This one will be a multi-part chapter.
"Oh, really?"
Felrion folded his arms over his chest and met his wife's eyes unblinkingly. "Yes, I'd be fine without you for a week."
"Dangerous words."
"I did fine before I married you, you know."
"Harsh," said Caliel, who was watching along with pretty much all their other friends, since everyone was gathered at Taensirion and Lanthirel's house. "Think you'd be fine if I left for a week, husband?"
Galion glanced over from the window, where he was keeping an eye on his younger son and the prince as they wrestled. "Like Felrion said, we used to be fine by ourselves, Callie."
"This one was not," Lanthirel put in, indicating her mildly offended husband.
Taensirion folded his arms. "Excuse me."
"You were living on sandwiches and anything you could buy at the market."
"...I could survive on sandwiches for another week," the male Sinda informed her stubbornly.
"Oh, really?"
He risked a tiny eye-roll. "Yes."
Lanthirel sent a sly look at Kilvara and Caliel. "Oh, Heledir and Ruscan?"
Her sons-in-law broke away from their conversations and approached. "Yes, mother?" asked Heledir curiously.
"Tell me, do you think you could live without your wives for a week?"
The tawny-haired Sinda and the dark-haired Silvan exchanged perplexed glances. "Sure," Ruscan agreed after a moment.
"Hmm," said Milaera, who'd followed him over and was reading between the lines of her mother's mischievous smile; she discreetly waved her sisters over.
"Honestly, we travel to other kingdoms without you all the time," Alagon commented as he came over, having wondered why everyone was gathering over here. "I do not see what the problem is."
His own wife huffed, taking offense. "Well, now."
"Indeed," Kilvara agreed, grinning back at Lanthirel.
The Sindarin she-elf winked. "Are we agreed, then?"
"I'm in," Faena and Milaera announced at the same time.
"Same," said Caliel.
"Entirely," Kilvara assured her friend.
Silana raised her hand. "May I help?"
Her mother chuckled. "Of course. Aleinia?"
"If you want me."
"Of course we want you," Faena told her.
Meanwhile, all the male elves, now including Thranduil and Firith but not the elflings, were exchanging hand signals and expressions that effectively amounted to, "I don't know what's going on; do you?"
"That's settled, then," Kilvara decreed, and as if by some invisible signal, all the she-elves flowed to one side of the room, facing the males. On their side, Kilvara, Lanthirel, Caliel, Kimbrel, Faena, Milaera, Silana, Sheyni, and Aleinia; on the other, a very confused Felrion, Galion, Taensirion, Thranduil, Alagon, Firith, Heledir, Ruscan, Feren, and Tairen.
"I'm scared," noted Feren.
The others inched closer together, to the amusement of the she-elves, and after a moment, Thranduil was pushed out in front, perhaps because he was the least afraid of any particular female out of all of them.
The king—who was thankfully having a good day—sighed and inquired, "What exactly are you doing?"
"You say you can survive a week without us," replied Lanthirel, who was, of course, the official speaker of the other group. "So we have a challenge for you."
"Uh-oh," said Felrion, but he was quickly shushed by the others.
Lanthirel nudged Kilvara. "What are the rules?"
"You all go out in the forest for a week," the red-haired elf told the males, "from noon today to the same time seven days from now; if any of you come back before that, we win."
"We accept," declared Alagon.
"Agreed," echoed Firith.
"Yep." That was Feren.
"Wait—"
Someone kicked the protester—Galion—in the calf; Taensirion seemed to be rethinking his previous assurances to his wife, but kept his mouth shut, while Heledir and Ruscan appeared determined as well, and Tairen laughed. Every single she-elf was smirking.
"Some of us have work to do," Thranduil pointed out, frowning.
Taensirion cleared his throat. "We could activate the battle protocols, perhaps?"
"This is war, after all," agreed Alagon, who was in a staredown with his wife.
"Does King Thranduil have to go?" Kilvara asked the others; affirmatives came back at her.
"Oh, all right," the king gave in, deciding he could use a vacation.
The males were all shooed outside, except for Taensirion and Feren, who were allowed to gather supplies. "Grab Tathor and Legolas on the way out," Caliel added, depositing her child's book and cloak with Galion.
