Updated on 4-30-22. I'm still planning to update Chapter 4 and maybe others as well, eventually.

It was funny how, despite the layers upon layers of leaves above it, a campfire only a few feet high could still cast a vivid orange light visible above the canopy on a dark night. Or at least, it was funny when one's friend's fire wasn't as obvious from a high viewpoint as that of the orcs, Sky thought with a sigh, but at least she knew the elves weren't cutting down the helpless trees as fuel.

Ten years after the Sindar's arrival in Greenwood—not long at all by elven standards—things had calmed down a bit, with a sort of peace struck between the newcomers and the few still-rebellious Silvans for a variety of reasons, including Sky's curiosity, a grudging realization by her and Storm that the Sindar were making things more efficient, and a gradual shrinking of their group as some of their former allies developed sympathy for the Sindar. The Sindar's lessons had continued, though mostly without Sky; she either already knew or didn't care about the majority of the topics, with the exception of weapons training, which she did show up to now and then (usually to take over the archery lessons). Apparently the Sindar thought the combat training was going well, because when Storm had brought news yesterday of an orc band wandering the outer edge of the forest, the new king decided this would be a good opportunity to give the most advanced group of Silvans their first small, carefully supervised taste of battle.

The king! Sky, in her perch in a tree on the lower slopes of Greenwood's mountain range, almost gagged at the thought. Despite everything she'd done, the Silvans had agreed to make Oropher—Oropher! A Sinda! Raised in a city!—their king! Sure, the elf could give a good speech now and then, but she wasn't convinced he even cared that much about her people, much less had what it took to make them into the kingdom he talked about. He was haughty and stiff-necked and, worst of all, bossy!

All these Sindar were that way (Well, okay, not all, but most!) and almost as bad as Oropher was his son, who was even more sure he knew everything now that he was the prince. He and Sky still butted heads every time they met, even more so since she'd beaten him with those wooden sticks. He saw her as competition, Sky thought, which was silly; she wanted to topple his authority, sure, but not take his place. He still got all irritated whenever she messed with things (which was so funny she didn't leave him alone even though he annoyed her), and he was so sure he knew what everyone needed, like the world would be perfect with him in charge. Well, he didn't know the first thing about orc-hunting, if the light from that fire was any indication. Rrgh.

Having thus worked herself up, Sky started the long series of jumps through the trees toward the elves' campfire, the more northwestern of the two.

. . . . . .

Thranduil sat by the fire, watching the Silvan elves prepare a late dinner or gather in clusters to talk. Not many came over to speak to him, even briefly—Felrion was one who did, the quiet healer who seemed to feel a responsibility to make up for his troublesome friends' behavior—but Thranduil told himself that was exactly how things should be, as it meant they were showing the proper respect for their new prince... though he was just slightly jealous that the only other Sinda in the group, a blond elf named Taensirion who was one of his father's closest friends, was welcomed into their conversations. But Taensirion was naturally a more approachable sort than Thranduil, and his current role, according to Oropher, was to present a more friendly side to the fledgling Sindarin government—balancing the new king's forceful personality—and, as well, to find out what the Silvan elves wanted and what they would not tolerate just yet, which was to say that lingering with Oropher's subjects was currently a significant portion of his job.

There was a minor commotion behind the prince, and his lips pressed together in a thin line as he saw who had returned and was now being greeted by—yes—every single elf.

"I told you to stay nearby," he called to Eithryn, interrupting the reception.

"I was nearby," she said matter-of-factly, unfazed by his stare. "I could see the light from the fire; that's closer than you want the orcs to come."

He waved her over, sighing internally, and she complied, though she sat on the ground rather than on one of the logs the Silvan elves had brought over. "Yes, oh great prince?" she asked, with a look on her face that said she was ready to argue with whatever came out of his mouth.

"Do you have a problem with the fire?"

"Anyone within a hundred trees of here can see it. More, if they climb." Her green eyes were still fixed on him, and in the firelight they seemed to literally blaze accusingly. "And, sure, the orcs aren't close enough to see it, but I only know that because I checked. You didn't bother."

"Perhaps you would enjoy standing guard for a few hours, if it concerns you so greatly?"

"That's what I was just doing, idiot," she said cheerfully, making him bristle; he forced himself to remember that she was an ill-mannered creature by nature, and her words should not bother him. "And we're fine. I just want to know why the so-called prince isn't protecting his people."

