Disclaimer: If you do not like this chapter, blame my 1:00 a.m. self, because she thought of it, not me.

"Healer!"

Felrion did not have to ask what that call meant, coming as it was in the voice of one of the king's messengers. He snatched his post-battle bag and ran out to where the Silvan she-elf was waiting for him with a horse.

. . . . . .

"A fine start to your fighting career this is," Taensirion mused to his sort-of-twins as Silana tried to stop the blood streaming from his ribs. They were just a few years short of fully-grown, and both—yes, both—were already quite capable fighters, and so, seeing that a few more elves would be invaluable in driving off the attacking orc band, he had let them join in the skirmish under his watchful eye. It seemed, though, that he had been paying a bit too much attention to them and not enough to how his own battle was going, and as a result, he had been quite nicely skewered. He probably should have been more concerned with his own welfare now than by Feren's frantic pacing, but such was the lot of a father.

"The bleeding will not stop!" Tears were welling up in Silana's eyes, and Taensirion forgot his own pain as he reached up to stroke her hair.

"Listen to me, both of you. I have survived much worse than this." That was true, although he did not like how he was starting to feel dizzy just from lying on the ground as he was. "The healers will be here any time now, and they will stop the bleeding. I will likely need to stay at home for a while to recover, but I will be all right in time."

Feren knelt on his other side. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," said Taensirion, who was mostly certain he would survive. He did let out an involuntary whimper, though, as Feren hugged him a bit too tightly.

. . . . . .

Not far off, amid the general chaos of elves trying to tend to their injured comrades, Kilvara was pressing a bloody cloth to Sky's head; it was a testament to the effectiveness of her husband's many, many lectures to her that the latter was only barely squirming.

"Thranduil's going to throw a fit," Sky groaned, looking down at her red-stained clothes. "Good thing you're not hurt, since Felrion—I'm still mad about that, by the way," Sky informed her friend as her train of thought abruptly teleported. "You couldn't've told us? Or ME? Come on."

"Did I mention the king told us what all of you did to get us together?" Kilvara reminded her unsympathetically, and for what must have been the twentieth time. It was her main argument, in fact.

"That traitor," Sky muttered. "But STILL. You just snuck off! Without telling us! And then you got MARRIED!"

Kilvara giggled.

Sky managed to stomp her foot from a sitting position.

"Sorry," Kilvara said cheerfully.

"I'm mad," Sky repeated.

"And I'm sorry," the red-haired she-elf lied again, grinning even wider as she noticed that Sky was totally distracted from her treatment. "I can't believe you didn't see it coming, though."

"Ugh..."

"Storm knew. He winked at us that evening."

Sky rolled her eyes. "Storm has magic romance-detecting powers... Kilvara?" Her friend had suddenly dropped the cloth and put her hand over her mouth, looking a little green.

"I just realized there's a lot of blood..."

Sky snorted, then started to convulse with badly-muffled laughter. "Wow, healer's wife..." The stretching of her wounds made her curl against the pain, but she couldn't stop.

"Sky?" Felrion ran up, healing supplies at the ready. "...Oh, you're laughing." His eyes scanned over her once, then over Kilvara—even though Sky was clearly the worse-hurt of the two—then over the rest of the scene. He grimaced when he saw Taensirion. "Look away for a minute," he told his still-queasy wife with a wink before running over there.

"Guess I'm fine, then," Sky decided, but Kilvara quickly moved to hold her down.

"He'll be back in a minute if Taen's okay." Kilvara winced as she watched Felrion bend over the Sindar, who had become a good friend of hers. "I think I'll go see how he's doing. Please stay here?"

Sky was looking past her and making a face. "I won't have a choice." Thranduil had just arrived on his elk (the second to hold its job) and taken control, at least until he noticed her and, more importantly, the blood she was covered in.

. . . . . .

"Is that comfortable?"

It was not, but Taensirion decided to accept the current arrangement of the pillows rather than be jostled any more, so he nodded. Felrion had decided that while he would recover, he and a couple of the other elves who were most badly hurt should stay in the nearby healer's building for the night, just in case, and so the healers were helping him get settled. He appreciated their efforts, but he mostly just wanted to be left alone so he could doze; the pain was starting to get to him.

"You're going to be here all night, so I suggest you be honest," Felrion said from the side. Taensirion could see why the other healers all looked to him for advice; he seemed to know exactly what his patients needed without asking. Indeed, the others quickly set to adjusting the pillows again, and Taensirion did feel a little better afterward.

