Thranduil had always preferred snow over rain; rain got everywhere, soaking you to the bone, and made everything wet and muddy. Snow, on the other hand, was soft and could be cleared away, and it added a peaceful beauty to the landscape.

He liked snow somewhat less when it trapped him in his home.

He had lived in Greenwood for two hundred years now, and not once had even five feet of snow managed to settle on the ground even in the clearings, but he was sure there was at least twice that much of the stuff built up on the balcony outside his door, even though his house was two hundred feet off the ground and shielded by branches on all sides.

Perhaps he could have dug his way out; after that, his elven magic would have allowed him to easily walk on top of the snow to wherever he wanted to be. The snow was, however, rather thickly packed, and even as resistant to cold as elves were, forcing his way through hundreds of pounds of frozen water did not sound enjoyable to the prince. Therefore, he settled himself in front of the fire with a book and waited stubbornly for the snow to melt.

He did not have to wait long, as it turned out.

It started with a scraping, sliding sound, coming, unexpectedly, from the back of the house. Thranduil shook his head; he was grateful to whoever it was for trying to get him out, but they seemed to have forgotten where his door was located. He stayed where he was.

Soon the noise stopped. They had discovered their error, Thranduil assumed, and were going around to the front to try again.

"You're reading about trees? You realize you live in a forest, right?"

Most elves would have been quite startled at hearing a voice just behind them when they had assumed they were alone. For Thranduil, this had become almost an everyday occurrence. "Hello, Eithryn. Have you learned to walk through snow now?"

"No, we dug out your window. There was less snow on that side." She grinned. "You've been rescued. You're welcome."

"Thank you." He stood up and placed his book on the table. "And what, exactly, will I have to do now that I am rescued?"

"Play in the snow, of course." She looked at his robes and raised an eyebrow. "Go change into something that can get wet."

Thranduil obeyed, knowing the futility of telling her that he did not "play".

. . . . . .

Eithryn had brought her brother, Kilvara, and Felrion—her usual group—and even Felrion had been pressured out of having mercy on the prince. Therefore, Thranduil was pelted with four very well-aimed snowballs the instant he slid through his window. This was hardly unexpected, however—like Eithryn's sudden appearance behind him, it tended to happen at every opportunity—so he merely sighed and brushed the snow onto the ground. "Thank you for that." He paused. "How am I going to get down?" He did not doubt their skill at navigating snow-mounded branches, but he held no illusions about his own abilities.

"There's twenty feet of snow on the ground, isn't there?" Eithryn said in a tone that implied the answer should have been obvious.

Thranduil frowned, and then it hit him. "No. Eithryn, that is a very bad idea."

She grinned and inched toward the edge.

"Eithryn! Come here!" The prince looked at Coryn desperately. "Stop her!"

Coryn surprised him. "I think the Sindar might be right this time, Sky. That's quite a drop."

Eithryn glanced behind her. "Not there. There's a drift—it's got to be at least half again as deep as the rest."

"Sky," Felrion said, "you promised I wouldn't have to deal with any injuries today, and broken legs count as injuries."

Thranduil took a moment to close his eyes and remind himself that he had never seen her hurt except after a battle, so she must know what she was doing. In theory. Please, please let her think clearly for once in her life.

Kilvara shifted her weight restlessly. "We could attach ropes or something instead..."

Eithryn turned toward her and opened her mouth to say something.

Thranduil did not waste his chance. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her, and dragged her away from the edge. It turned out to be far less hazardous than he had expected, as she was too stunned to fight back.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" he shouted, shaking her.

Eithryn stared at him. So did the other three, but he didn't notice.

"What were you thinking?!" he repeated. "What if you had been hurt? What if you..." He shook his head, pushing away that thought. "Why do you do these things to me, you reckless, insane..." He shook her again, but more gently this time. "Must I spend every moment keeping you alive?" he asked, half laughing, half trying not to cry.

Eithryn was looking at him like he had lost his mind, and he realized sheepishly how unexpected his outburst must have been. The others had the same expressions, except for Coryn, who whispered something in Kilvara's ear, causing her to elbow him in the ribs. Thranduil would investigate that later.

"Do not do that again," he told Eithryn, who gave him a slightly concerned smile.

. . . . . .

Sky watched a few minutes later as Thranduil climbed down the rope the Silvan elves had brought for him. She had gotten down by way of the tree; the prince had refused to let go of her until she promised to do so.

