Hello again. So, since my mom can't pronounce it right:
Tathor = "Ta" as in "Tarantulas aren't as scary as Mirkwood spiders" + "thor" as in "Thor does not belong in this story".
Also, Firith = "Fir" like "fear" + "ith" as in "Sith don't belong in this story, either".
"Here we go again."
Silana slid on her gloves and turned to her partner in what they called "babysitting". "Remind me again why Alagon makes us do this?"
"He thinks we need to earn their respect from the beginning," Kilvara sighed, leading the way out the door.
"I'm going to outrank that elf if it kills me."
"Good luck with that; he's a general."
"Oh yeah? Guess who's third in line for the throne?"
Kilvara gave a small gasp and spun on her friend. "Your father chose you as his heir?"
The Sinda shrugged, suddenly humble. "Only for this. Feren is next. And, of course, the king, the prince, and my father would have to die, so obviously that's not a plan." She huffed. "Maybe I will have to settle for general; just give me a millennium."
Kilvara shook her head at the younger elf's ambition as they emerged into a grassy field filled with elves, most of them male and nearly all full Silvans. "Ready?"
"Let's do this."
Kilvara gave a sharp whistle and waited a moment, then whistled again when the soldiers failed to do more than slowly drift in their direction. It took a few eye-rolls from one side and threatening glares from the other, but eventually the Silvan elves lined up in three semi-neat rows. "Good morning, soldiers."
There were a few mumbled "good morning"s and a couple of yawns, which caused the she-elves to exchange well-this-is-a-good-start looks.
"In case you have not noticed," Kilvara continued, "you aren't elflings anymore, and acting as such will result in unpleasant consequences."
"Unpleasant for you," clarified Silana with a wink.
One of the elves snorted.
Kilvara's gaze snapped toward the offender. "Do you have something to say, soldier?"
He smirked. "No, Commander."
"Good. Twenty push-ups."
"For what?"
She looked him straight in the eye. "To take a bit of the stupidity out of you."
He did the push-ups in a manner that suggested he was humoring her.
"Every time," Kilvara huffed under her breath, and she turned to Silana. "Should we just get it over with now, do you think?"
"Let's."
"All right, listen up," Kilvara said loudly enough to silence the whispers beginning among the new soldiers' ranks. "We're aware that you're young and idiotic, but that's going to stop now, and you'll see why in a moment. We are also aware that we are both female, that Silana is a Sinda, and that I am not. Any comments or inappropriate behavior related to any of those three facts are not recommended. Does anyone have a problem with what I just said? Raise your hands."
Three hands went up.
"You three, come forward," Kilvara ordered.
They did so, and were promptly smacked in the rump by the flats of Silana's blades.
"You're soldiers now; you don't get to have a problem with orders," Kilvara explained.
"And you," Silana said to the elf who had just finished his twentieth lazily executed push-up. "Come here."
He did so, scoffing.
"You remind me of my brother," the Sinda mused. "He used to roll his eyes at authority, too, until he finally learned his lesson; hopefully we can instill it in you a little sooner. Now, let's make a deal—if you can hit me with your practice blades, you can go home early. All of you."
There was an excited murmur.
"Deal," said the cocky young elf with a shrug. After all, he, like most young male elves, had some basic training before coming of age to join the army, so he expected to at least get a good slash in at this she-elf who'd been relegated to the duty of training the newest recruits. He lunged at her, training knives bared.
Silana casually thrust one cloth-padded sword into his stomach while tossing and catching the other one and keeping her gray eyes on the other recruits. "Someone else try," she ordered before the first elf even doubled over. "No, two of you, to make it interesting."
Slash. Stab.
"Three," she said. "And a few of you go at Kilvara."
This time Silana had to parry one slash and Kilvara had to duck two, but bruises were distributed to all three attackers in a matter of seconds. "Keep going. Do not bother taking turns, and remember, one hit and you all go home."
Slash, parry, thwack, duck, repeat. Elves stumbled backward faster than they attacked, and while many threw themselves right back in, an increasing number retreated to watch the carnage from a safe distance.
"You're not half bad," Silana complemented one elf—not one of the troublemakers, notably. "You could maybe go up in the ranks a ways, if you wanted." Then she kicked him in the knee and he tumbled away.
"And by the way, we can do this every day if we need to," Kilvara told the recruits; she, like Silana, was hardly out of breath.
"Might get boring," said the Sindar.
"Might be worth it," Kilvara returned.
There were only three elves left now, and at that very moment, Silana's two scurried away, chased by the threat of another whack or two. Kilvara was left fighting a very determined half-Sinda who simply refused to stop getting up, while around them, a circle of humiliated youngsters nursed their wounds and stayed far out of Silana's way.
