As you may have noticed, it's been a while since I added any chapters. That's because I completely changed what I wanted to do with this chapter at least twice, and my brain is still elsewhere for reasons both normal and of the my-world-just-turned-upside-down-but-in-a-good-way type, so it's going slowly. I decided to post what I had of this chapter so far so you wouldn't all think a warg ate me or something.
"Ten sets, really?" Storm gave his sister his new "You married this elf? Seriously?" look as he walked.
"That's only the fancy robes," she corrected. "Why anyone would need a whole room just for clothing is beyond me. It's small, but it's full."
"Is it a room, or a closet?" Storm knew his sister well.
"A closet is a small room. And now that we have you-know-who,"—Galion—"he doesn't even put them away anymore. Or wash them."
"Do you still wash your own clothes?" Storm asked mischievously.
She glared at him. "You're supposed to be on my side."
Storm chuckled. "I think most of the new houses have closets."
"That doesn't mean it makes sense."
"True enough. Anyway, you never answered my question."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course he doesn't like getting dirty, Storm. Did you really have to ask?"
"Maybe he has so many sets of clothes because it's almost impossible to be around you all day without being dragged through mud or thorny bushes?" Storm suggested. "Speaking of which, is that why he wears normal stuff most of the time now?"
She grinned. "Probably. He can learn, I guess."
"And so can you." Storm looked up at the leaves to hide his grin. "First you wear a dress at your wedding, and now I've been seeing you using the stairs to get up to your new house. Are you 'civilized' now?"
"I only—" Sky stopped, realizing her protests wouldn't do much good, and finally just huffed and looked away.
Soon enough they got to the aforementioned house—which they entered by climbing the tree and going through the window—and found the new butler reading by the window and the prince doing the same by the fireplace. The latter smiled when he saw them and put his book down so that he could pull Sky into his arms and kiss her. Storm waited, amused.
"Do you have anything really important to do today?" Sky asked when the kiss was over. "Or tomorrow?"
"When have I ever had anything more important than you?" Thranduil asked, going in for another kiss.
"Says the elf who used to avoid us like the plague," Storm said to Galion, who was politely keeping his eyes on his book. "Are you two going to keep smooching, or are we going to tell him what we're doing?"
"I look forward to the day you fall in love, Coryn," Thranduil murmured.
"Can't let that happen, sorry," Storm told him. "Too many people I've teased would have a chance for revenge."
"I do have a few plans," Sky agreed. "Now come on, we have a long way to run." She took Thranduil's hand and pulled him toward the window. "You, too," she told Galion, catching his sleeve as they passed. The butler let himself be pulled along, though he had an expression reminiscent of a deer about to be shot.
"Look at that, you're part of the family now," Storm remarked to him with a grin.
. . . . . .
They met Kilvara and Felrion at the river, then took off to the south by way of the trees, and Thranduil was surprised to discover that he was no longer the least confident climber in the group, although he suspected Galion was much more coordinated than he realized. It was nice to have company, though; Eithryn, Coryn, and Kilvara leapt distances that Thranduil would never stop flinching at, and while Felrion holding a weapon was a catastrophe waiting to happen, even he was fearless above a drop that would have broken every bone in his body. Thranduil liked to watch all of them, but especially his wife. There was no question in his mind as to which of the four was the most graceful.
Heights had never bothered Sky. She'd climbed before she'd learned to walk, scrambled to the canopy before Storm had deemed her old enough to hold a weapon, and gone weeks at a time without touching the ground. It had been the Sindar who had made the paths in the forest, who put buildings on the ground, who had told them to wear armor to protect themselves where their natural agility had always sufficed. Well, the Sindar had changed the Woodland Realm, but they could not change the wood elves. They would still make their houses in the trees, and this generation of elflings would still risk life and limb climbing until their coordination was perfect and they could balance on branches as narrow as their arms. The only difference was that now, those skills would be put to use in battle, because the world was changing.
Oropher was right, as much as she hated to admit it. The orcs multiplied every year, and there were rumors of an evil growing in the outside world. Greenwood could not stay isolated forever, and a few talented elves with bows would no longer be enough. She didn't like the way Oropher did things, but much of what he did needed to happen.
Enough with the serious thoughts. The orcs weren't here right now, and it was a beautiful spring day. She doubled back to join Thranduil.
"You do not have to stay with me," he told her as he scaled a trunk to get to where she stood.
"But I want to," she protested as she took his hand and helped to pull him up. "And you seem to need the help."
"I apologize that I am not Silvan," he sighed.
"Don't," she said. "And also don't ask where we're going, because it's a secret."
He chuckled. "I thought as much. But fear not, I can be patient."
"No, you can't."
"I can be more patient than you," he conceded.
She laughed.
. . . . . .
A few minutes later, the elves came to a stop in the lower branches of a pine. Eithryn didn't waste any time explaining their objective. "Last elf to tame an elk and ride it back here has to crawl through a mud pit." She dropped silently to the ground and disappeared.
Thranduil groaned. These were not just any elk they were talking about, either; they were fiercer and longer-lived than those found outside of Greenwood, not to mention the bulls could throw a horse twenty feet with their massive antlers. The elves rarely hunted these beasts, even the females, because of the potential to get one's head caved in.
He turned to give Coryn an incredulous look, but found that he and Galion were the only ones left, the butler apparently in a state of shock from his horror at the consequences of losing. The prince realized he needed to think of something if he was going to avoid those.
. . . . . .
Sky was the first to come upon an elk—three, in fact, all cows. They were upwind of her, so she could have snuck up on them easily, but she had something else in mind. She went on.
. . . . . .
Felrion had a plan. He scanned the ground, but he wasn't looking for signs of elk; he was looking for a plant—or rather, several plants. There was one in particular that he hoped to find—a flower with a smell that would calm the creatures.