"Let me check your wound again, and then I promise we will leave you alone," Felrion told Taensirion when they were done.

The Sindar agreed to his terms and tried to stay relaxed as the healer's hands probed his side. "Congratulations, by the way," he said, deciding he had enough energy to sustain a conversation should Felrion decide to start one.

"Thank you," Felrion chuckled. "Does it ever stop startling you to remember that you are married? That... that she is yours?" He paused as the mention of Kilvara, remembering Sky's wounds, and a little voice in his head asked what he would have done if Kilvara had been hurt instead. He shook his head and went back to work.

Taensirion laughed. "It still hits me sometimes. And yet, at the same time, I cannot remember what it was like to live without her."

Felrion smiled. "I hear Feren and Silana had their first fight today." Would that be his own children someday? ...Would he watch as his sons or daughters went into battle, then try to save them when they returned?

"Yes, and they did very well," Taensirion was saying. "Both of them have a natural talent for fighting... Unlike someone." He offered the subtle half-smile he had perfected from years of trying not to let Oropher know he was laughing at him; Felrion's friends liked to remind him from time to time about his "curse", meaning the fact that he was more likely to kill himself with a sword than his enemies.

Normally Felrion would have rolled his eyes at the reminder, but this time it stung. And was Taensirion smirking at him?

Taensirion had only been trying to tease, but clearly Felrion had not taken it well. "I am—"

Assuming in his anger that the Sindar was going to continue making fun of him, Felrion dug his fingers into Taensirion's injured side to make him shut up. It worked; Taensirion let out a sharp gasp of pain and tried to jerk away.

Felrion realized what he had done and pulled back in horror.

Taensirion had to grit his teeth against the pain, but the guilt that flickered across the healer's face still did not escape his notice. "You did that on purpose!" he accused.

"I... I did not," Felrion lied weakly, wondering what had possessed him to hurt his patient. "I am sorry..." He tried to check the wound to see if he could undo some of the damage, but Taensirion shoved his hand away, and Felrion realized he had hurt the Sindar's feelings as much as his body. He rolled the remaining bandages around in his hand, wondering if he should have another healer put them on.

Taensirion, for his part, was wondering what he had done to provoke such a thing. It seemed Felrion did not have a sense of humor about his lack of fighting skill today, but lashing out like that was hardly a good way to show it, especially since there was not much Taensirion could do to defend himself in his current state.

Luckily, both of them were distracted then as another healer leaned in to tell Taensirion that Lanthirel had come to see him, and Felrion decided to risk going back to work, hoping that the Sindar would not protest in front of his wife.

"I am sorry I took so long, but the children were quite upset," Lanthirel told Taensirion as she sat in the chair next to his bed and put her hand on his.

"I remember Faena was the first time," Taensirion said, ignoring Felrion's presence to the best of his ability. "So was Milaera, that time I almost lost my eye."

"You get hurt far too often," she scolded, but she smiled a little. "You really should be more careful."

"I am careful," he grumbled.

"Not careful enough." She kissed him on the cheek, then smiled at Felrion. "Thank you."

Felrion forced a smile of his own as he gathered up his supplies, then decided to try to make peace. He started to ask if Taensirion needed more painkillers—he certainly owed it to him—but he only got as far as, "Are you—"

"Please leave."

Well, if the Sindar did not want Felrion to make it up to him, Felrion would not try. He gave a curt nod and walked out, insisting to himself that he had done what he could.

And Lanthirel tried to remember the last time Taensirion had snapped at someone like that, hurt or not.

. . . . . .

Thranduil broke into a run as he ascended the last few steps up to his home and burst through the door, not stopping to close it as he hurried to the bedroom, afraid of what he would find—if only he were a commoner so that he would not have to deal with the aftermath of the raid until his father arrived!

The rigidity melted from his muscles as his wife, who was currently sporting a blood-stained bandage wrapped around her middle and another around her head, shrank away from a butler who was very patiently trying to force-feed her with one hand while holding her in the bed with the other.

"Let me try, Galion," Thranduil chuckled, seating himself on the other side and gently prying the cup of hot tea from the butler's hands. He then handed the cup to Eithryn and motioned for her to drink.

She took a quick sip, then demanded, "Did we lose anyone?"