"Determined little critter," Silana commented as the young elf got up yet another time, favoring both legs at once. "Are you trying to do your friends a favor, or do you just want to play the hero?"
"Both?" gasped the young elf, staggering to his feet yet again and immediately getting swatted back down after the couple of seconds Kilvara gave him to regain his footing. "I give up," he mumbled into the dirt.
"Smart boy," Kilvara said dryly. "Have you all learned something? Yes or no, I want to see your heads move."
Every single elf nodded.
"Good. Then school's over for the day, little elflings. I expect better behavior tomorrow. And thank you to those who acted like adults today; I'll remember you."
The young elves filed away, some in shame and some glancing back at the two she-elves in amazement.
"We've got to do something about that," Kilvara decided. "We'll figure out something. Half of them are still in the rebellious phase, it seems like; coordination not quite developed; still growing in most cases, too. And we can't exactly take them out on patrols for ten years until they come of age."
"They are too young," Silana agreed. "Still children, as every group has been since the king lowered the age of recruitment to forty."
. . . . . .
"How's the newest batch of recruits?" Felrion asked as Kilvara washed her hands in preparation for making dinner.
The way she squeezed the bar of soap gave him his answer. "Every time Alagon assigns us a new group of elflings, we have to spend half our time teaching them how to be adults before we get to training, and then they're not even strong enough to learn all the moves yet, and we have to modify everything... It's twice as much work as it should be." She sighed. "What are we making?"
"How's fish chowder sound?"
"Let's do it." She grabbed a few potatoes and started chopping them more violently than strictly necessary. "How was your day?"
"Quiet," he said with a shrug. "We checked up on the two pregnant elves and a patient who broke his arm a couple weeks ago, and then I let Tathor run off to join Legolas's math lesson since he asked nicely. Besides, he's ahead on his training; he's a smart boy." The healer smiled as he worked on the food.
Kilvara, too, smiled despite herself. "You sound proud."
"He's my apprentice, isn't he?"
She chuckled, then let a hint of jealousy creep into her tone as she said, "I wish I could choose an apprentice, instead of the thirty or so monsters I have to take on at once."
"Lucky me," Felrion responded with a hint of a grin.
She elbowed him in the ribs.
"Still no luck changing Alagon's mind?" Felrion could tell his wife needed to rant a little, ideally before she cut herself hacking the vegetables apart like that.
She glowered at the carrots she was dicing into ever-smaller bits. "He's impossible. He won't listen to a word we say; I can't believe Thranduil chose him as a general!" She hurled the tiny orange squares into the pot of hot water boiling on the stove. "One of these days I'm going to... to... I don't know, but I'll do something!"
"Why don't you talk to the king, or Taen?" Felrion suggested in a reasonable manner.
"Taen says he can't do anything about Alagon," Kilvara grumbled. "I told him I don't care if you're both generals, the king will still listen to you over him, but no... And Thranduil just brushes us off since his precious advisors won't say a word." Her anger abruptly melted, and her shoulders slumped. "I guess we're stuck with babysitting."
Felrion wordlessly put his arm around her shoulders and let her lean into him, and he mused that if nothing else, at least no one told him how to do his job.
"Sky would've fixed this," Kilvara mumbled into his shoulder.
"Even if she had to start a civil war," he agreed with a weak chuckle; their friend had been a defender of the common folk until her final breath.
. . . . . .
"Feren, how does one go about campaigning against the status quo?" Silana inquired of her brother, pencil poised to record any useful answers on her clipboard.
The Silvan elf gave her a mildly incredulous look as he clucked to the steel-gray mare he was training. "Just ask Ada for help, sheesh."
"I do not need help," Silana huffed indignantly. "And Ada thinks things are fine as they are because he hasn't worked with the new recruits since King Thranduil and Alagon reorganized the whole system."
Feren was trotting his horse in a circle, trying to get her to bend evenly. "He has more important things to do."
"I know that, but it is not my point. Are you going to help me gather evidence for my case, or not?"
"I'm working," was his response.
"Your job's boring."
"You're boring." He patted the horse. "Not like you, Daisy."
"Your horses' names are boring, too," Silana announced. "Now, are you coming, or aren't you? I'm going to cause all sorts of trouble."
"This is why you are the black sheep of the family," Feren said, but he dismounted the mare and started to lead her toward the stable.
"Black sheep, you say? Nana likes me better... and so does Aleinia."
"Ada prefers me," Feren shot back without even batting an eye at her claim that his remaining biological parent preferred her.
"Does not," Silana snorted, but she felt the need to back up her claim with evidence as they walked off into the forest.
. . . . . .
"I love autumn," Kilvara remarked a while later as she sat with her husband on top of their roof, eating the delicious lunch they'd made together.
"It's a headache when you have to store herbs for the winter," Felrion noted with a chuckle.