She hadn't meant to upset him so much. She was still sure she could have jumped without being hurt, but she admitted to herself that she had kind of given him reason to worry.

What was done was done. Now it was time to throw more snowballs at the prince.

. . . . . .

There was so much snow that Thranduil could not even tell where the river was supposed to be; the same was true of the streams and ponds in the forest, and of the lake on the northeastern edge. That, of course, did not stop Eithryn and her brother from finding a large patch of ice. It was in a particularly thick group of trees, where several branches crossed over the trench dug by a creek, keeping a sizable area free of snow.

Eithryn hit the ice at a run and kept her balance, spinning in several full circles and finally coming to a full stop, laughing. Kilvara did likewise, while Coryn launched himself off the snow and turned in the air so that he was moving backwards when he landed. Felrion followed and caught Coryn's arm as he passed, pulling him over.

Thranduil slid gracefully onto the ice, and Eithryn tried to copy Felrion's trick, but the prince was ready, so he managed to keep his balance and actually tried to pull her over. It soon turned into a strange sort of dance with neither winning, even when Kilvara joined in on Eithryn's side and Coryn and Felrion on Thranduil's. The two she-elves were more than agile enough to make up for the other three's added strength.

. . . . . .

Thranduil was following a good distance behind the others, admiring the way the sun sparkled on the snow, when he heard a muffled thump—or maybe it was more of a poof. He spun around, but saw nothing but a dent in the snow. He relaxed; it must have been a clump of snow falling off the branch above him.

He looked up just in time to cry out before the mountain of snow landed on him.

. . . . . .

The prince had never built a snow fort. This had to be fixed immediately.

"Didn't you have a childhood?" Sky asked as Thranduil—his hair more white than gold now—added another lump of snow onto their wall. "I'll be speaking with your father about this."

"My father does not need to know that this is how I spent my day," Thranduil muttered.

"Why not?" Sky was beginning to think Oropher needed to experience a few snowball fights himself.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, thinking back to a conversation he had had with his father only months before.

"My son, Oropher had said, "do not think I have not noticed how... attached you have become to her."

"To whom?" Thranduil asked, perplexed. He had no idea what his father could mean.

Oropher frowned. "Eithryn, of course."

The prince actually took a step back. His father thought he was... interested... in Eithryn? "You are mistaken," he stammered.

"Am I?"

"Yes!" Surely his father was imagining things. He could not fall in love with Eithryn; he was just... learning to get along with her. That was all.

"Hmm. Well, know that I will not allow it. She is not right for you, Thranduil, and certainly not right for the kingdom."

"On the contrary—" Thranduil realized what he was saying. "She can be very useful when she is cooperating," he finished weakly, staring at the floor. He did not have to look up to know that Oropher would look disappointed.

Actually, the king was holding back a chuckle—he remembered when he had felt that way—but he worked hard to conceal his smile when his son lifted his head, because he really did not want Eithryn for a daughter-in-law.

Thranduil cleared his throat. "Let us just say that he would not approve."

"That's part of the point," she informed him, but she sighed when he raised an eyebrow. "Fine. If you're so ashamed of being friends with us..." But she was smiling.

He went back to work on the wall, not even seeming to remember that he was involved in a frivolous activity.

Sky watched him thoughtfully. As silly as she sometimes—well, always—acted, she was actually very perceptive, so she was very much aware that something was going on, and, thanks to that morning's events, she even had a pretty good idea of what it was. She wasn't, however, at all sure yet what she thought about it.

Storm observed it all from the shadows, a huge grin on his face.

. . . . . .

"Well, I think I'm ready to go home," Felrion decided, trying and failing to brush all the snow clumps out of his hair, but not looking too upset about that fact. It was just starting to get dark.

"My boots are full of snow and I'm going to be black and blue tomorrow from all the snowballs that have hit me," Kilvara said. "It's been a good day."

"Home it is, then," Sky agreed. "But first, I'm going to find our Sindar friend and tell him he can show himself without having snowballs launched at his face."

"Wonderful idea, my sister," Coryn said, and he winked at the other two. "See you at our house, then."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Right. I will. And not before then. Kilvara?"

"I'll make sure he goes straight back."

Coryn held up his hands like he couldn't believe that his sister didn't trust him.