Her husband shook his head. "We did not, thanks to you, though Taensirion is not well enough to go home yet." A chill ran down his spine at his words, but he knew he couldn't scold Eithryn for her recklessness this time; she had undoubtedly saved many lives.

She smiled and finally relaxed, gulping down the tea as he tucked the blankets around her—but the silence only lasted for the minute it took her to drink. "Please don't tell me I'm going to be stuck here all night."

Thranduil grimaced; the healer who had treated her earlier had said that "a week in bed" would have her feeling better.

Eithryn took one look at his face and tried to jump up. "Nope." She was prepared for Thranduil's restraining arm and would have ducked under it if not for the sudden sharp pain in her side.

Thranduil's winced as the remaining color drained from his wife's face, and he caught her and gently lowered her into the bed. "If you are uncooperative, you will only slow your recovery," he told her sternly, although he was secretly relieved that the fight was still in her. If Eithryn ever rested without complaint, he would probably carry her to the nearest healer at a run.

Of course, such a thing was also likely to happen if she were forced to hold still for a full week, although which of them would need the healer was debatable. Already, the suffering look she was giving him was breaking his heart.

"Ah, Eithryn," he sighed, looking to Galion for help, but the butler just shrugged. "Galion, you may go home now," he added as an afterthought, but the Silvan elf was shaking his head before the prince finished.

Both of them were distracted by a moan from Eithryn, but then they smirked at each other, understanding that the sound was merely a result of the she-elf's realization that she was going to be fussed over for a long, long time. Thranduil patted her hand soothingly, but she just gave him an accusatory look.

. . . . . .

Lanthirel, sensing that Taensirion needed to cool off a little from whatever had happened, let him rest for a few hours before asking about Felrion, and with a little bit of coaxing, he told her his side of the story. "He has never done anything like that before," he finished, feeling honestly confused.

Lanthirel was equally shocked that Felrion, of all elves, would do something like that. "It must have meant something to him that we do not see," she said softly.

"Yes..." But even so, Taensirion did not think he had quite deserved that. He sighed and closed his eyes, too tired to bother being angry anymore.

. . . . . .

Kilvara heard the two Sindar talking as she walked past, but she politely kept going. She found Felrion alone in the back room, halfheartedly sorting herbs. "Everything's calmed down now," she told him. "How's Taensirion?"

He winced and changed the subject. "I have to stay here tonight, in case anyone needs anything."

Kilvara was momentarily afraid that it might not have been Taensirion's voice that she heard, but she knew someone should've told Oropher, at least, if he hadn't made it, and she'd been with the king most of the day. "Felrion?"

He closed his eyes. "I... I did something I shouldn't have done."

"...what do you mean?"

He looked away.

Kilvara moved over to wrap her arm around his waist. "You can tell me," she promised.

He looked at his new wife, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Something he said made me mad, and... and I... I lost it and hurt him."

"Hurt him?"

"I jammed my fingers into his wound." Felrion leaned on the table and put his head in his hands.

She winced, but after a moment she said, "At least it's Taensirion. He'll forgive you, won't he?"

"He hasn't yet." He hesitated, then added, "And I haven't forgiven myself."

"Oh, don't be like that." She turned him to face her. "What did he say to make you angry?"

He was suddenly very interested in his shoes. "He made fun of how I can't fight."

"We do that all the time," she reminded him.

"I know, but... this was different."

Kilvara couldn't imagine Taensirion trying to hurt Felrion's feelings, but maybe anything was possible if he was hurting enough. "Oh."

There was a brief silence. "Sky's doing well," Kilvara said finally. "I checked on her before I came. She's bored to death, but Storm's going to go over as soon as he finds all the orcs that got away, so that'll help."

"That's good," Felrion agreed absently.

Another silence. "Do you think you should apologize to him in the morning?" Kilvara suggested not-so-subtly.

"Probably," Felrion said, though he wanted to disagree. After all, wasn't it at least partly the Sindar's fault?

. . . . . .

Thanks to their wives' advice, the two elves would probably have talked everything out in the morning and forgiven each other if Taensirion had not woken up in the middle of the night.

It was the pain that did it. It had only been a dull throbbing when he fell asleep, but now he was certain his whole left side was on fire. He tried to sit up, only to fall back with a groan, and beside him, Lanthirel stirred in her sleep. "Healer?" he called softly, trying not to wake his wife.