. . . . . .
An hour later, the male elves began their trek to the designated campsite, dragging along their more reluctant members. "Who's in charge?" Firith wondered after only a few minutes.
"Not me," Thranduil announced before Taensirion and Galion could look at him.
"I nominate my Ada," said Feren.
Taensirion tried to protest, but was ignored.
"Seconded," said Heledir.
Alagon raised an eyebrow at the three Sindar. "I nominate myself."
"Seconded," agreed Thranduil, who had a feeling...
Felrion hopped up on a stump to get their attention. "Let's vote. All for Taensirion as leader, raise your hands."
Heledir, Ruscan, Galion, Feren, Tairen, Legolas, and Tathor raised their hands.
"Do the elflings get to vote?" Alagon protested.
"Yes. All for Alagon?"
Thranduil, Firith and Taensirion raised their hands, as did Alagon and Felrion.
"Wait—"
"Nope, you lost." That was Galion. "Deal with it, Alagon."
"But he voted against himself."
"Of course he did; he's Taensirion."
The others couldn't argue with that.
Taensirion offered a helpless shrug and started forward again; the others fell in line after him. "The story of my life," the Sinda muttered under his breath.
. . . . . .
Meanwhile, the she-elves were continuing the get-together from earlier. "Aleinia, I love your dress," Kilvara commented, pausing to talk to the dark-eyed Silvan.
"Ah, thank you." Aleinia smoothed the light blue fabric shyly. "The Sindar are really wearing off on me, aren't they?"
"We've got opposite problems," Silana told her adopted second mother, followed by a backflip off the couch; she was wearing her normal forest-worthy clothing.
Aleinia clucked disapprovingly. "Be kinder to the furniture, child."
"Sorry, Second Nana."
By the snack table on the other side of the room, Caliel and Kimbrel were somehow making conversation. "Do you know who brought the cake?" wondered the latter before taking a bite of said dessert. "It is amazing."
"Galion and Tathor made it, actually."
Kimbrel gave her the strangest look she could possibly come up with.
"What?"
"Your husband cooks?"
"Yeah, most of the time. Why?"
"Taen would try to learn if I wanted him to," Lanthirel put in as she squeezed past the two to get at the salad, "but seeing as he nearly set the kitchen on fire the morning after we were married, I do not think that is necessary."
It appeared Kimbrel had not known that was even an option.
. . . . . .
"This is my tree, Legolas."
Once the prince's feelings might have been hurt, but now he only shrugged. "All right, Ada, but I would not be a bother."
"And I would not mind except that your friends appear to be following you, and their father is following them, so move your hammock elsewhere. Shoo."
Legolas agreed that his father's young beech tree didn't look up to the task of holding five elves, so he climbed back down. "Where should we go, then?"
"Hold on," said Tathor. "Ada, 'Las and I are almost adults; may we have our own tree?"
Thranduil heard them and intervened. "Not today, Tathor."
"Why not, Thranduil?" That was Galion, one of the few elves who still sometimes referred to the king without his title. "They'll be close by."
The king failed to think of a convincing reason that did not suggest overprotectiveness.
"Please, Ada?" Legolas's eyes became very large and hopeful in the particular manner that nearly always got him what he wanted, and Tathor's did as well.
Thranduil tried not to remember why that look was so effective on him. "Stay close—and I mean within sight of everyone else."
"Thank you!" The two elflings ran off to find the perfect spot, while Galion climbed up into Thranduil's tree, leaving his things on the ground.
"Come now, my lord, even I don't worry that much."
Thranduil kept his eyes on the bag he was unpacking. "You know why."
Galion put his hand on his friend's shoulder, ready to back away if the gesture wasn't taken well. "I guess I do."
. . . . . .
"Now what?" wondered Taensirion once the sleeping areas were divided out, causing everyone to look at him. He turned to Thranduil. "Er, any ideas, my lord?"
"How about a sparring tournament?" suggested Alagon, who already had his blades out and fabric-covered; he'd been the one who made sure they all brought their weapons.
"Seconded," said Feren.
"Fair enough." Taensirion started in the direction of his own swords. "Alagon, you are predictable, you know that?"
