I'd like to start by saying that no one gets to complain about how I did the wedding, because no one gave me any advice on how to do it. Exceptions are: 1) those of you who had not read the last chapter by the time this one was published, and 2) DakotaPevensieGreenleaf, because you at least told me you didn't have any ideas. (P.S. Thanks for all the great reviews/conversations!)
The rest of you: you had your chance.
Kilvara knocked—or maybe pounded would be a better word—on the door. "Sky!"
"Quit trying to break our house, Kilvara, she'll be out in a minute." Kilvara and Felrion looked over to see Storm sticking his head out the window. "Honestly, you're fretting more than she is."
"Of course I am! My best friend's getting married!" She wiped a tear from her eye. Felrion patted her on the back.
Storm leaned on the windowsill. "And you two... One of these days the two of you are going to realize you're perfect for each other."
They, predictably, separated quickly. Storm laughed.
"Planning a second wedding already, Storm?"
Everyone turned to the newcomer—a dark-haired elf a little taller than Storm—as he clambered up onto the porch. "Ereinion!" Storm said joyfully.
"Ereinion?" Felrion asked. "This is Gil-Galad?"
"You must be Felrion," the Noldor king observed, going over to the Silvan elf. "Sky says you are a finer healer than could be found among my people."
Felrion blushed. "You know Sky; she exaggerates. And I'm useless with a blade or bow."
"But you would not save many lives with those anyway, now would you?" Gil-Galad smiled. "We all have our own strengths, Felrion of the Woodland Realm. Storm, for example, has a way of predicting things about couples that they themselves do not know." He winked.
"You stay out of this," Kilvara warned him.
Storm shook his head. "No, no, no. You described him as 'wise' a few decades ago. Clearly we should listen to—Oh, here she comes! Wow, sis, you look good."
Sky laughed nervously. "Thanks."
"Come out here, and let us see you," Kilvara urged.
Apparently Sky hesitated, because she didn't appear at the door.
"Oh, go on," Storm said, throwing the door open and practically shoving her out. She looked down at the ground, blushing—and not without reason.
"Sky, you're wearing a dress!" Kilvara cried. It was true; Sky was in a long, graceful silver dress that gleamed like the stars that were just appearing above them, and not only that—she also had huge red flowers braided into her hair, which, for once, otherwise hung free.
She looked up shyly. "Yeah, I—GIL!" She hurtled into him, almost knocking him over. "You came! I thought you hadn't gotten my message!"
He squeezed her. "I... thought it might be best if Oropher did not see me until after you did, if you get my meaning, but I would never miss your wedding, Skyfire. Even if your letter had gotten lost, I would have heard about it somehow. You do look beautiful, by the way."
"You really do." Kilvara joined the hug.
"Oh, don't you start getting all sentimental," Sky told her.
"Someone's got to do it," she replied.
"Urgh." Sky wriggled. "We're going to be late, you two. Let me go."
They did so reluctantly—but Sky was only free for a second before Felrion took their place. "We're so happy for you, Sky."
"I know, I know, now get off. Too much attention, you three."
"It is your wedding, you know." Storm joined them on the porch. "I think we're required to fuss over you."
"Do you want a hug, too?" Sky asked dryly.
He wrapped her in a bear hug. "I really think I'm entitled to two, but I'll settle for just one."
"All right, then," Kilvara continued when he was done, "are we ready?"
Sky took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's go."
Kilvara led the way down the tree, with Felrion and Sky—who seemed a little unsure of how to climb in a dress—close behind. Gil-Galad and Storm hung back.
"And how are you doing?" the Noldor king asked.
Storm hesitated, watching his sister. "It's going to be so strange, not having her in the house," he said finally.
"I do not envy you. You were both brother and father to her."
Storm nodded slowly. "And it's still hard sometimes not to think of her as a little elfling, but she might have her own children soon."
Gil-Galad chuckled. "It is odd to imagine her as a mother, I must admit."
. . . . . .
Oropher found Thranduil pacing restlessly in front of his couch and made him sit down. "Breathe," he reminded his son gently. "Everything is taken care of."
Thranduil obediently took a deep breath.
"Ah, my son," Oropher mused, "when I made the decision to come to Greenwood, I hoped we might start a new life here, but I never expected you would find love so quickly, or—" He laughed softly, "—in such a strange place." He paused. "And while I admit that I was opposed to your marriage, it was for my own sake, not yours. Many times I have watched you with her, and the two of you have a love to rival what I once felt for your mother. I am glad you have found that, Thranduil, even if I fully expect her to drive me mad someday."
Thranduil smiled. "Thank you, father."
Oropher glanced out the window; the stars were out. "It is time. Unless you are having second thoughts—"
"I am not," Thranduil assured him.
Oropher sighed. "You cannot blame me for hoping."