Sky made it clear to him with her expression that she was not impressed and trotted off in the general direction she assumed Thranduil had gone.

"Oh, PRINCE," she called, "SINDAR, you can come out now! We're going home! THRANDUIL!"

"Over here!"

Sky ran in the direction of Thranduil's voice and found him investigating a pile of fallen trees, many of which were huge even by Greenwood's standards.

He looked up and waved to her. "Come look at this!"

The trunk of the nearest tree, it turned out, was a few feet off the ground, creating a wide cave just high enough for an elf to squeeze into. It was dark inside.

"It looks like it leads somewhere," Thranduil noted, crouching.

"You want to go in there?" Sky asked doubtfully.

"Awakening my sense of adventure was one of your goals, was it not?" He crawled into the cave without waiting for a response.

Sky swallowed. "Why did it have to be a cave?" she murmured to a sapling, fingering its twigs nervously.

"Are you coming?" Thranduil asked, sounding like he was a good distance in. "You are still there, correct?"

She knelt down in front of the trunk. "Yes, I'm here."

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" he asked, sounding confused. He was in far enough that she could barely see his face, although there was less light coming in from outside, too.

"No, I'm coming." If the prince could fit in there, so could she. She got down on her stomach and started crawling.

Almost immediately, she felt like she was being suffocated. No matter how low she got, she couldn't move without feeling the bark scraping against her back, and she was painfully aware of how little space she had above and below her—so little that she couldn't even have come close to rolling onto her side. It looked like the ceiling lowered up ahead. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, dragging herself along one inch at a time, trying to pretend she was crawling along a branch with the whole sky above her. It didn't work.

She was being crushed, and she was still forcing herself deeper into the darkness. Her chest felt tight; she could hardly breathe. She was shaking, and her muscles were tight with fear, and the ceiling was getting lower and lower; it was going to trap her. She was going to get stuck, and she wouldn't be able to get free because her arms and legs wouldn't do what she told them. They weren't even moving anymore; they were just lying on the ground, frozen. She tried to move a finger, but couldn't even make it twitch.

"Help," she gasped. Then, louder, more desperately: "Help." Then she waited, unable to move, eyes squeezed tight.

"Eithryn?" Thranduil's voice sounded far away. She was going to pass out...

"Eithryn!" He touched her hand, then her cheek, bringing her back to reality. "What is it? ...Why are you so cold?"

"Get me out of here," she choked out. "Please."

Thranduil inhaled sharply. "You are afraid of tight spaces. You should have told me."

She sobbed.

"No—" Thranduil reached over her as best he could to rub circles on her back. It was not the first time he had felt helpless because of her, but this sort of helplessness was of a kind he had felt only once before, a long time ago, and oh, how he hated it. "Eithryn..." He made himself take a deep breath. "It's all right, mellon-nin. Everything will be fine." He looked around. "There is a light ahead—I think there may be a way out. I am going to help you go that way, all right?"

"O-okay," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Okay. Now, we need to go forward. Can you do that?"

Her arm slid forward stiffly, but then she just lay there, shivering.

Thranduil eased himself forward, then reached back, hooked his arm around her, and slid her toward him. She whimpered, but then she drew in a ragged breath and pulled herself forward a few more inches.

"Good. See? We are so much closer already. We just need to do that over and over, and then, before you know it, we will be outside again."

"R-right."

He slid forward again. "Eithryn, do you remember our first patrol? Our first battle?"

"Mmm-hmm."

He pulled her forward. "Remember how you got yourself hurt, and then you fought me when I tried to make you lie down?"

"Yes." She dragged herself almost twice as far this time.

"Why did you do that?"

She seemed to think about that, or maybe she was just concentrating on moving. "I don't know. Maybe I just like fighting."

He chuckled. "You are a spitfire. Hmm."

"What?"

"Spitfire. Skyfire." He smirked, although of course she could not see him in the dark. "I do believe I have a new nickname for you."

"Oh. Great." A pause. "Are we close yet?"

"We are about halfway there, I think. This is not so bad, is it?"

"Speak for yourself, warg-face."

"See? You even have your sense of humor."

"Mmm."

He had to keep talking to her... "You used to be the most frustrating thing in my life, you know."

She paused to take a few breaths and then started again. She was moving more than half the distance by herself now. "What changed?"

"Nothing. You still complicate every aspect of my existence. It appears, though, that I have learned to accept that."