She elbowed him. "You have an apprentice."
"I do, I do." He smiled up at the golden leaves. "It is beautiful."
"Isn't it?"
"But not like you are," he added, kissing her cheek.
She blushed furiously. "Aww, Felrion..."
He winked, feeling very proud of himself, then closed his eyes to enjoy the cool breeze and the crisp smells of autumn. Sometimes he forgot to stop and enjoy the world, but not when he was with Kilvara.
Which reminded him... "About what we talked about last night—"
But she was shaking her head. "I'm just not ready, Felrion, I told you that; I just can't right now."
Ah.
"Unless you really want to..." Kilvara amended.
"Not if you don't." He wasn't sure he wanted to bring a child into such a broken world yet, anyway.
. . . . . .
"Hi, Nana that I look like and Nana that Feren looks like," Silana greeted Lanthirel and Aleinia as she and Feren came upon them caring for the plants that hung outside Aleinia's house. "I am putting together a case against the new age of recruitment for the army; any advice?"
"Ask your father?" Aleinia began, only to give the other three a puzzled look when they all started shaking their heads.
"Taen is being stubborn on this one," Lanthirel explained.
"We don't talk about Ada anymore," Silana agreed with a mock shudder. "Now seriously, what's my best approach?"
"Hmm," said Lanthirel thoughtfully. "I suppose you will need to weigh the benefits against any problems you can find..."
"Most of our time is wasted trying to get them to grow up," Silana complained. "There's a problem for you."
"What about injury rates?" Aleinia suggested.
Silana sighed. "No higher, though only because we compensate for their age, not making them run so far, for example."
"Oh, no, I meant accidents. From, you know..." Aleinia gestured vaguely toward Feren.
"Hey," said her offended son, who'd only hurt himself by trying to juggle knives once.
Silana snapped her fingers. "Come to think of it..."
"It seems unfair, anyway, to deprive them of the last decade of their childhood," Aleinia added.
Lanthirel hummed in agreement as she moved a purple-and-white flower to a better spot.
. . . . . .
"You know, it occurred to me after you said all that about Alagon," Felrion mused, "that the death rate for young soldiers hasn't gone down any in the last decade."
Kilvara's green eyes flared. "You mean to tell me we're doing all this work for nothing?!"
"No, no, no," he said quickly, holding up his hands to stop her. "It might be doing something, just... it's an argument you could use with the king, I thought."
She calmed and sat back. "Huh, you could be right... Well now, that could get us somewhere. No fewer injuries, either?"
"More," he sighed, "if you count all the youngsters sneaking off because they think they're real soldiers."
Kilvara whistled softly, and she seemed about to ask something when a knock sounded on the door.
"I'll get it." Felrion jumped up, only to catch sight of their visitor through the window, at which point he abruptly spun back against the wall, turning his wide eyes on Kilvara. "It's your sister," he mouthed, clearly horrified at the idea.
Kilvara didn't need to ask which sister he meant, but she did need to give him a threatening glare. "Open the door," she hissed back.
His head slowly turned to the left, then the right, then back again, the clear message being no.
"Open. The. Door," she mouthed, a dangerous look in her eyes.
Felrion winced, but obediently—if slowly—swung the wooden portal open.
"Why, Kimbrel!" Kilvara cried in a cheerful tone that mostly wasn't faked. "It's so good to see you!"
"Sister!" The red-haired elf at the door embraced her older sibling as the latter approached. This she-elf was a little shorter, with dark brown eyes and a hawkish face, but otherwise nearly identical to Kilvara. "Hello, Felrion," she added as an afterthought.
"Mm," returned the healer unenthusiastically, earning him a glare from his wife over Kimbrel's shoulder.
"How are you?" Kilvara demanded. "And your husband?" She managed to say the latter part without a hint of bitterness.
"That reminds me," said Kimbrel, abruptly changing the subject as she was prone to do, "why is it you think you know so much better than he does about the soldiers, anyway?"
The friendliness in Kilvara's eyes abruptly vanished. "Because I am the one who works with them," she replied in a tone that resembled poisoned honey.
Felrion, who'd been slowly inching toward the kitchen door, now slipped inside, then out the window to safety. He was not a fan of his younger sister-in-law.
"Of course, of course," Kimbrel agreed, inspecting her nails, which were far longer than was usual in the tree-climbing, wilderness-loving Silvan culture. "Never mind that he designed the whole system."
Kilvara barely restrained herself from responding that maybe that was why there was a problem in the first place; her dear sister's biggest flaw was that she inevitably sided with her husband on every issue, even against her own family, and it was the only thing that could turn her against her older sisters. "Could it be he doesn't have as much experience with younger elves as I have?"