He let out a long breath between clenched teeth. Why did she bait him this way? She did not do it to the others. "I do not believe it is any of your business what I choose to do."

She scrambled to her feet. "It isn't my business if my friends die?"

She had said that much too loudly; all the Silvan elves were listening now.

"Sit down," Thranduil hissed. She stepped closer instead, but he continued anyway. "Do you really believe I am so incompetent?"

"Yep."

He was caught off-guard by the blunt answer, though he certainly should not have been. "I hate to tell you," he replied, rising to his feet—and towering over her—"but your opinion does not matter so much anymore."

"I'll bet I could undo all your father's work in a day."

His sarcastic response—an attempt to appear less concerned by the startlingly devious creature's threat than he was—was interrupted by Taensirion coming over and prying them apart. "Save your blades for the orcs," the older elf told them, a common Doriathian warning for hotheaded young soldiers.

Eithryn grinned in response to Thranduil's glare, which had never been so ineffective on any elf except his parents. "See you later, then," she declared, spinning and trotting away. "Goodbye, everyone, I'll be back in an hour or so. Don't worry, the Sinda thinks he's competent."

"The evening meal is nearly ready," Taensirion called after her.

Her voice drifted back from the darkness. "I'm fine; I ate this morning."

Thranduil groaned and sat down again, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache; every single thing about that she-elf got on his nerves.

"I suppose she has a point about the fire," Taensirion mused.

Thranduil threw some pine needles into the fire and took great pleasure in watching them crackle and blacken. "Shut up."

Taensirion shook his head and went to socialize again.

. . . . . .

After breakfast the next morning, Thranduil (reluctantly) called Eithryn over again. She ran over to the stump he was sitting on. "Whatever it was, I'm not apologizing for it," she informed him, but she seemed to be in a good mood, which, for the prince, was not a promising sign.

He attempted to convey how unamused he was with his expression. "My father wishes—"

"I'll stop you right there. Does this have anything to do with all your new rules? If so, I won't listen."

By her definition, if probably did. "My father wishes to appoint—"

"Not interested."

"Perhaps you would change your mind if—"

"Probably not. I'm not the leader type."

"Really," he snorted. So said the one who had led not one, not two, but three minor coups in a decade.

"Yes, actually. Leading people is boring; I'd rather cause trouble and make fun of the leaders."

Accurate. "I will inform my father."

"Perfect." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her go to join the others, but he had almost no time to enjoy her absence before she was back. "Why does your father even want me to do whatever-it-was?"

He tried not to glare at her too much, as she was behaving herself this time. "He believes you have influence, and—" He winced as he said it. "—that you would be more cooperative if given authority."

She—for the first time he could remember—was speechless for a few moments. "He thinks I'm like him?"

"Evidently," Thranduil agreed.

Sky laughed out loud. "I feel insulted."

"I would as well," he said, chuckling. Not many elves ever had his father off-balance, but she did.

They grinned at each other, then frowned as they remembered they were not supposed to be getting along. Mutual confusion ensued until Eithryn pointed south. "Orcs. That way."

Thranduil cleared his throat. "Indeed."

She clapped her hands once, breaking the awkward silence before it could return. "What are we waiting for, then?"

The response came with a raised eyebrow. "Breakfast."

She snapped her fingers. "Right. Drat."

Thranduil considered her. "So eager to rush into danger?"

"To destroy creatures of darkness, you mean?" Her eyes glinted. "Always."

. . . . . .

"Her confidence soothes them," Taensirion remarked to Thranduil on their way to the orcs' location; the Silvan elves would have preferred to slink through the branches instead of walking, but the Sindar were not practiced enough to keep up at that speed. "It is good she is here, I think, especially since she is working with us this time."

Thranduil knew Eithryn better than Taensirion did. If the insane Silvan did not do something disruptive or even dangerous this morning, he would eat his boots.

In the middle of the group of elves, Sky was encouraging the less experienced Silvans, including one of her best friends. "It's only a few orcs," she promised Felrion, slapping him on the back. "Just stay next to the Sindar, and you'll be fine."

Felrion—who was a bit of a pessimist—looked down at the knives at his belt with trepidation. "Sky, this isn't a good idea. You know I can't fight."

That was an understatement. "Y'know what, let's talk to Thranduil."

They wove to the front of the small group. "Prince Thranduil," began Felrion politely, "I was wondering if I could sit this one out."