But the red-haired elf was already sending everyone else to retrieve and put cloth over their blades, except Felrion, who quickly declared himself to be referee and jumped up to a safe place in a squat pine.
"I'll help," declared Tathor, following his mentor.
Felrion looked at the elfling in surprise. "I thought you were learning to fight along with Legolas?"
"Yeah, but I'd rather watch."
"Tathor!" a voice called from a few trees over—Legolas. "Aren't you coming?"
"I have to help Felrion," Tathor yelled back.
"I see you've mastered the art of bending the truth to get out of responsibilities," Felrion teased.
"I, um... didn't mean it that way."
Felrion laughed.
On the ground, the contestants were circling up. "Someone will need to sit out next round," Thranduil commented.
They agreed to figure that out when they got there.
"Shall I pair everyone up?" Felrion suggested, taking a miniature chalkboard out of his bag of healer's supplies (this particular tool was used to leave instructions for those caring for injured elves). When an affirmative answer was given, he considered the eight elves he had to work with and announced, "First up: Thranduil and Ruscan."
The other elves formed a loose circle as the two readied their weapons and faced each other, Thranduil with his swords and Ruscan with the common Silvan knives. Thranduil attacked first, and found that while Ruscan seemed to know a few of Coryn's tricks and was quick enough, he was no match for the king, and it took Thranduil only a few moments to leave him flat on the ground. Ruscan shrugged, brushed himself off, and moved into the circle to watch the next fight.
Next were Alagon and Tairen, the latter appearing mildly concerned and sending glances at his father, who didn't notice since he was trying to rub a bruise out of his arm. Taensirion commented that while Tairen was actually older by around seven centuries and had actually helped train Alagon, he had observed at the time that he never wanted to face off against the ferocious elf. The reason for this soon became clear as Alagon went at his purpose with grim determination; Tairen fought well and got plenty of swipes in with his swords, but he also gave quite a few yelps of pain from the touch of Alagon's shortswords, causing both Taensirion and Ruscan to twitch a little (Feren, on the other hand, laughed). Eventually Tairen was knocked on his rump, and he sent a vengeful look at Alagon before seeking safety between his father and grandfather.
Then came Taensirion and Heledir, and this was perhaps the most balanced fight yet, in terms of both skill and weapons; both Sindar carried similar long, curved swords. Both fighters knew each other well, and it was also the most civilized fight yet; Taensirion even won by holding his blade to Heledir's throat instead of knocking him to the ground.
The same could not be said of the next fight; while Firith tried very hard to be nice to Legolas (which Thranduil appreciated), the elfling took every opportunity to leave bruises on his friend. This appeared to be working in Legolas's favor for a while, since Firith was favoring one arm, but eventually the pinkish-haired elf changed his tactics and ended the fight quickly and decisively, though since almost everyone had been loudly cheering for Legolas, the prince didn't seem to mind.
The last fight of the round was between Galion and Feren, and everyone winced when it became clear that Feren was not going to play nice; Taensirion's son fought with a single sword, too, which would surely cause more damage than Galion's lighter weapons. To the amazement of everyone except Thranduil, Legolas, and Galion's sons, though, the butler started with an expert maneuver that put Feren on his heels, and the younger elf never quite recovered; Feren took offense to this and demanded a rematch, and had to be gently but firmly removed from the circle by Taensirion.
Galion volunteered to sit out the second round, which left Thranduil and Alagon pitted against each other; it was a vicious fight, with many, many bruises on both sides, and lasted much longer than any of the previous matches. Both combatants put their full attention on the contest and made no attempt to fight fair, and they stared at each other the whole time as if daring each other to give up. Thranduil eventually won by pinning Alagon against a tree (thankfully, since the king did not want Alagon to think he was the better fighter), but at the cost of a nasty limp, which soon forced him to seek treatment from the healers.
The next fight was Taensirion and Firith, and while the younger elf fought admirably, he didn't have a chance against a veteran of multiple wars. Taensirion turned their scuffle into more of a training match, giving Firith a few tips before patting him on the back after the inevitable defeat.
