Hi, guys. I know it's been a while, but I've been super busy- -but worry not, I have conquered the homework and the next chapter is already started.
Thranduil stood on a platform on one side of the largest field in the forest, directing a company of soldiers through a series of increasingly difficult maneuvers. It was not an interesting task, and normally not one entrusted to him, but every few years someone needed to check that some degree of learning was occurring in the few hours dedicated to training every month. It was simple enough that he could think about other things, however, and he did not mind it so much.
At least, it was simple until someone found him, as she always seemed to do when he was in the middle of something at all important.
"Hello."
Thranduil jumped despite himself as her voice came from only a few feet behind him. "Good morning," he said without turning his head, attempting to communicate that he was busy.
She ignored the hint entirely, as she ignored most such hints, and came up beside him. "They look like...like mirrors of each other," she complained with a grimace.
"That is the idea."
"Why?" she asked, sounding almost disgusted.
Thranduil regarded her curiously, then smirked as he remembered that the mere idea of conformity went against her entire way of being. "The aim, or part of it, is to intimidate the enemy," he explained, trying to phrase it so she would understand. "I know it does not seem worthwhile now, but their expressions when thousands of elves move as one will justify everything."
She looked amused. "Did you choose that argument just because of who you were talking to?"
"I am capable of learning." A problem in one of the outer lines caught his attention. "That group needs help. Do not interfere with these."
Sky thought about behaving—she really did—but when Thranduil took a few of the elves a good distance away to work with them, she simply couldn't resist. She hopped down from the platform and moved among the elves, whispering instructions to them. A few resisted, but they were simply shooed off to the side. By the time Thranduil returned, she was back on the platform.
"Eithryn," Thranduil chuckled when he ascended the platform and saw the full extent of what she had done.
"I didn't interfere, I helped," she informed him. "They needed a change."
"Did they, now?" He held up his hand to get their attention. "Back in formation." The soldiers broke their star pattern to reform their lines. "You truly do make my life interesting."
She clicked her tongue. "You must really need a break. You just accidentally complimented me."
"It was an observation."
"A complimentary observation."
He faced her and folded his arms across his chest. "And what is wrong with me complimenting you?"
She put her hands on her hips playfully. "Nothing whatsoever."
Ever since the "dwarf incident", as she and her brother called it, she had been acting differently toward him. Thranduil had become concerned that she thought she had discovered a new co-conspirator in him, and had done his best to stay out of anything she was involved in. At the same time, he had grown slightly paranoid about what she would get herself into next, and he had tried to keep half an eye on her at all times. Unfortunately, whenever he tried to check on her, she would without fail make up some mischief to drag him into. She seemed to have turned it into a game, in fact.
"It is nice to know I'm winning," Eithryn added, probably just to spite him.
He could hardly let her get away with that assumption, either. "On the contrary, I believe I am closer to victory. Indeed, I remember not one, not two, but four times you have shown me respect this month."
"You're stupid," she said immediately.
"Predictable," he sighed, sounding unimpressed. "You understand, I presume, that you are supposed to be out there?" He gestured to the neat rows of soldiers.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Try it, I dare you."
He snorted, imagining himself being foolish enough to do so. "No need. My father will have you in a position of leadership any year now."
"He thinks he will," she corrected, and Thranduil couldn't argue.
"Therefore," the prince continued, "it suits him better if you practice fighting alone instead."
"Is he going to make you supervise that?" she scoffed. She was rather disappointed at losing an opportunity to spite the king.
The prince smirked.
"Speaking of which," Eithryn said, and Thranduil sensed a challenge, "doesn't it bother you that a mere Silvan child handles her weapons better than you do?"
Thranduil's head tilted. "A child? In mind, clearly, but in body?"
She bowed. "Nine hundred and fourteen. Older than some, maybe, but still much younger than you, I assume?"
"Indeed," Thranduil murmured, taken aback. Nine hundred did not make her a child, despite her words, but for one of her skill...
"Humbled yet?"
Thranduil lifted his chin arrogantly and folded his arms. "That was some time ago, and hardly a fair fight." He was well aware that she was baiting him, but why not let her have her way? She would get it anyway.
