"Are you okay?"

Legolas's groan was muffled by the pillow he had thrown over his head. "No, Tathor. I'm DYING."

"Oh," said Tathor, who had fruit juice dripping from his mouth. "Can I eat the peach I brought you, then?"

One of Legolas's hands released the pillow and beckoned for the peach, which his friend reluctantly placed in his hand. Since sitting up and letting go of the pillow was required for eating, the boy did so.

Tathor hopped onto the bed. "May I ask why you're dying, Legolas?"

"My ada said I did not behave well enough at allllll the meetings today, so he made me do twice as much fighting practice!" Legolas gave his friend a look of wide-eyed suffering. "And now I'm so sore..."

"I wish I could go to those meetings," Tathor said enviously.

Legolas glared at him.

"I mean, that's so unfair," the younger elfling corrected himself. "Who did you practice with?"

"Taensirion," Legolas sighed.

"Oh! Well, at least he was nicer than your ada would've been, right?" Tathor wondered if he was perhaps pushing his luck by being a little too optimistic.

"I guess..." Legolas threw his arms out wide and dramatically collapsed back on the bed, getting peach juice on the covers from his sticky hands. He didn't care.

Tathor waited a moment, but when his friend just lay there, glaring at the ceiling with a half-eaten peach in his hand, he added, "Taensirion's pretty cool, though."

"Mm-hmm," Legolas agreed reluctantly, finally biting into the juicy fruit again.

"I feel like he understands me," Tathor continued. "He's a lot like my ada, but 'Las, my parents don't get me. Neither does Firith. You do, and I think Taen does, but most people don't." He flopped onto his back just as Legolas had and looked over at the young prince. "Am I a weird person, Prince Legolas?"

"Yep," Legolas agreed, smacking his lips contentedly as he finished the peach and tossed the pit into the trash can.

"I guess so," Tathor mused. "Anyway, Firith and I wanted to invite you to come to the lake with us. Unless you're too sore?"

Legolas considered that for a minute. "Nah. Let's go."

Tathor grinned, and both elflings bounced up as if they'd been lying on springs and raced out into the palace with a rushed "Bye, ada, we are going to the lake with Firith!" from one and "Hi, King Thranduil! Bye, King Thranduil!" from the other—directed, of course, at the startled (but not surprised) monarch working on the couch. Similar greetings and farewells were also given to Galion, who would have reminded them to be home before dark if he hadn't just been talking to his elder son, who was now running to catch up with the youngsters.

. . . . . .

"Frog!" Legolas yelled as he pounced, but the amphibian escaped into the lake with a splash.

"I wonder what it's like to be a frog," Tathor mused, crouching with his chin in his hand as he observed another bullfrog in the reeds that grew in this marshy section of the lake edge.

"Wet?" guessed Legolas.

"Slimy," said Firith, watching from a safe distance.

The youngest elfling was paying no attention to them. "I wish I could try it."

Legolas hopped onto a rock next to the one his friend was perched on. "Maybe you can."

Tathor looked up. "What? How? Oh—oh, no—"

Splash.

Firith yelped. "Legolas! That wasn't—"

Splat.

Legolas's laughing stopped immediately. "You... you got mud in my hair!" the horrified young prince gasped.

"Yep," said Tathor cheerfully, with another glob of gloopy mud already in his hand. Splat.

"Tathor! Stop that right—" Firith was being entirely ignored.

Splash.

"Both of you get out of the water this instant!" Firith groaned and ran to the site of the aquatic scuffle. "Tathor! Legolas! Separate!"

The two elflings eyed each other as they were dragged unceremoniously out of the water, Firith scolding them over their soaked and muddy clothes; Legolas stuck out his tongue, and Tathor reciprocated.

Firith dumped them on the grass and glared at them, tapping his foot.

Tathor looked mildly guilty, and Legolas tried to do the same. "Maybe we can wash off in the river?" the prince suggested; they were allowed to swim in it this far down, where the current was sluggish, and the lake was too muddy here.

Firith huffed.

. . . . . .

"Okay, I'm done," Firith muttered reluctantly after he was finished picking algae and pondweed out of the soaking-wet elflings' hair an hour later, after the river water had washed enough of the mud off them and their clothes. "Now, we're going back to the lake, and don't you dare do that again, or I will drag you straight home."

The elflings nodded obediently, if one didn't count the sparks of rebellion in their eyes that they were barely holding back for Firith's sake.

. . . . . .

"'Las?"

"Mm-hmm?" Legolas was playing with a praying mantis he'd found, while Tathor lay on his back, staring up at the sky, and Firith was trying not to think about all the grass and twigs that were going to end up in his brother's hair.

"What would you do if you weren't a prince?" Tathor asked.

Legolas thought about that. "I would be a warrior, like Kilvara or Silana, and serve the kingdom by hunting down creatures of darkness, like the ones that killed my Nana. And I would not go to any boring meetings ever again. Or maybe I would do something else, but I would choose it, not my Ada."

"Oh," said Tathor.

A few minutes passed in silence except for the whispering of the trees and the lapping of water against the lakeshore.

"Felrion asked if I would be his apprentice," Tathor announced suddenly, sitting up.

Legolas dropped the spider he'd been about to feed to his praying mantis, and the tiny arachnid skittered away to safety. "You said no, right?"

"I... told him I'd think about it."

"Well, you have to say no," Legolas insisted. "You are supposed to be my second-in-command, remember? And someday when I'm king you will be one of my generals and my favorite advisor, right? Like Taen is to my Ada?"

"I don't think I want to be a general," Tathor mumbled. "And I want to help people, not kill things—remember when I broke both my legs falling out of that tree and Felrion took care of me and then helped me get brave about climbing again? I want to do that."

Legolas didn't like the sinking feeling in his stomach. "But..."

"Legolas, I... I think I need to tell him yes. I think this is what Eru wants me to do."

Legolas didn't know what to say.

Firith spoke up. "I think you'll make a great healer, Tathor."

The elfling perked up a little. "Thanks. Don't worry, 'Las, we can still be friends, and maybe I can come on some of your patrols? I still want to get better at fighting, in case I ever need to. Things don't need to change that much."

"Yeah..." Legolas sighed and put his head on his knees, then looked up at Tathor and smiled. "I bet you'll be the best healer ever."

Tathor grinned, then turned to his brother. "Hey, Firith, you haven't told us what you want to do."

Firith shrugged. "Oh, just keep all the supplies for the palace sorted out or something. Nothing special."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "No, Firith, what do you want to do? Like if you could do anything?"

Firith blinked at him. "But that is what I want to do."

Legolas and Tathor looked at each other and shrugged, hardly surprised.

. . . . . .

"I'm going to tell Felrion yes," was the first thing Tathor told Galion when the three young elves returned to the palace that evening.

"That's great!" Galion replied excitedly, patting his son on the back as he passed. "My son's going to be a healer," he explained proudly to the king.

"Ah." Thranduil had not heard anything about this, but it certainly made sense. Then Legolas followed Galion's sons in, looking glum, though he tried to hide it behind a smile. "What happened, Legolas?"

Legolas shook his head as he kicked off his boots. "Why do I have to be a prince?"

Thranduil had often wondered the same thing himself, about both of them. "Because your grandfather decided he wanted to rule a kingdom."

"I wish he hadn't," Legolas muttered, but he went to get dinner.

So much like his mother, Thranduil thought, and he closed his eyes.