"Come now, Kilvara, you've decided not to have elflings as well."
"We are helping to raise the prince and Galion's children."
Kimbrel wasn't impressed. "All the same, perhaps you ought to leave things the way they are, hmm?"
"I would like you to know I have no intention of doing so," Kilvara replied scathingly. "But shall we go on to another topic? Mother wouldn't approve of us arguing about such things."
Kimbrel chuckled softly. "Very well, sister... Though I will have to tell Alagon of your intention to cause more trouble."
Kilvara wished her sister would stop trying to imitate formal Sindarin speech the way Alagon did.
. . . . . .
"No one told me we would be having guests for lunch," was Faena's complaint when her two youngest siblings showed up at her door. "You're lucky I planned for leftovers."
"Thank goodness; she wouldn't let me go home to eat," was Feren's comment on the matter.
Silana elbowed him in the ribs, then said, "Heledir's here, right? We came to talk to him."
The aforementioned Sinda poked his head around his wife. "To me? I am honored, but whatever for?"
. . . . . .
"So what I want to know," Silana said after filling in her brother-in-law on the necessary information while they ate, "is when did you start formal training in Doriath? Not until seventy-five, right?"
"Seventy-five was when they put us on active duty," he corrected. "We were required to begin once-a-week training at forty-five."
Silana groaned. "Darn it... All right, then, how did they manage it?"
The tall (by Silvan standards only) tawny-haired elf shrugged. "I do not remember it being a particular problem, though they kept us in smaller groups."
"How many?" Silana asked, perking up again.
"Fifteen or twenty, if I remember right."
She scribbled that onto her clipboard. "And the teachers?"
"Only one, but with a helper or two from among the older soldiers. It was their only job, as well, unless someone requested a temporary position, as your father did to stay out of danger both times your mother was pregnant." He smiled at Faena, who had been the product of that first time.
"And that worked well enough, you said?"
"I believe so. There were few enough young elves that the instructor could get to know each of them, as your father did with me."
"Would you say that was a good age for the training to begin?"
"In that format, yes, I think so. Most of us had been learning from our parents or a private tutor for five years or so, anyway."
Silana tapped the pencil against her lips. "I wonder... When do other cultures start training their children? Humans, for example?"
Heledir thought about that for a moment while munching his salad (Faena and Feren were still listening in polite interest). "Aside from Doriath and Greenwood, I believe every elven culture waits for elflings to finish growing before beginning military training, aside from the Avari, who of course do not have a military... If I remember correctly, dwarves are expected to start around sixty-five or seventy? Humans... perhaps sixteen at the very earliest, though probably closer to eighteen except in a time of war. Both of those translate to about forty-five to fifty, perhaps a bit younger for the dwarves; does that answer your question?"
"That's perfect," Silana told him, completely forgetting about her meal as she hurried to get that all written down. "Why that age, do you think?"
"I suppose that is when children become physically and mentally mature enough to make training in a large group worth the effort."
Silana nodded to herself. "That's very interesting."
"May I suggest you speak to Tairen?" Heledir recommended, referring to Milaera's eldest child. "I know he has been keeping an eye on the whole matter."
Silana snapped her fingers. "Smart. Hurry up and finish, Feren, so we can go—oh, and thanks for lunch, Faena!"
"What do you want me for, anyway?" Feren wondered, to which he did not receive an answer.
. . . . . .
Felrion had barely left his house, wandering in no particular direction, when he spotted his young apprentice dashing through the trees a short distance below him. "Up here, Tathor!"
The elfling looked up, then doubled back to join his mentor. "Hi, Felrion!"
"Hello, Tathor. Didn't I give you the rest of the day off?" Felrion noticed again how tall the boy was getting; it seemed he, like his brother, would most likely end up taller than Galion by a few inches, and probably taller than Felrion as well.
"Yeah, but 'Las is busy again... It's rough being best friends with the prince." Tathor shrugged unhappily, then perked up. "So, what are you doing?"
Felrion glanced around half theatrically and half seriously, then said, "Can I give you some advice?"
The youngster nodded; Tathor was more receptive to such things than your average thirty-three-year-old elf.
"Before you decide to marry someone, make sure you like her siblings," Felrion sighed. "And her parents, come to think of it."
Tathor tilted his head, considering this. "What if it's true love?"
"Move to the other side of the forest."
"But I like it here."
Felrion chuckled, and so did the elfling.
"Marry an orphan and only child, got it," Tathor agreed. "Are we going somewhere?"
Felrion was wandering in a random direction, which happened to be toward a very nice waterfall if one continued far enough, which he probably wouldn't today. "Not really."