. . . . . .
Storm pretended not to look at the yearling bull, instead looking at the ground and wandering in circles like he'd lost something and pretending not to notice the elk even when it snorted and pawed warningly. It took a while, but eventually the elk put its head down to graze. Storm kept circling; soon he was close enough to hear its breathing, then close enough that he could have leapt onto its back.
Also close enough for one of its massive hooves to clip his shoulder when it reared suddenly. He scrambled away and ran, barely making it up a tree before being crushed to a pulp.
"Outsmarted by an elk," he muttered as the beast bashed its head repeatedly into the tree in an attempt to shake Storm out.
. . . . . .
To say the cow elk was surprised when an elf landed on her back was an understatement. She went into a bucking fit, then charged straight at a tree, turning at the last moment so that her side thudded into the bark.
Kilvara pulled her leg out of the way and held on for dear life.
. . . . . .
Galion didn't want to be overly dramatic, but he was quite sure he was going to lose. He didn't know what do with a horse, much less an elk. The others, on the other hand, were all skilled warriors, with the exception of Felrion, who, Galion was sure, had a few tricks up his sleeve all the same. Galion would not have been averse to losing if not for the punishment, which he suspected was intended specifically to get him and the prince to do their best. Still, his best wouldn't be enough to save him. It seemed he had no choice but to prepare himself. He started by finding a mud puddle and placing his hand in it—putting his hand near it—putting his hand on the grass—there. Then he lifted his hand and moved it slightly closer to the dirt—closer, closer—it was on the dirt. He resisted the urge to recoil and brush the dust from his hand. Now to put it into—put it closer to—imagine putting it into the mud. Now to stop fantasizing about begging King Oropher for asylum; he worked for the princess, and the king would probably just laugh anyway. He... had... to... touch... it...
Something snuffled the back of his neck. Galion froze, then slowly turned his head.
The elk calf blinked at him curiously.
Galion gulped. Wherever the calf's mother was, she was going to be very angry when she saw an elf near her baby. He backed away very slowly.
The calf took a step forward on its long legs.
Galion moved faster.
So did the calf.
Galion broke into a run. The calf, thinking this was a wonderful game, chased after him and, despite its wobbly-looking legs and small body, made it to the targeted tree long before Galion. The elf scrambled to turn around and was again headed off. He tried a new strategy—holding still in the hope the calf would wander back to its mother.
The calf sniffed him, wondering what form of creature this was. Its whiskers tickled Galion's hand, but the butler didn't move. Finally the calf turned away, but only to prance around Galion in what was clearly an invitation to play. Galion tried not to look at it, but it was impossible. The little animal was just too cute. When it stopped and regarded him sadly, his heart melted and he knelt down and held his hand out to the calf, who pranced over with its comically large ears held high as if to say it had known he'd give in.
. . . . . .
Thranduil was determined to catch an elk.
The days when Eithryn and her brother had been constantly one step ahead of him were long gone. He was no longer the naïve elf who expected the Silvan elves to be easily shaped into meek, tame creatures and who thought that locking Eithryn in a cellar would mean he would be free of her the rest of the day; nor did he flinch when elves unexpectedly appeared behind him or arrows shot past his head. He had grown into his role as prince, and surely a prince could figure out how to tame one of the elk of his realm. An elk ought to be easy compared to his wife, anyway.
He paused in his attempt at tracking and tried to listen to the forest like the Silvan elves had showed him. He reached out to the trees with his mind, feeling their emotions... they seemed curious, if trees could be curious. He was sure that gnarly one over there was laughing at him... not that trees could laugh. Show me an elk, he thought to them.
They sent back a feeling that translated roughly to curiosity.
He rolled his eyes; this was stupid. Trees probably never noticed the creatures of the forest, anyway. He sent the overgrown shrubs an annoyed feeling.
And then he tripped.
What was this? He could have sworn that root had not been there when he had looked. He looked suspiciously at the tree to which the root belonged, then shook his head disbelievingly and moved on. What was he thinking? Trees could not move. He brushed aside a branch in his way, and then another... and another... When he looked back, the path was clear.
Surely not.
Well, he was in charge of these trees. Capable of movement or not, they ought to show him some respect. A wave of scorn seemed to wash through the trees as he communicated that to them.
Thranduil groaned. He was having an argument with trees. So much for being in control of his life now. You WILL obey me, he ordered.
A twig smacked him in the face. He spun on the culprit. ENOUGH! I am your master!
An acorn fell on his head. That was the last straw. "ALL I WANTED WAS AN ELK, YOU WORTHLESS PLANT!"
"Um, Thranduil?" his wife asked, descending from another tree. "Is there a reason you're yelling at the poor tree?"
The prince felt his face turning red. "I had thought the trees would be more intelligent than the average slug," he growled, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"Watch what you say about my forest," she scolded.
Before he could stop himself, he snapped, "Your forest is nothing more than a worthless pile of firewood."
Now, insulting a Silvan elf's forest is like insulting a dwarf's caverns, which is to say Thranduil probably should not have done it if he valued his life. The way Eithryn stiffened told him as much. "Oh, so you're going to start that, are you?" she purred dangerously. "Very well, then." She stalked around him like a wildcat playing with her prey, eyes glittering dangerously. "You should learn to watch your tongue." She vanished into the trees.
Thranduil, his anger played out, realized he had just gotten himself into a very bad situation.
Remember when Gimli was ranting about Moria being called a mine? That's what I was thinking of when I wrote the "dwarf's caverns" thing.
I think insulting a forest would be a good way to get in a fight with Legolas, too.
Update: Yes, I'm going to come back to this story. I just got writer's block and then I started a new story and I sort of got distracted... forgive me.