"So you admit that you are better off with a sense of humor?"

"I would call it an acceptance that some things in life cannot be controlled. And that you are rather amusing. Ah, here we go."

Eithryn's eyes blinked open and then she shot out into the light so quickly that Thranduil wondered for a second if she had teleported.

An instant later, though, she stiffened. "We're going to have to go back through," she whispered.

Thranduil pulled himself out from under the tree, and his mouth fell open. Instead of the outside world, they had emerged into a new chamber—one beyond the boundaries of anything he had ever experienced.

The skeleton of the chamber was of wood—the trunks, branches, and roots of the other trees in the pile, which Thranduil had quite forgotten about—it appeared that they went up for many feet above the "ceiling", and the empty space itself was quite large on all sides. The gaps between the wood were filled mostly by snow, but the sunlight was let in through small holes here and there—all of them either too small for elves to go through or blocked higher up. The light was the weak golden light of dusk, but it sparkled off the snow on every side, so that the whole place seemed to glow, with brighter dots of light where the sun hit the ground directly.

Eithryn did not seem to appreciate the beauty; she was looking at Thranduil with an expression of horror, and all the blood had drained from her face. He had a sudden urge to give her a hug, but he was unsure of how she would feel about that, so he just suggested that they rest for a while before they went back through. She nodded shakily and sat down on the thin carpet of snow that had gotten through the branches. The prince joined her.

She really was quite beautiful, Thranduil found himself thinking, especially with the golden light shining off her skin like that. It made her hair look like it was on fire. He wondered if that was what she was named for.

And her eyes... they seemed to glow. Their color was not changed the slightest bit by the light.

Those eyes widened a little when she caught him staring. Thranduil looked away quickly, wondering why his face suddenly felt hot.

This was ridiculous. His father was right. She was difficult and reckless and... and brave and clever and very good, in her own way. But she was definitely not princess material.

He looked over at her again and was relieved to find that she was more relaxed now, even smiling a little. She was strong, that one. He wondered what all she had been through in her short life. That reminded him of something he had meant to ask her for some years now, but the time had never been right.

"Eithryn?" he asked softly.

"Yes?"

"What happened to your parents?"

He expected to have to coax her into telling him about it, but she just shrugged. "Orcs attacked just before I was born. They killed my father, and my mother died a day later."

"Of grief?" the prince asked, flinching at the thought of what the poor elleth must have suffered.

"No, she was hurt. I'm told it was a miracle she made it long enough to give birth." She saw his look of horror and shrugged. "Orcs feel no mercy."

"I am so sorry," he whispered.

She smiled sadly. "I never knew them, so there's not much to miss. And anyway, I had Storm to look after me."

He laughed despite the grimness of the topic. "Is that what happened to you?"

"That's probably it. He was only two hundred at the time, you know."

"Oh." Thranduil felt a new respect for Coryn, and a new sympathy. Raising a child when he was two hundred... that did explain Eithryn.

"You lost your mother, didn't you?" she asked quietly.

He closed his eyes. "She died a very long time ago."

"Orcs?"

"What else?"

They sat together in silence until the light began to dim.

"We should go back," Eithryn said finally.

Thranduil nodded and stood. They eyed the tunnel together.

"I will be right beside you the whole time," Thranduil promised her.

"I know." She took a deep breath. "Let's go, then."

They crawled into the tunnel together.

. . . . . .

"Here we are," Thranduil said as they climbed up onto the front porch of Sky's house by way of a branch—many of the Silvan elves' houses had no stairs, or even ladders.

Sky nodded and opened the door.

"Eithryn?"

She looked back expectantly. She looked better now, with her face back to its normal color.

In truth, Thranduil had only said her name to—if he was being perfectly honest with himself—keep her there for a few more moments. He scrambled for something to say. "I cannot remember—did you leave the rope up?"

Sky had not missed how he had hesitated before speaking. "Yes, you'll be able to get back into your house." What in the world was she going to do about this? She liked him, but... she really needed to think. "Good night, Thranduil."

He gave up. "Good night."

And she was gone.

What a day it had been, Thranduil thought. He'd expected to be stuck inside; instead, he'd spent the day with a hyperactive Silvan elf who had dragged him through half the forest, targeted him with countless snowballs, and forced him to make a snow fort. And it had been wonderful.

He hated it when his father was right.