"Okay." Tathor seemed fine with that, and the two elves walked for a while without interruption, enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the season, one or the other occasionally picking a few herbs to store in Felrion's bag. Tathor acquired a squirrel after a few miles, and spent a while trying to mimic its chattering before trading it out for an orange songbird, whose feathers he gently polished with his handkerchief and some water from a little pond they passed; Felrion, for his part, thought about politics and babies and nature.
"Hey, Felrion?"
"Yeah?"
"...How do I get a girl to like me?"
The healer found himself laughing. "Got someone in mind, do you?" He couldn't say he was surprised, given Tathor's personality, that his first crush had struck already.
"My Nana and I visited some of her friends on the other side of the river last week," Tathor admitted sheepishly.
"Is she pretty?"
"I think so. She's half Sinda, and her eyes are brown, but a special brown, you know? Deep, but not in a dark way, just deep like the lake is, but clearer..." He blushed at his attempt to communicate his attraction.
"Your age?"
"A little older."
"Ah." Felrion doubted this particular infatuation would last long, but Tathor was only a boy, after all, and it was really quite adorable. "Haven't you asked your Ada about girls? He did a much better job than I did."
"Well... I mean, I could, but... it seems kind of silly when I think of telling him, you know?" Tathor picked up a fallen leaf and rubbed it between his fingers, then added as an afterthought, "And Firith said I should clean her house, so I don't think I'll ask him for help anymore."
Felrion snorted, then composed himself. "No, maybe not. I guess the best advice I can give you is to just act like you normally would, and don't push it. If it's meant to happen, it will, and if not, there will be others. And rather than showing off, try to be the best person you can be; if she's worth liking, she'll notice that." He wished he'd known everything he knew now back when he first realized he loved Kilvara.
Tathor nodded thoughtfully. "How do I know if I really love someone?"
Felrion was at a loss for a moment, but then an answer occurred to him. "But you already love several people, you know. Your parents, and Firith, and Legolas because he's your friend, and probably a lot of others as well."
"Does that feel the same?"
"Not completely, but if that part's there, that's how you know the love will last."
"Oh." Tathor processed that for another minute, then said, "Felrion?"
"Yes?"
"I think I love the whole world."
Felrion laughed and ruffled the elfling's increasingly long blond hair. "And that's what I like about you, kid."
. . . . . .
"Why hello, elflings," said Tairen when he opened the door to find his just-barely-younger aunt and uncle outside.
Silana showed him her clipboard. "Elflings are what we're here about, actually; we need your professional opinion." Milaera's son was gathering a reputation for himself by becoming the leading expert on, to put it simply, what Greenwood's elves wanted from their government; Heledir especially was increasingly reliant on him to keep tabs on which trade goods would be most popular.
"She needs your professional opinion," Feren corrected. "I'm just along for the ride."
Tairen took Silana's notes and scanned over them. "Found yourself another crusade, did you, Aunt Silana?"
"Alagon's been causing trouble."
"More than you know," Tairen agreed mysteriously, holding the door open for her; instead of leading them to the kitchen table, though, he took them straight through the house to the conveniently flat branch that ran right up to the porch, forming a small backyard of sorts. On a natural bench formed from a knot in the wood sat a blond she-elf who looked strikingly like Faena except for her less delicate build, and she greeted the visitors excitedly. "Hello, Feren and Silana, it's so nice to see you!"
"This is why people think you're married, Sheyni!" Feren returned, gesturing between her and Tairen.
Sheyni rolled her eyes at him. "Hush, I can visit my cousin whenever I want."
"It's called a 'best friend', Feren, not that you would know," Tairen added.
Feren pointed to Silana with a raised eyebrow.
Tairen and Sheyni exchanged aren't-they-such-hypocrites smirks, and then the former sat down on a patch of moss, motioning for his other guests to do the same. "Silana's upset about the whole elflings-in-the-army thing," he explained to Sheyni, then, turning to the others, "We were just talking about that this morning, actually; it has stirred up a lot of controversy, especially among parents."
Silana made a note of that. "Why so?"
"For one thing, most of them had chosen someone else to introduce their child to warfare, someone they trusted and who could give the elfling more of their time; on the other hand, I think a lot feel that their children should not have to grow up so fast, especially with the increased amount of time they have to spend training since each adult is working with so many of them."
"Do you have any graphite?" asked Silana, who was running out from writing everyone's exact words and her own thoughts in a very haphazard manner.
Tairen pulled a stick of it out of his pocket, which Feren, for one, thought was very typical of him.
"Thanks. In your opinion, is this the sort of thing that'll probably blow over in a few years, or will it stick around for a while?"
"I think elves will adjust, as they eventually did in Doriath." He moved to read over her shoulder. "If you want a more effective argument, you might go with what it is doing to the children themselves."
Silana looked up at him. "And what's that?"