Eithryn matched his pose. "A rematch, then?" she suggested, doing a very bad imitation of his voice.
"In three hours, right here. No spectators."
"Very well." Then she returned to her normal stance. "See you then." She hopped off the platform and ran off through the rows of soldiers who, Thranduil now realized, had been standing still for some time, patiently waiting for further direction.
. . . . . .
Sky arrived at the field well before Thranduil, equipped with her knives (covered in cloth so the prince couldn't complain about safety) and her bow and arrows (just in case), and sat in the shade under the platform to wait.
Patience, however, had never been her greatest strength, and after a few seconds of playing with the grass she got back up and climbed onto the platform, scanning impatiently for any sign of the prince. Seeing none, she jumped back down and investigated the underside of the platform (it was boring), then trotted around the field once or twice, just in case there was anything unusual on the edge of the trees (there wasn't). Thus deprived of entertainment, she resorted to shooting insects.
Thranduil arrived exactly on time, both swords at his belt, and came into sight at what he would have thought to be a safe distance away from Eithryn had he been able to locate her before an arrow whistled past his shoulder. He cried out and hit the ground in less time than it took the fly Sky had shot at to breathe its last, and stayed there, counting to a hundred to calm himself.
Sky was there before he got to fifty. "Oh, dear, he seems to have died of fright," she observed, prodding the prince, who had his face to the ground, presumably so he wouldn't have to look at her. "You know, I always assumed touching dirt would kill you. I figured that was why you were so mad at me that time I threw mud at you, remember? When you chased me up that tree? And then when you tried to come after me I kept throwing pinecones and acorns at you? Remember that?"
Her efforts were rewarded when he lifted his head. "Yes, Eithryn, I remember. Do you remember how there was hot pepper in your food the next evening?"
She bounced up and down on her heels. "I do! That was the first time I realized you had a sense of humor!"
"You are confusing humor with revenge," he informed her, noting that she seemed especially hyperactive today.
"I'm talking about how you thought it was hilarious when I drank all of Storm's water in one gulp."
The corners of his mouth twitched as he remembered hearing her howl of pain from across the eating hall. It had been funny. Even Oropher had admitted that. "Are you ready?"
"I'm way past ready." She had her knives out and was spinning them in her hands.
"Good." He rose, instantly regaining his dignity, and led the way to the clearing. Or rather, he thought he was leading until he was halfway there, when he saw her vault out of the branches above him and into the open air, landing without a sound in the grass, and turn to give him a smug smile, then crouch, knives ready.
He only shrugged and drew his already cloth-covered twin swords, putting them through a series of routines that would have dazzled any other opponent.
Sky merely straightened up and regarded him with a mixture of amusement and forced patience. "I'm over here, you know."
The prince hardly seemed disappointed by her lack of awe. "For the moment. Shall—"
He'd been about to say "we", Sky assumed, but she used that moment of distraction to launch her attack—and it almost succeeded, too, but he managed to bring his swords up in time to parry. His other blade slashed down at her legs, but she hopped over it easily and darted sideways. His first sword, freed from her knife, came at her in a thrust, forcing her to knock it away instead of striking at him.
And so it went. Both were constantly right on the edge of landing a blow, but Thranduil could never quite catch her and Sky just couldn't seem to get to him quickly enough. She wasn't used to fighting opponents who were this good, with only a few exceptions, mainly Storm and Kilvara. But she never had any trouble getting to them; they couldn't reach as far, not even Storm with his shortswords.
That was the problem, Sky realized; his reach was too long. Even the one friend she had who fought with a spear (what an odd weapon!) was different; once she managed to get in close, it became almost impossible for him to strike at her without first moving away. Swords were different; they lacked the long shaft, and thus Thranduil got more opportunities to strike than she did. It hadn't been a problem in their first match because they had both been using those off-balance sticks.
That conclusion reached, she stepped back suddenly, sheathed one of her knives, and held up her hand to stop Thranduil. The prince's curious look only deepened when she held out her hand.
"I'll get my own later," she said, "but I don't have time for a trip to the armory at the moment. Give." She opened and closed her hand a few times.