In another room, Felrion was reading to keep himself awake—the healers were taking turns staying up in case anyone needed anything—and thinking not-so-nice thoughts about Taensirion. He almost woke up one of the others upon hearing Taensirion call, but changed his mind at the last moment. He was an adult; he could handle this.

Taensirion had not been expecting Felrion to appear—he had quite forgotten about their conflict until then, actually, and in his surprise he forgot for a moment why he had called. Felrion already knew what was wrong, though, just from the tone of Taensirion's voice, and he'd grabbed a small bottle of the proper pain medication on the way in. He handed it to Taensirion now, then retreated back a few steps.

Taensirion drained the bitter liquid in one gulp, grimacing at the taste, then lay back and waited for the pain to fade.

Without thinking, Felrion came forward to make sure there was no blood on the bandages, but the Sindar saw him approaching and flinched away again. "Please do not touch me," he said as politely as he could manage.

Felrion stiffened. "I am only trying to help." What, now he wasn't worthy to treat the Sindar?

"I would prefer that someone else do so, if it is necessary," Taensirion said quietly. Felrion was clearly still angry about whatever he had done, and Taensirion was not sure he trusted the healer not to try to hurt him again.

Felrion gritted his teeth. "Of course. Let me waste my time waking someone else up. We want you to be comfortable, after all."

"Is it so unreasonable for me to wish to be tended by a healer who does not hold some unexplained grudge against me?"

Unexplained? "I'm sorry, are you saying I started this?"

"Would you kindly explain to me what I did wrong?" Both elves were keeping their voices down, but their tone hardly counted as friendly.

"I'd just never realized before that one had to be a fighter to be valuable."

"I never said that!"

"It was implied."

Taensirion snapped. "Silvan, I do not know where you got this idea or what you have against me, but you are not and will never be a fighter, and I suggest you accept your place in life and grow up before you lose what you do have. And for goodness' sake, take your problems elsewhere and let me sleep so I can get out of here tomorrow."

Felrion was trembling with the urge to punch that glare off Taensirion's face, but he instead he folded them behind his back and said, "I would be glad to, Sindar."

Taensirion's eyes stayed narrowed until the healer was out of sight.

. . . . . .

Things were going much better, if not perfectly, at the prince and princess's house. Eithryn fidgeted all night, but thankfully she didn't try to get up again, mostly due to Thranduil's, Galion's, and, later, Storm's attempts to distract her. Finally, though, as morning approached, Thranduil sensed that she was at the end of her rope—not that it took much sensing, what with the miserable look in her green eyes. He suspected that if he did not do something, she might very well take several months to heal.

Galion and Coryn went to make breakfast—who knew Coryn could cook?—just before the sun rose, leaving the couple alone, and it was then that Eithryn unleashed her most devastating weapon. When Thranduil made the mistake of leaning in to check the wound on her head, she activated her pleading look, which had yet to fail her when used on her husband.

Thranduil's heart melted like a snowball in a furnace, but with a great effort, he shook his head. "You cannot risk hurting yourself further."

Her eyes got bigger.

"No, Eithryn."

They got bigger still.

Thranduil bit his lip.

Just as Eithryn's eyes were growing beyond what should have been possible given the size of her face, Thranduil came up with an idea—one that now seemed incredibly obvious. "Compromise," he said, sliding his arms under her and lifting her very, very carefully from the bed.

When Storm and Galion returned with four plates of food, they found their friends out on the balcony, both of them looking much happier, although Storm suspected Thranduil's arms would be rather tired by the time the week was up.

. . . . . .

Meanwhile, Kilvara was feeling optimistic as she arrived at the healer's building. After all, Felrion and Taensirion were both reasonable people, and if they had not apologized to each other yet, it shouldn't take too much to get them to do so.

She had never been more wrong.

"I'm sure he's just fine," Felrion was telling one of the other healers as she came in. His back was to her, but she didn't need to see his face to guess that he was frowning.

"Don't you think you should check, though?" the other elf asked. "It's still hurting him a lot, and I'm not sure he's ready to walk home."

Kilvara slipped past them and made her way to the room Taensirion was in. He was still in bed, of course, but he looked cheerful despite that. Lanthirel smiled at the Silvan elf from her chair. "Good morning, Kilvara."

Kilvara was pleasantly surprised that Taensirion's wife recognized her—they'd only met once or twice. "Good morning, Lanthirel." Then, hesitantly, she asked, "How are you, Taensirion?"