The prince frowned at him, trying to determine if this was somehow one of Eithryn's plots. "You should have asked before we left."

"I know. It's just..."

Thranduil knew exactly what it was, having worked extensively with Felrion himself, without much effect. Some elves simply were not fighters. Still, it was too late to do anything about it, and he was suspicious anyway. "Do your best. The danger will not be great."

Felrion pursed his lips, but nodded and fell back, but Sky stayed. "That's not a good idea. He's a great healer—the only one we brought. Let him hang back."

Thranduil probably should have, but he could not bring himself to admit she was right. "No."

Sky started to argue, but changed her mind and took out her two long knives to juggle them much closer to Thranduil than he would have liked. She enjoyed his discomfort greatly.

It wasn't long before they found the orcs, which tromped straight through the undergrowth, breaking saplings with twisted enjoyment. Sky hissed under her breath as the elves crept along parallel to the orcs' path, staying hidden in the shadows; it was hard to believe those horrible monsters were descended from elves like the ones around her. Best to put those things out of their misery as soon as possible, before they could cause any more harm. That was why she enjoyed orc-hunting so much, aside from the challenge—she'd seen what those things could do, and she liked the concept of making the world a little bit cleaner with every twang of her bow.

"We will follow them for a short distance, so long as they do not take notice of us," Thranduil whispered back to the Silvan elves. He and Taensirion had discussed this possibility on the way here, the idea being to get the new fighters used to the sight of their enemy to reduce the chance of panic.

Sky, to put it bluntly, thought that was a stupid idea. So, being Sky, she broke cover and leapt into a tree, ignoring Thranduil's frantic attempts to get her attention, and dropped into the center of the orc group.

What followed was a whirlwind of death—for the orcs, that is. Sky became a blur, shredding orcs faster than they could attack, and never staying in one spot for more than an instant. She was off her feet as often as on them, kicking and flipping and rolling instead of bothering to block any attacks. She snapped her bow out of the strap that held it on her back and fired two arrows at once, point-blank, into orcs' faces, then snapped the weapon into another orc's face, knocking it out, and then jumped onto the shoulders of two orcs, leapt off, and shot two more before landing in another cluster of the things.

It was—frankly—the most extraordinary thing Thranduil had ever seen. It took Taensirion calling for the other elves to attack before the orcs were all gone to snap him out of his openmouthed amazement that the elven body could even do that.

Sky was having a great time. Seeing as the main point of her fighting style was to kill as many orcs as possible as fast as possible, it was a very exciting experience, with plenty of last-moment dodges and strikes that would've been fatal if they'd hit her. Storm would be sorry he'd missed this, she thought, even if he'd needed to stay behind and annoy Oropher.

Thranduil held back from the fighting for an instant, waiting to see how the first-time fighters did. Most of them leapt right in, and despite his exasperation at Eithryn, he was relieved to see her slow down and help the others where they needed it. The healer, though—Eithryn's friend Felrion—stayed behind, hefting his knives awkwardly and repeatedly stepping toward the fight and then hesitating. Thranduil decided the Silvan elf would at least not be in danger there, and stepped into the skirmish himself, cutting down orcs with powerful blows of his sword. He did not see the orc sneaking up on the healer from behind.

Sky was facing off against one of the biggest orcs—probably the boss of the others—and actually trading blows with it for the practice when she heard a familiar yell; glancing around, she spotted Felrion pinned against a tree, blood trickling down his arm as he shrank away from an orc with spiked armor. Without hesitation, she snapped out her bow and sent an arrow into the orc's misshapen skull, dropping it. Problem was, to do that she'd had to look away from the orc she was fighting, and its sword went right between her ribs.

She finished it off with an arrow to the brain and paused for a moment to assess the damage. The orc had probably been aiming for her heart, but it hadn't stuck her deep enough for that, so it'd poked a hole in her lung instead. She'd live.

The last few orcs were finished in a few moments, and it looked like the fight had gone well; she and Felrion were the only ones with more than a scratch. Speaking of Felrion, he sprinted over as soon as he saw her reeling. "I'm sorry," he apologized, trying to look at the wound. "I'm so sorry, Sky—if I hadn't come—"

Sky swatted his hand away. "Hey, it's not your fault you can't fight. Help yourself first, I'm..." She had to stop and wheeze a few times. "...just fine."