The third round was supposed to be Thranduil and Galion, but the king traded out with Taensirion for the sake of a few more minutes to recover. He ended up with more time than he'd anticipated, since Taensirion could not for the life of him pin Galion down in one spot or get a sword through his defenses, though the butler could not hit him, either. Everyone was certain the advisor must be going easy on Galion, until the battle stretched on to the point where both contestants were visibly tired. Finally Galion—apparently through sheer luck—hit Taensirion in the stomach, and the blond elf quickly yielded and went over to a nearby log to catch his breath.
The fourth round, then, pitted the Elvenking against his much smaller, much humbler, and much more simply-dressed butler; the former was limping and already had bruises appearing on his skin, but Galion was still panting from the previous fight. Perhaps that was why the king managed to land the first hit: a powerful but "nonlethal" blow to Galion's wrist that left the Silvan elf scrambling to recover one of his knives, which he was barely able to do before Thranduil kicked it away. Thranduil pressed his advantage, keeping Galion backing up until the butler tripped over a root; it looked like the fight was over, but Galion fell into a backward roll instead of flat onto his back, earning cheers from the watching elves, especially Tathor and Firith. Now Galion had the space to reset and come in again, and suddenly it was Thranduil on the defensive.
"That elf should not be a butler," an amazed Alagon breathed.
Thranduil slashed at Galion, but the Silvan elf ducked in the nick of time and spun behind his employer, utilizing one of the moves he'd learned from Sky to knock Thranduil to his knees with a powerful kick. Thranduil knew the maneuver, though, and let himself fall in exchange for a glancing blow that sent Galion spinning. Still, the king's already-bruised limb gave out when he tried to stand again, and he had to defend himself from his knees when Galion recovered and came in again, and between the butler's mobility and Thranduil's lack thereof, the end of the fight was swift and complete. There were a few moments of stunned silence before the watching elves burst into cheers... even Legolas.
Thranduil switched to a more comfortable sitting position rather than trying to get up, and reflected that this might be his fault for insisting Galion learn to fight.
The rest of the afternoon was spent seeking revenge for defeats and testing skills against those of the elves who'd come close to winning.
. . . . . .
"Here are some more flowers, Lanthirel."
"Just in time." Lanthirel selected a few blue flowers from the bunch Aleinia was holding and expertly wove them into Caliel's strawberry-blond hair, which for once was styled in a much more complex manner than what she normally wore; on the other side of the rectangular dining table, all three of Lanthirel's daughters were discussing further additions to Kilvara's crown of golden flowers that added to the fiery appearance of her hair, while between them at one end, Kimbrel and Sheyni argued over what Silana's color was as they waited for the Sinda to become available for hairstyling.
"Nana, after this we should teach the Silvans how to use makeup!" Milaera suggested before explaining for the wood elves, "In Doriath, we used to use plants and sometimes certain stones to, ah, paint on our faces, I guess."
"It sounds funny when you say it that way, but it really worked quite well," Faena assured them. "We used dark coloring to bring out our eyes, for example."
Lanthirel agreed and added, "We sometimes still do for feasts; some of the native plants work quite well."
"Really?" Kimbrel was obviously intrigued, and Kilvara and Caliel seemed curious as well; Silana, Sheyni, and Aleinia of course, already knew all this, and the former had used makeup multiple times to further scare Storm during their early relationship.
"But first, your hair needs braiding," decided Silana as she put the final touches on Kilvara's flower crown. "And my color is dark blue, by the way."
"It is definitely red," Kimbrel insisted, "and thank you, but I prefer my hair loose like the Sindar."
"I'm sorry, like whose?" replied Silana; indeed, while Lanthirel and Milaera sometimes braided their hair and sometimes didn't, every she-elf in the house except for Kimbrel currently had braided hair, though Silana and her sisters hadn't yet been given flowers.
Silana shoved Kimbrel into a chair and began running a brush through her red-orange hair. "What color, do you think?"
"Purple," decided Kilvara, already selecting deep purple wildflowers of various kinds from their existing stock. "And some yellow, maybe."
"And I will get started on the makeup," Lanthirel volunteered as she finished with Caliel's hair; Aleinia had already fetched the needed materials from the other room, so the Sinda and her Silvan sister of sorts (whose heads were decorated with red flowers and a mix of pink and yellow blossoms, respectively) got to work.