"They're taking away their childhood, for one thing," Feren put in. "Thank goodness we didn't have to line up and watch someone demonstrate moves for hours."
"You would have been such a headache, anyway," Silana commented with a wry grin.
Tairen clucked disapprovingly. "I would be careful with that line of reasoning, dear aunt."
"As should you," said Sheyni.
"I have plenty of stories about you," he returned without looking up. "Anyway, Silana, I know a lot of young elves are having trouble working their other studies around the training, and some also were looking forward to working with the instructors they were supposed to have. A lot are upset about being in the military as well, but since no one sees that requirement changing anytime soon, I can only recommend they get themselves an apprenticeship." He sighed.
So did Silana. "I miss the old days, when we could choose to fight."
"Don't we all."
. . . . . .
"Felrion, why is the king making elves join the army so young?"
The healer looked down at his apprentice. "Because we were terribly unprepared for the War of the Ring, and so we lost far too many elves." Because he saw too many die. Because losing Sky did something to him that won't ever heal.
"Silana says Silvan elves are better at fighting in forests and broken terrain, where we can ambush and stay above our opponents and fight at a distance and in smaller groups; is that true?"
"She's the strategist, not me."
"She doesn't think training elves younger will help."
Felrion snorted. "I got that impression. Been talking to Silana a lot?"
"I wanted to know what everyone was arguing about, and she's better at explaining why things happen than anyone else I know," said the always-curious youngster.
"Well, good for you." Felrion blinked and pointed at a figure moving along the ground far below, half-obscured by leaves since the two elves were travelling back to Felrion's house by way of the treetops as Silvan elves usually did when they were actually going somewhere. "Is that Alagon?"
"I think so," Tathor agreed. "He's going the same way we are, right?"
"Oh, good grief..."
Tathor, who hadn't witnessed Kilvara's rants earlier, was about to ask if this was a bad thing, but his mentor was already on his way down. The apprentice healer followed, hoping for a chance to get to know Alagon better; somehow the oddly Sinda-ish Silvan never seemed to want to talk to him, or to Legolas, though he sometimes made an attempt toward the latter.
Alagon saw them coming and stopped, sighing deeply as he realized who it was. "Good afternoon, Felrion," he called in his normal polite-to-the-point-of-stiffness manner.
"Good afternoon," the healer returned, dropping lightly to the ground. "Are you by any chance on your way to speak to my wife? Because if so, I'd rather you didn't."
Alagon considered him for a moment, opened his mouth, and paused, clearly trying to choose the right words. "I am sorry if I have caused her undue stress," he said finally, and slightly awkwardly.
Felrion tapped his foot. "'Sorry' doesn't help much."
Tathor's eyes were darting between them rapidly.
The advisor cleared his throat. "I have come to hear her out, actually; I cannot imagine she will change my mind, but, well..." He shifted uncomfortably. "My wife was there earlier, and, ah..."
Felrion had never heard Alagon reference his wife in any conversation related to what the military-minded elf would consider "business", and he had to snort at the advisor's embarrassment. "She wants you to come make peace, does she?"
"I believe she thinks I ought to have convinced her sister by now," Alagon explained, holding out his hands helplessly.
The healer resisted the urge to laugh, finding it hilarious that the proud elf could be henpecked like anyone else, though this was Kimbrel they were talking about.
"So...?"
Felrion frowned at him. "Are you asking my permission?"
"You seemed ready to fight me a few moments ago, and she is your wife."
He rolled his eyes. "Try treating her as a competent soldier instead of a housewife, and I'll let you in the door."
"Thank you," Alagon said with surprising submissiveness, leading Felrion to wonder if he was somehow being more intimidating than usual, or if maybe the blood-red-haired elf wanted this over with as much as they did? Or maybe he just didn't want his wife to embarrass him more; it was hard to tell.
Felrion didn't reply, just pointed in the direction of the house. They started that way, along the ground as Alagon apparently preferred.
Tathor saw his chance. "Hello, Alagon," he said to get himself noticed.
The older elf barely spared him a glance. "Hello."
"This is Tathor, Galion's son, remember?" Felrion pressed in support of the boy, who looked rather hurt.
Alagon blinked at him.
"The prince's friend?" Felrion continued desperately. "My apprentice?"
"Right," Alagon said, just so the healer would stop. He did vaguely remember seeing this elfling running around with Thranduil's brat—ahem, heir to the throne. Valar help him, why was he expected to recognize all these elflings?
Tathor spent the rest of the walk wondering if he was unusually forgettable.
. . . . . .
"Mind if I come in?"
Kilvara's head shot up from the book she'd been staring at grumpily as she sipped a much-needed cup of wine. "Silana! You'll never guess who was over here earlier!"
"And you'll never guess what I've got for you," the Sinda replied as she came through the door, followed by her brother. "But who came?"