. . . . . .
The clearing was star-lit and empty, but the whispers of hundreds of elves in the shadows around it could be heard. Every voice silenced instantly when Oropher appeared and made his way to the center, where a single slender tree reached into the heavens. This was the place where every Silvan marriage had happened for centuries, but this one would be a little different—this time, one of the two was Sindarin.
The king came to a stop. "Thranduil, Eithryn, join me." Mentally, he ran through his words one last time, but they were few, unlike in the traditional Sindarin ceremony, which lasted about half an hour.
Thranduil swallowed hard, while on the opposite side, Storm broke his promise and gave Sky another fierce hug. Then, at the same time, Sky and Thranduil stepped into the starlight, shielded from each other's sight by the silver wood of the tree. Oropher stepped back as they each came close enough to touch the bark, then, as though they could not wait any longer, stepped quickly around to meet in front of him.
Thranduil nearly gasped out loud. She looked radiant. Not to mention the compliment she was giving him by wearing a dress...
Sky was mostly just trying not to hyperventilate. She'd been fine until she stepped into the clearing, but now...
"Thranduil, prince of Greenwood, and Eithryn of the Silvan elves," Oropher began, "You have chosen to join together—to unite your souls for all eternity. Do you understand this?"
Blue eyes met green, and both nodded.
"And you understand your responsibilities? That you must always stand by each other, even in times of turmoil or of grief?"
They nodded. Thranduil took Eithryn's hands in his—she was shaking a little. "How to begin?" he wondered. "I remember when we first met—shortly after you tried to shoot my father." A ripple of laughter swept around the clearing, but they hardly heard it. "I thought you were beautiful then." He smirked a little as he continued, "Even from the beginning, I knew that you were like no one I had ever met. You did not listen to a word I said, of course, but you were also independent, and clever, and so very brave, and you were right—you still are—more often than I want to admit. You know what you want and you fight for it—I never want to be on the wrong end of one of your arrows—and you are so alive. And finally, you are good. You would give your life for anyone without a thought—though I pray with all my heart that you will never have to!—and you can look past appearances to love someone for what is inside. You are everything I fear I will never be, and I love you for it. You make my life worth living."
"Funny you say that," she answered, "because when you came to Greenwood, I was thinking, 'No. These robe-wearing, strict-talking idiots aren't messing up my forest.' But you surprised me, because you actually cared about us, and it turns out you do know how to have fun. And you're wrong—you are good. You've already shown that you would do anything to protect us." She grinned. "And you're my favorite person in the world." She hesitated, wanting to say more but not sure how, but something in Thranduil's eyes told her he understood anyway. She took a step toward him, and he tilted his head to the side.
"And now—" Oropher started, but they swept together and kissed without waiting for him to finish. Oropher cleared his throat, but they ignored him. There was more laughter.
"And now, by the love that holds you together and the promises that bind you, two become one, and I name you husband and wife. Now you may kiss." They had pulled apart by that point, but at Oropher's declaration, they started again. "You are a bad influence on my son, Silvan," Oropher grumbled.
She raised an eyebrow at him, but she couldn't exactly speak at the moment, so Oropher was spared whatever sarcastic response she had come up with.
And then they were—to put it in Sky's words—attacked by a whole lot of Silvan elves, quite a few Sindar, and one Noldor. Somehow Oropher noticed Gil-Galad in the crowd.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped, cornering the smaller elf against the tree.
Gil-Galad held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. "I was invited," he answered calmly.
"We shall see about that," Oropher promised. "Thranduil!"
All the elves near him quieted. "Yes, father?" Thranduil asked. Eithryn looked over and winced.
"Do you invite this elf?"
Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Gil-Galad. "Who are you?"
"That's Gil-Galad," Eithryn told him. "He's my friend."
Oropher was wearing his "I'd-better-not-have-heard-that-right" expression. "What did you say?"
Sky let go of Thranduil and stepped up to the king. "I said he's my friend. And you will not touch him." Her green eyes blazed.
Thranduil caught her arm and tried to pull her behind him, but she would not budge—and then, to his utter amazement, Oropher actually took a step back. "You will follow my laws and stay no more than three days," he snapped at Gil-Galad. Then he vanished into the crowd.
Thranduil stared in amazement at his new wife, remembering the few times he had been subjected to the full power of that glare and being, now that he thought about it, not very surprised that Oropher had been unnerved. "How do you do that?"
"It's her eyes, I think," Gil-Galad said. "Well met, Prince Thranduil, and congratulations."
Thranduil eyed him, not sure how to act around this elf who no longer outranked his father, at least not in Oropher's kingdom.
Eithryn elbowed him in the ribs. "Friend," she reminded him.
"I mean no harm," Gil-Galad assured him. "Your father and I have never seen eye to eye, but I would like a better relationship with you."