"Try not to move," Aleinia warned Kimbrel as Lanthirel chose a range of pigments and strange bristly brushes and went to work.
Meanwhile, Faena moved away from the small horde of she-elves around Kimbrel. "Caliel, could you do my hair?" she requested. "I am curious to see what you do with it."
"Sure, why not? Though I should warn you, I haven't braided anyone's hair in a long time."
"That is all right; just play with it until you like it."
. . . . . .
"Well, what do you think?"
Kimbrel leaned closer for a better look at her reflection in the hand mirror, astounded by the improvements to her appearance. "That is amazing! Teach me how, please?"
Lanthirel laughed. "I would be glad to, and by the way, your hair looks beautiful, as well."
"Thank you," she thanked her makeup artists and hairdressers shyly.
"Anytime," replied Lanthirel. "Now, what does everyone think of a sleepover?"
That proposition was greatly approved of, and as the she-elves dispersed to collect supplies, Lanthirel pulled Kilvara to the side. "I believe your sister is already beginning to thaw a little."
"She does that," said Kilvara with a shrug. "You just have to force her to participate."
. . . . . .
"You know, they say someone was murdered out here once," Firith confided to the other elves in the circle of logs as he added another armful of wood to the campfire.
Legolas and Tathor, both of whom had been about to nod off a moment ago, were suddenly much more awake.
"To be fair, someone was probably murdered everywhere out here, given all the orc raids in the past." Ruscan shrugged and chewed off another section of the juicy pork chops made by Galion a few minutes prior.
"Shush, don't mess up my story."
Thranduil entered the circle of firelight. "Oh, does Firith tell ghost stories now? Do continue."
"All right, let me see... it was many, many years ago, before the Sindar came." Firith poked the burning branches with a stick as he thought. "Two elves were out here, a young couple, and they were enjoying the day when orcs attacked out of nowhere!"
No one noticed Felrion freeze and slowly put down his own dinner.
"They screamed for help, but when someone finally came, it was too late," Firith continued ominously, getting into his role now. "Their blood seeped into the ground and was soaked up by the trees, and though their souls left for Valinor long ago, something remained—their fear and pain, their anger at having their lives cut short, still lurks here. They belong to the trees now, you know... and trees have a long memory."
There was a long pause, and everyone shivered. "Well, that was morbid," laughed Heledir finally, and a bit nervously.
"And cryptic," added Ruscan.
"And true."
The hairs on the backs of everyone's necks stood up as their heads swiveled to stare at Felrion.
"I don't know about the blood and revenge part," Felrion corrected. "But two elves did die out here a long time ago, yes."
Legolas was paying way more attention than he ever had to his lessons. "Do you think they're still here?"
"Given that they were tortured to death, it's possible." Felrion shrugged and stood up, adding, "If you believe in that sort of thing. Either way, good night; have fun with your stories." He vanished into the darkness.
The other elves exchanged wide-eyed looks—even Firith was spooked now—with the exception of Alagon, who rolled his eyes. "You all can stay up and scare yourselves silly if you wish, but I am going to bed." He followed the healer.
His confidence calmed the rest of them somewhat. "As am I," Taensirion agreed. "My apologies, but if I do not get some rest, you will not want to be near me tomorrow." He bid goodnight to each of them in turn, then left.
"See you tomorrow," agreed Feren, deliberately not hesitating before stepping out of the firelight.
Thranduil ruffled Legolas's hair and vanished.
"C'mon, Tathor, let's go," Legolas announced after fixing his hair and rolling his eyes in his father's direction, and he pulled his sleepy (but still terrified) friend away in the direction of their chosen tree, determined to prove his courage.
A few moments passed.
"We should go to bed, I suppose," Heledir ventured finally.
"Probably," Ruscan agreed. "You're not scared, are you?"
"Of course not."
"Me neither. You scared, Galion?"
The butler's answer was distracted, since he was watching the darkness and not them. "No, ghosts aren't real..."
"Firith?"
"It was my story, wasn't it?"
"Tairen?"
"Nope, not at all."
"Then let's go," Ruscan announced, though interestingly enough, all five elves walked very close together as they made the short trip to their trees.