"Kimbrel, and she had the nerve to tell me I should be submitting to her husband's authority...!" She slammed her book shut and shoved it none-too-gently across the table, whereupon it fell off the other side and landed pages-down in one of the chairs. "I tell you, sometimes I can't stand my family! ...Hi, Feren."
"Nice to see you, Kilvara."
Both she-elves ignored him, and Silana grinned. "I think you'll rather like mine in a moment."
Kilvara frowned at her friend. "And why's that?"
The Sinda handed her the clipboard wordlessly; Kilvara scanned it quickly, running her finger over the words, then stood up and threw her arms around Silana.
"This will have to convince them! Oh, and wait 'till you hear what Felrion said—"
Their celebration was interrupted by the door bursting open to admit an out-of-breath elfling. "Felrion—said—to tell you—Alagon's—coming," Tathor gasped.
The two she-elves exchanged alarmed glances, which gradually turned into predatory grins. Perfect.
"Are you... going to murder him?" asked the alarmed boy at the door; it wasn't an unreasonable question, given the looks on their faces.
"Only metaphorically," replied Silana, scrunching up her face as she flipped through her notes. "Rats, I wanted to put these in order... Ah well, at least Nana made me practice my handwriting so it is legible now."
Tathor was peeking over her shoulder to see said papers. "Didn't elves also get married super young in Doriath? So maybe we shouldn't copy them too much?"
"Clever point, my young friend," said Silana as she scribbled his comment in an appropriate spot in the margin. "How long do we have?"
Kilvara moved over to the window. "They're on their way up now."
"Wonderful. Should we start with injury rates, or public opinion?"
Kilvara didn't answer, only snatched the clipboard and graphite and took up an ambush position next to the door.
Feren wandered over to Tathor's inconspicuous spot of observation in the corner. "Between you and me, they're definitely going to murder him."
Tathor fished a roll of bandages out of a previously unnoticed pouch at his hip with a wry grin. "I've got this and some painkillers."
Feren gave him a thumbs-up. "Can I have some of the painkillers?"
Tathor eyed him. "Are you serious?"
"Oh, I meant when I jump into the fight and Alagon gives me a black eye."
Tathor was trying not to laugh.
Meanwhile, Kilvara (who had her ear pressed up against the door) heard quiet elven footsteps approaching and stepped back to allow the door to swing open; Alagon entered first, and apparently had not expected to have a clipboard thrust into his face before he could even step inside. He blinked and took it, jumping as he noticed Silana on his other side, her arms folded in the exact same position as Kilvara's. "What is this?"
"Just read it," was Kilvara's response.
He didn't. "I came to talk about the—"
"Read it," said Silana.
"Please do not interrupt me. As I was saying, I—"
"Read it!" the she-elves yelled at the same time.
He sighed and held the clipboard up to eye level for the first time, drifting over to the table as he looked through Silana's argument (and removing Kilvara's book from the chair without seeming to notice), seeing first her general comments on the matter, then a hastily scrawled copy of the accident rates from recent trainings, then Heledir's interview, then Tairen's, then a brief summary, and finally, in Kilvara's spidery handwriting, FELRION SAYS DEATH RATES HAVEN'T DECREASED!
The other elves (including Felrion, who'd slipped in through the window while Alagon was being attacked) held their collective breath as Alagon finished, flipped back to the beginning, and read through it a second time, then put the clipboard down, looking rather stunned. "Oh."
"They're too young," Kilvara insisted for the thousandth time, hoping this one might have some effect. "They're not ready for this kind of rigor, and they're supposed to be learning other things at the same time, and look at Tathor over there; if he's supposed to be doing this in seven years—" Tathor was apprenticed and therefore exempt, of course, but her point still stood.
Alagon patted his hands in the air to quiet her. "All right, Kilvara, all right, I get it!" He ran a hand over his face as he glanced through the notes one last time, then sat back, turning his gaze to the she-elves in amazement. "What do you want from me, then?"
Kilvara hadn't thought that far ahead, but Silana had, of course. "Recommend private training with a tutor," she said immediately. "Three hours a week, maybe. Require it if you must, but most were doing it anyway. Official training should start at fifty at the youngest, ideally closer to seventy, and for goodness' sake, make it someone's full-time job. Ask my Ada how it was handled in Doriath, if you like."
"You realize we are short-staffed anyway," Alagon protested, but there was no stubbornness in his voice.
"Then you're doing something wrong," Kilvara put in, adding, "We may have lost most of our experienced soldiers during the War, but you can pull five or ten out of patrols to train the entire kingdom's worth of recruits."
Alagon nodded and stood up, appearing thoroughly defeated, something none of them were used to. He held up the clipboard. "May I take this?"
"Please do," said Silana dryly.
