation, "and I don't mind saying so, because I suspect they—Oropher and Thranduil—scare everyone except the three of you."
"The two of them," Kilvara corrected. "You know I'm with you, Sky, but my blood freezes over when one of them looks at me."
There was a murmur of agreement from the elves around them.
"So... they're leading by fear," Sky mused. "We can fix that. Storm, are you in?"
"But of course, sister."
Felrion had to chuckle. "It's too bad, I still had a lot of knowledge to exchange with their healers."
Kilvara punched him playfully in the shoulder. "You be like that, then."
"Here comes the prince," Storm warned. "Look innocent."
Kilvara and Felrion moved away as the elves automatically formed a semicircle around Thranduil. The leader's son was somewhat intimidating, Sky supposed, but that seemed to be his natural way of being, so trying to change the behavior wasn't really worth it. But the arrogance was another matter entirely...
Thranduil narrowed his icy-blue eyes into a glare as he surveyed the Silvan elves, his scowl deepening when Coryn smirked back. The sister's green eyes glinted as they met Thranduil's, and the Sinda could tell he was about to wish he had stayed in the ruins of Doriath.
Best to get this over with as quickly as possible. He raised his hand for silence and announced, "Today is your first day of weapons training. It should be clear that this is the most serious of your classes; while your ability to read and write will certainly affect your future opportunities, your very life may someday depend on your skill with your blades." He looked directly at an unimpressed Eithryn as he spoke. "If you someday find yourself on the field of battle, the effort you put into this training will determine whether you live or die, and I intend to see that you survive, understood?" When the Silvan elves nodded obediently, he went over and retrieved a wooden sword from the pile, and it was as he strode back that an unfortunate complication occurred to him; he stopped and placed a hand over his eyes, berating himself for not having brought another Sinda with him, but there was nothing to be done about it now, so he braced himself and announced, "I will require—"
The troublemaking she-elf's hand was up before he could finish.
"—a volunteer," Thranduil muttered. "Eithryn. Wonderful. Get a sword, please." He could not believe he had just said those words.
She bounced over to the pile and took an unnecessary amount of time to select one of the makeshift weapons, picking up one after the other only to make a face and put it back without even swinging it. She then wandered slowly in his general direction, swinging her chosen sword at anyone who didn't move away in time and nearly falling over several times in the process.
Thranduil waited, maintaining the appearance of patience despite the giggling of his students. As soon as he could do so without revealing his eagerness to be as far from here as possible, he began, "Eithryn and I will demonstrate—"
Something smacked his shoulder. Eithryn hid her "sword" behind her back and widened her eyes innocently as he turned to give her a threatening look.
"We have not yet begun," he said dangerously.
Her eyes got even bigger. "I was pretending you were an orc, and I decided to kill you while you were distracted."
His smile was frightening, but if it had any effect, she didn't show it. Many of the others edged back as if expecting a real fight to erupt, while many more (including Coryn and Kilvara) stepped forward, ready to protect Sky, but Thranduil turned away from her—though he did keep watching her out of the corner of his eye. "When we begin—notice I said when, Eithryn—you will—Eithryn, what did I just say?—you will notice—No, Eithryn, put the sword down—that we—STOP THAT!"
The agile little Silvan elf easily avoided his swing (which was totally unexpected, as she had only whacked him over the head with her stick), and before he could register what was happening, Thranduil found himself on the ground with his sword lying several feet away. What—?!
There was a moment of stunned silence with everyone gaping at the copper-haired elf, and then the Silvan elves burst into cheers, which cut off abruptly as Thranduil rose fluidly to his feet, picked up both his sword and two more from the pile, and said "Again" as he threw Eithryn one of the swords to add to her own, then charged without giving her time to prepare.
The fight was much more even this time; it seemed to Thranduil that he constantly had the advantage, but he simply could not hit the little monster! He growled in frustration as he realized that her clumsy antics from before had been an obvious act—any elf who leapt through the trees as skillfully as these wood elves had to be exceptionally coordinated. Angrily, Thranduil pushed himself harder; the mere thought of his father learning he had lost a fight to her made him want to impale the impudent little Silvan elf, though he would have to settle for a few good thumps.
Sky, for her part, knew she needed to win quickly; she was dodging his powerful blows by mere inches, and when one finally hit, it was going to sting. So she crouched, and his swords went down with her, slicing in from the sides. She didn't move for just a moment too long, and Thranduil thought he had her at last.
He was wrong.
At the last moment, she sprang, doing a somersault in the air up and over his head, and as she flew over him, she poked one stick into his chest and slashed the other across his throat. She did a flip in the air so she could see Thranduil's shocked face as she landed, and she was not disappointed. The blond elf looked like he could have happily murdered her.
"You underestimate us," she told him with a cocky grin as Storm appeared, edging between them protectively, holding a knife he'd pulled from somewhere.
Thranduil's expression became unreadable, and he spun on his heel to leave.
Sky's head tilted sideways and she skittered around to get in his way. "What, giving up on us already?"
"You've got to be kidding," Storm agreed. "One defeat's all you can take?"
"By Sky, no less," Kilvara added.
Thranduil turned his head slightly in her direction. "Do you mean to tell me the rest of you cannot do that?"
"Are you kidding?" Felrion asked, indicating Sky, Storm, and Kilvara. "Only those three can use anything beyond a bow."
"We've done some traveling," Storm explained. "The others, not so much."
Thranduil folded his arms over his chest. "Why should I stay and endure your taunts? It seems you are more than capable of continuing this lesson."
Once again, Sky surprised them all by answering, "Because then your father might hear about what happened."
Thranduil's brow furrowed; this she-elf made no sense. He could have sworn she loathed him, from the constant tricks she played.
"Well? What do you say, Sinda?"
He smelled a trap, but if she was truly willing to keep today's events a secret... "Very well."
"Great. Get a sword, everyone."
"I planned to—" Thranduil started to protest, but the Silvan elves were already obeying Eithryn. "Never mind."
Poor Thranduil; he's just so fun to mess with. That's my excuse for all the bad things that are going to happen to him as I write this story.