Elves started to gather around them, but Felrion waved them back. Thranduil approached warily; he assumed the infuriating she-elf would be fine, seeing as she was still standing and shrinking away when the healer when he tried again to tend her wound, which was leaking blood despite one of her hands pressing on it. That was good; he wanted to hurt her himself sometimes, but he hardly wished her dead. Indeed, he felt a sharp pain in his chest when she coughed suddenly, as if he shared her injury. A chill went down his spine when she took her hand away from her mouth and he saw the wet gleam of blood on it.

Sky regarded her hand with a peculiar expression, and then her eyes rolled up in her head and she crumpled sideways. Thranduil and Felrion both yelped and lunged forward to catch her, and together lowered her to the ground.

She came around almost immediately, and promptly yelped and lashed out at the two elves who were holding her. Thranduil fought back the urge to recoil as Eithryn's knee connected with his stomach, and attempted to pin her legs to the grass. "Hold still, you silly creature!"

"No! I said I'm fine! Let—me—GO!"

"Every time," Felrion muttered under his breath, holding her arm down so she couldn't hit him while he attended the wound.

Thranduil could not believe she was being this obstinate; she had to be in terrible pain. It did not make sense. "Hold still before you harm yourself worse!"

Her thrashing stopped and she stared daggers at him.

"How is this so terrible you would risk your life to escape it?" the exasperated prince had to ask.

"It's humiliating, and I'm not risking my life, I'm fine," she insisted a third time.

For some reason, he could not stop himself from arguing with her. "Humiliating? What fighter is not wounded, sooner or later?"

"Felrion's hurt, too," she snapped back at him, "and yet everyone's acting like I'm so fragile..." She trailed off and frowned. "Did I faint? I don't remember falling down."

She was completely irrational, Thranduil thought. Most likely in shock as well—perhaps that explained her struggling. "No one thinks you are fragile, Eithryn," he said, trying to make his voice soothing.

"Then why're you talking like I'm an elfling?"

He answered before he could stop himself. "Because you act like one."

"I—hey!" She looked to Felrion for support, but he was suddenly very preoccupied with her injury. Thranduil was sure he saw the corner of the healer's mouth twitch up. "Well, you're... you're a troll-brain. So THERE."

The prince couldn't help himself. He snorted.

He expected Eithryn to be offended, but she grinned sheepishly. "Okay, so maybe you're right."

Felrion sat back, and they both looked at him. "She'll be fine," he said with an apologetic shrug, "but she'll need to take it easy for a while. Sorry, Sky."

Sky, however, had seen an opportunity to escape. Thranduil's grip loosened as he paid attention to Felrion, and she was able to wriggle free; the prince lunged after her, but she darted away and was up the nearest tree in an instant.

Thranduil and Felrion stared at her in silence, and she glared back. No one moved for a long time.

She looked like a wild thing, Thranduil mused, crouched on that branch like that. A fox, perhaps, treed by hounds. That fox was not coming down quietly.

Felrion had reached the same conclusions. "I could be wrong," he called up to Eithryn, holding up his hands in surrender. "It's not worth it," he muttered to Thranduil as he sat down on the ground.

Thranduil stayed at the base of the tree, still hoping she would come within reach—he would not feel bad about tackling her again, in return for his bruised stomach. "You can come down and talk now, silly girl, the healer has cleared you."

"I happen to like it up here." To prove her point, she sat down on her branch, dangling her legs over the side and leaning against the trunk with a sigh.

The prince smirked at her visible irritation at him. "I shall have to tell my father about your disobedience."

She frowned. "You'll tell him I wouldn't come down from a tree? Oh, you mean how I got a head start on the orc-slaughter."

"You were reckless," he told her. "What if you had been killed?"

"What if I had been?" she challenged, coughing again. Her lips were redder than they should have been, but she did not appear to be suffering too severely.

The answer, of course, was that it would be a major setback in their relations with the Silvan elves. "I suppose you would be out of my hair, at least."

She laughed, which turned into coughing again.

Thranduil felt another unexpected pang of worry. "Come down," he requested, suddenly serious.

"No."

"Come. Or we may have to carry you back."

She threw a twig at him. "No."

"I'll keep an eye on her, prince," said Felrion, who was sitting in the grass and binding his own wound.

Thranduil turned to check, but of course Taensirion was seeing to the other Silvan elves. He stalked that direction anyway, muttering under his breath.

Felrion looked at them both and wondered.