There seemed to be only one thing she could mean, although Thranduil had no idea why she might possibly want his sword. Still, he flipped it around and held it out, blade first. She took it and handed him the knife in her hand, then took out her other blade and swung the two weapons through the air a few times. The sword was too heavy for her, she decided, but it would do for now. "Much better," she said, tensing to attack.
Thranduil looked down at the puny knife in his hand. "You want me to use—"
Sky charged.
. . . . . .
"So who won?" Kilvara asked.
"Oh, I did," Sky said, leaning back against the trunk of the old oak, "five of the seven times, but he complained that it wasn't fair because we switched weapons, so we're doing it again tomorrow."
Storm leaned down from the branch above them. "Tomorrow? You know, for someone who says he has piles of paperwork, he suddenly has a lot of free time. The two of you were out there all afternoon, after all."
Sky glared up at him. "And just what are you implying?"
"I'm not implying anything, my dear sister, just wondering if our prince is doing his job." Sky wouldn't have believed him even if he hadn't been wearing his trademark grin.
"Perhaps you would enjoy helping with it, if you are so concerned?" Thranduil said, coming around the base of the tree. He had a long, thin bundle in his arms, but Sky paid no attention to it.
"Hi, Prince," she greeted him. "You're getting stealthier."
Thranduil decided to simply accept the compliment. "Good evening." He frowned and looked up at Coryn. "You understand, I hope, that my question was rhetorical and not meant to be taken seriously? I do not really want you anywhere near any important documents."
"I know," Coryn assured him, but as soon as the prince looked away, he looked down at his sister and mouthed, "Rats."
But Sky was paying no attention to him. "What's that?" she asked, getting up to investigate Thranduil's bundle.
He held it away from her. "Something someone ordered from the armory, I am told."
"Well, give it to me," she commanded, reaching for it.
He held it up out of her reach, smirking. "You really must work on your patience, my young friend."
She paused for a moment to glare at him. "Later." She leapt for the bundle.
Thranduil yanked it away at the last second. "Do you really want it?"
"Yes!" She tried to pull his arm toward her, which was not very effective.
"Then come get it."
"That's what I'm trying to do, you orc-loving, king-serving—"
Storm reached down and tapped Kilvara's shoulder. "Do you think...?"
Kilvara gave him a questioning look, but then it dawned on her. "You're joking."
He grinned.
"No way," she disagreed. "Not Sky. Not him. No, no, no. Don't you start this one."
He winked at her and receded into the branches.
When Kilvara looked back at the two, though, she had to wonder. Sky had one arm gripping Thranduil's, the other arm plucking at his fingers on the bundle, one leg dangling, and the other around his waist to hold her in place. She had grown up climbing trees, after all.
"Give—it—to—me!" Sky half ordered, half begged.
"You should try asking politely."
Sky froze. "Give it to me...please."
"I would be glad to." The prince loosened his grip.
Sky snatched the bundle and disentangled herself from him, giving him a venomous look as she returned to her spot at the bottom of the tree and began to unwrap it. She did not, however, protest when Thranduil settled himself next to her.
The hilt was revealed first; it was metal, as with Thranduil's swords, but engraved with the likeness of a falcon. Like those other swords, it lacked a cross-guard, as both elves favored mobility over protection. The blade was between Thranduil's and Coryn's swords in length, more curved than Thranduil's, but still very narrow, and undecorated except for the faint imprint of what could have been either a leaf or a feather.
Sky weighed it in her hands, testing the balance, and nodded, then sprang to her feet and went through a series of movements that even Thranduil couldn't have duplicated. The prince could not recall having ever seen her smile so big, and he liked it.
She finished her routine and held the sword up before her eyes, and for a moment she truly looked like a warrior, every inch of her. Then she let the blade swing down to her side, and she was just Sky again.
Thranduil blinked, dispelling the image, and stepped toward her. "May I?"
She tossed him the blade, and he lifted it; perfectly weighted, of course. He handed it back to her and drew his swords. Sky dropped into a crouch.
Storm jumped down beside Kilvara as the other two began to fight. "Just give it a century or two. You'll see."
Kilvara rolled her eyes. "No, Storm."