"Much better, thank you," he replied with a cheerful smile. Good, Kilvara thought, he wasn't still mad. Behind him, Lanthirel tilted her head to the door with a questioning expression.

"I think the healers are going to come check on you soon," Kilvara said, and when he glanced that way, she nodded meaningfully to Lanthirel. "Should I tell them you're ready?"

Taensirion started to open his mouth to say he could use a few more minutes, but Lanthirel answered for him. "Yes, please do."

And so Kilvara went back out; Felrion noticed her almost immediately and gave her a shy hug rather than greeting her out loud. She laughed and kissed him. "They're waiting for you," she told him innocently.

His smile vanished immediately. "...Yes, I should go see if Taensirion is well enough to leave."

If the other healer hadn't still been there, Kilvara would've told him there wasn't any reason to worry, but instead all she could do was nudge him in the proper direction.

"Okay, I'm going," he muttered under his breath, and Kilvara took a step back. Maybe he was just tired?

Lanthirel kept an eye on Taensirion as they heard Kilvara and Felrion approaching. Even though she had a husband who (under normal circumstances) got along well with almost everyone, she had more experience than Kilvara did in this area, and she could tell from the way Taensirion's face went a little too blank that this wasn't going to go smoothly. She reached over to squeeze his hand, and when he looked over at her, she smiled encouragingly, trying to communicate that she believed he would handle this right. He looked away, and continued to do so when Felrion came in; the healer, for his part, stopped by the door and eyed Taensirion warily until Kilvara cleared her throat, and then rather than saying anything he stalked over to the Sindar and once again started to check his injury.

Taensirion stiffened, but kept his eyes on the ceiling.

Kilvara, who had not been expecting this at all, looked for Lanthirel for help, but the older she-elf just sighed, sensing that now was not the time to try to make their husbands get along.

Kilvara, though, was not ready to give up yet, and after more than a minute of silence, she was at the end of her rope. "Stop that, both of you!"

"Stop what?" Felrion asked, and Taensirion yelped as the healer prodded him harder than was necessary.

"What was that for?"

"I am sure he did not mean to," Lanthirel said quickly, but it was too late to stop the chain reaction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt the poor, fragile Sindar again?"

"Some healer you—"

"Taensirion, stop," Lanthirel interrupted. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed and put her hand on his cheek. "Calm down."

Felrion tried to say something, but Kilvara followed Lanthirel's example. "Felrion!"

Felrion had forgotten that his wife was there this time. He quickly shut his mouth, turning red with shame.

Lanthirel caught Kilvara's eye and nodded toward the door, and the Silvan she-elf took Felrion's hand and half-dragged him out of the room.

Taensirion sighed and closed his eyes.

. . . . . .

A few minutes later, as Taensirion was being checked over by a different healer, Lanthirel excused herself to go find Kilvara; the other she-elf was outside talking to Felrion, presumably about his behavior, but the healer got up and left as soon as he saw Taensirion's wife. Lanthirel sat on the ground next to Kilvara and gave her a resigned smile. "They are both ashamed of themselves."

Kilvara stared in the direction Felrion had gone. "I don't understand. He never acts like this!"

"If you think that was bad, you should see Feren when he is feeling rebellious," Lanthirel chuckled. "Or Taensirion whenever he has not gotten enough sleep."

"You aren't mad?"

"Oh, I am sure Taensirion is just as much a part of the problem as Felrion. I think something must have happened while I was asleep, or else Taensirion, at least, should not have acted like that." She shook her head. "I suppose we will just have to keep them apart until they calm down and then hope they work it out eventually."

Kilvara didn't look very comforted.

"I would not worry too much," Lanthirel told her. "Even if they decide they do not like each other, I do not expect that anything like that will happen again. They embarrassed themselves quite thoroughly." Seeing that the other she-elf was still quite upset, she reached over to rub Kilvara's shoulder. "Yes, husbands do silly things sometimes. You know what? Come to visit sometime and I will tell you some of my stories. Perhaps you should bring Sky as well—besides having her fair share of tales, I am sure she would appreciate hearing some of the things Oropher's wife used to tell me."

Kilvara giggled.

I came up with a fun prompt.

Step 1: Take the two nicest characters you can find.

Step 2: Make them hate each other.

Trust me, it's awesome.