Thranduil tipped his head to him. "Well met, King Gil-Galad."
Gil-Galad bowed respectfully. "Thank you, but the title is not necessary."
"Your father should take notes," Eithryn told Thranduil, who kissed her on the forehead so she would not see the look he gave Gil-Galad.
They turned as a voice came from behind them. "Let me through—that's my sister." Coryn appeared, quickly followed by Kilvara and Felrion. "Sorry—Oropher was glaring at us, so we had to make a detour. Come here, Sky."
Felrion and Kilvara congratulated Thranduil while Eithryn tried to escape from yet another of Coryn's hugs.
. . . . . .
Oropher leaned back in his chair and lifted his wine glass. "To Thranduil and Eithryn. May they know nothing but happiness."
"To Thranduil and Eithryn," the elves echoed.
Coryn whispered something into Gil-Galad's ear, and the Noldor nodded and stood. "May I?" he asked Oropher. When the Sindarin king nodded, Gil-Galad continued, "To the new princess."
The echo was almost drowned out by the Silvan elves' laughter. It was already well known how much Eithryn hated that title. "I'll get you for that," she warned Gil-Galad. "And you, stop laughing," she snapped at her husband. Apparently Thranduil found Gil-Galad's choice of words very amusing.
Thranduil tried, but his shoulders still shook with mirth. "But he is right."
"Ugh," Eithryn said, trying to hide as the clearing's worth of elves went to their own conversations.
"Of all the crazy ways your life could have gone..." Kilvara trailed off.
"This is the one we would never have bet on," Felrion agreed.
"Oh, you're finishing each other's sentences now?" Storm asked, with a wink at Sky. She mentally promised to thank him later for distracting everyone.
"Hush, Storm, or I'll throw my cup at you," Kilvara threatened.
"Ah, Stormfire," Gil-Galad mused. "You should visit me more often. How else will I know which weddings to plan?"
"Sky, tell your guest to mind his own business," Kilvara ordered.
Sky turned to Thranduil. "Do you hear that? It sounds like hypocrisy."
"I do believe you are right," the prince agreed.
Sky grinned. "Sorry, Kilvara, but you always seemed to enjoy teasing people about these things before, so..."
"You know as well as I do that it was mostly this pest!" Kilvara pointed to Storm.
"I'm not a pest!" Storm protested. "If anything, I'm... um..."
"I've always thought of you as someone's favorite uncle," Gil-Galad observed mischievously.
"A favorite uncle without any nieces or nephews," Felrion added, catching on.
All heads turned to Thranduil and his wife, who had been greatly enjoying listening to the conversation until now. "Yet," Storm corrected.
Eithryn and the prince traded looks. "Would you like to dance?" Thranduil suggested.
She was out of her chair before he finished. "I would."
"I want at least seven," Coryn called after them.
"That would be more than your five," Thranduil whispered in Eithryn's ear.
"Yes, it would." She changed course suddenly, pulling on his hand. "Let's go somewhere else instead."
Some peace and quiet did sound nice, Thranduil had to agree. "Let's."
It took them quite a while to escape—they were the ones being celebrated, after all—but eventually they made it into the forest, and after that it didn't take long to find a quiet spot. Thranduil sat down with his back to a tree, but apparently that spot was not wood-elf approved—Eithryn went up the tree instead, motioning for the prince to follow.
"You climb faster every year," she told him when he finally caught up with her on a branch wide enough that they could probably have had a sparring match on it if they wanted, and several trees away from where they had started.
"I had better, if I am to rule Silvan elves," he pointed out. "You never know when they might unexpectedly take to the trees."
She laughed. "Look."
He looked, and immediately understood why she had chosen this spot; this was the tallest tree in the area, so they had a very good view of both the party and the stars. The Silvan elves were very fond of starlight, and Thranduil could see why. "You should come to more of the feasts," he said absently.
"Tell your father to un-forbid me from coming," she answered. "Otherwise I get thrown out every few minutes."
"I shall." He kissed her. "You should wear dresses more often as well."
She grimaced. "They're incredibly inconvenient. Don't get your hopes up."
He sighed, turning back to the scene below. Coryn appeared to be telling their friends a story—or maybe a series of very bad jokes, from the reactions he was getting—and his father was obviously getting rather drunk.
"Thranduil?"
"Yes?" He leaned in to get a better look at her eyes and remembered at the last moment that if he kissed her again, he would not get to find out what she was going to say.
"Thank you for existing."
I don't think I'm very good at writing cheesy stuff. Oh, well. At least I'm good at fluff. The tone of the next who-knows-how-many chapters should be back to normal. I have an idea for the next one, and two maybe-ideas for the ones after that. Or perhaps three.
Long Live the Elvenking.