He nodded in thanks and wasted no time in getting out the door, though he had to weave between the two she-elves and Felrion to do so. He turned around as he stepped outside, and, seemingly sincerely, told them, "I am truly sorry for not listening to the two of you. I will try very hard to do better in the future."
"We appreciate it," Kilvara deadpanned, and she slammed the door in his face.
"Don't you think that was a bit harsh?" wondered Felrion as his wife and Silana cheered. "I think you may have bruised his ego rather badly."
"Good," Kilvara replied unsympathetically. "Maybe he'll learn something."
"He should've noticed elves didn't like what he was doing, at least," Silana agreed.
"Oh, come now, he is not much older than the two of you," Felrion reminded them, indicating Feren and Silana. "He's bound to make mistakes now and then."
That was new to Silana. "He's our age?"
"Just about," Felrion confirmed.
"Still," Kilvara huffed, "he should know better. He and Thranduil, trying to rewrite the whole system between them, never mind what actually works..."
Felrion chuckled and put his arm around his wife's waist, knowing her scowl wouldn't last; they'd finally won a victory against Thranduil's push toward militarization, after all.
"Poor Alagon," Tathor remarked, clearly agreeing with Felrion.
"Ah, all right, I will try to be nice to him tomorrow," Silana gave in, apparently much more affected by Tathor's innocent kindness than Felrion's mild chastising. "But he still needed that."
Feren nodded enthusiastically, while Felrion and Tathor shook their heads at the others' behavior.
. . . . . .
Meanwhile, in the wilderness, someone else was also experiencing a definite lack of empathy...
"Don't you dare," Storm spat, and he started to back away, only to be shoved back against the boulder by one of his new acquaintances.
The tall red-haired elf motioned for the knife his friend was holding. "You look ridiculous, Silvan. Can't believe your mother let you wear it like that." The braids were unceremoniously yanked out of Storm's hair.
"Ouch! Look, draw on my face all you want, but stay away from my hair!" Storm's violent attempts to save himself failed badly.
"I thought you wanted to be one of us?" the half-human reminded him, handing his knife to the taller one.
"This isn't an initiation rite, it's abuse!" the Silvan elf hissed, landing a good kick on the knee of the red-haired elf. "Raven, if you don't let me go right now..."
The Noldo kicked him back even harder. "I mean, if you want to look like a she-elf..."
"We're trying to help you here." The half-human sounded amused.
Storm glowered at him, then scrunched his eyes shut in horror as Raven began hacking off Storm's hair with the blade in his hand. "I hate you."
"Oh no, anything but that," Raven sighed dramatically. "There, that's better, isn't it, Flint?"
Storm's other attacker rubbed a hand over his chin and nodded thoughtfully. "Don't forget..." He swiped three gray-stained fingers across Storm's cheek. "Hmm. Not half bad. You can look now, Silvan."
Storm cracked one eye open, peeking at his reflection in the still pond at their feet. "...Rrgh," was his disgruntled opinion on his now shoulder-length, somewhat messily cut hair.
Raven smirked. "Welcome to the tribe."
*Grins mysteriously*
Ah yes, and for those of you who understand Myers-Briggs (a.k.a. mbti/16 personalities):
Oropher & Thranduil: ENTJ
Storm: ENTP (though he can go full-on ISTP if stressed)
Lanthirel & Milaera: ENFJ
Sky & Silana: ENFP (Sky is borderline ESFP and Silana is close to ENFJ)
Firith & Alagon: ESTJ
Caliel & Feren: ESTP
Kilvara: ESFJ
There's an ESFP, but you haven't met him. Though again, Sky's almost one.
Aradael (Thranduil's mom): INTJ (like me! :D)
King Amdir: INTP
Felrion: INFJ
Tathor (and Tauriel, methinks): INFP (note that Tathor and Firith are opposites)
Flint (see above scene): ISTJ
Legolas & Raven (see above scene): ISTP (Legolas is close to ISFP, I think?)
Taensirion, Galion, & Faena: ISFJ
Aleinia: ISFP (Again, Legolas may be very close)
And finally, I'm pretty sure Heledir is more or less in the middle on all four letter pairs.
There are others I haven't typed 'cause I don't know them well enough (Tairen & Sheyni, for example), but if you review and ask, I'll do my best. You can also review to ask/argue about any of these, but be warned, I'll probably send/spontaneously write a ministory or something to demonstrate why I typed them that way.
You can also review with your type and/or ask about someone's Enneagram if desired, though I'm not as familiar with that one. I'm a 5.
And finally, you may have noticed that I mentioned Tauriel. I will indeed be including her, and you Tauriel-haters out there can fight all her future friends (definitely including Legolas). Also, ;) ;) ;) *Vague winking because SECRETS*