Split from Part 3 on 10-15-22 so Part 3 wouldn't be so insanely long.
It was morning, and Caliel was the only one still awake.
Faena and Milaera had fallen asleep first, and hardest; they were wrapped in a blanket together in one corner of the room, where they'd finally escaped as soon as the sun came up.
Sheyni was next, lying sideways in a comfortable chair with a quilt Lanthirel had draped over her when it became clear she was out cold. Aleinia had passed out on the floor next to her soon after, propped up in the corner made by the back of the chair and the wall.
Kilvara and Kimbrel had fought over the couch for a bit before falling asleep there, one on top of the other.
Silana was so hyper she'd almost woken the others up several times before Lanthirel coaxed her onto a mattress; she was out in seconds.
And finally, Lanthirel, with a tired grin at Caliel, curled up next to her daughter and went to sleep as well.
Caliel watched them for a while with a strange sort of pride (her mothering instincts kicking in, probably, or else Lanthirel was rubbing off on her) before she moved slowly and silently for the doorway—elves slept with their eyes open, after all, and sudden movement might startle them awake. Then it was into the kitchen to see if she still remembered how to make breakfast after all these years being married to Galion.
. . . . . .
"You can't tie them up all day, that's just cruel," Felrion insisted for the third time.
Alagon started to respond, but Tairen beat him to it.
"He's right, you know. Remember, your leadership is somewhat tentative since you took over by force, and public opinion will be significantly lowered if you are seen as abusing the elfling, especially; doubly so since everyone here knows both the prisoners. I would recommend treating them as mercifully as we can manage."
"I never knew your talents could be used for evil," Felrion remarked dryly. He and Tairen had deep conversations about elven psychology now and then, and he knew Tairen was effectively a part-time unofficial advisor to the king, but in his opinion, the younger elf had chosen the wrong side here.
Alagon ignored the healer and mentally debated whether he trusted Tairen—after all, the elf's grandfather seemed to be against Alagon's leadership, though Taensirion was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Tairen seemed sincere enough, however, and he'd tended to follow his father on everything; Alagon was more certain of Ruscan's loyalty than anyone else's except Feren (and that pesky prince, whom the advisor nonetheless wasn't about to trust with anything important). "Very well," he decided reluctantly. "We will untie them for a few minutes every hour, but keep their hands bound and have... hmm... Feren and Ruscan—your father, I mean—keep a close watch on them."
Tairen hid his grin as he bowed; he was loving this week-long psychological experiment and hoped his cousin Sheyni would give a good record of the females' activities.
Heledir wandered over. "So, what are we doing today? Please tell me you know."
"Apparently we're keeping prisoners," Felrion muttered.
Alagon again considered tying him up with the other troublemakers, but decided he'd better avoid any more arrests for now if he could; besides, while he found his brother-in-law (or rather, his wife's brother-in-law) annoying, he didn't think the healer was about to cause any real trouble... probably. "Another sparring tournament?"
"I believe we are still recovering from last time," Heledir declined politely.
"...practice battle formations...?" He suggested hopefully.
"Or," said the Sinda brightly, "we could play a game."
"All right, fine. What game?"
"Hmm. Let me think."
Alagon stood there awkwardly while Heledir thought; Felrion eventually wandered back to the log circle to make sure the ropes weren't chafing Tathor and Galion's skin. "Hmm," said the Sinda finally, in a tone which implied he had thought of an intriguing idea. "Taensirion?" he asked the elf who was wandering past them to check on the king, who was having another bad day and not talking to any of them.
"Yes?"
"Do you remember that... er... recreational activity the young solders used to do in Doriath? You know, the..." He made a hand signal which Alagon interpreted as an elf jumping onto a sled, which then slid downhill. "Or was that after your time?"
Taensirion snorted and put a hand over his eyes. "Yes, we did that. Do not tell me you are thinking of stealing shields?"
"I am amazed that is your objection."
"It sounds safer than many Silvan games, in all honesty... I suppose we could get some from the armory if we do not disclose our intent. Oh, why not?" He grinned. "It would hardly be the only way we have broken the rules this week."
Heledir chuckled. "I was not expecting you to agree so quickly; is the atmosphere getting to you?"
Taensirion shrugged helplessly. "We need to do something, after all."
. . . . . .
"My lord, you may wish to see this," Taensirion called toward Thranduil's tree as he, Ruscan, and Feren returned, bearing three large, leaf-shaped shields each.
Legolas scampered down the tree and the king poked his head out of the leaves to watch as his elfling raced up to the returning elves and asked, "What are those for?"
Taensirion rethought this idea one final time—he just knew this was going to become popular among the young elves—and said, "We are going to show you something we used to do in Doriath."
Heledir was grinning. "All you need," he told the other elves (including Galion and Tathor, who listened attentively from their log), "is a shield of any sort and a steep enough slope—snow is best, but mossy bark will do." Holding one shield, he walked over to the largest tree around the clearing and jumped up onto a long, straight root. "Watch this."
The others watched as he stepped onto the shield and slid down the root, hopping off right before the shield hit the dirt. Heledir bowed.
"Boring," remarked the unimpressed prince. "We need a longer slope."
Feren looked around and pointed upward. "How about up there?"
"No," said Felrion firmly.
Legolas pouted. "Why not?"
"Guess."
Tathor spoke up from behind them. "There's a leaning tree over that way that might work."
The unrestrained elves all wandered in that direction. "Feren, help me move the prisoners," Alagon ordered.
"Can't Tathor try shield-sledding?" Legolas protested.
"No."
The tree—a giant half-fallen trunk stuck in the fork of another tree's branches—was long enough for a full five seconds of sliding, steep and mossy enough to go fast, and wide enough for two elves to slide down at once with only a moderate likelihood of one being knocked off the side. It was a little too high on one side and slippery to earn Felrion's approval, but no one listened to his half-hearted warning, and the elves were soon taking turns sliding down the long trunk, usually to land in the dirt. Only Alagon, Thranduil, and Felrion stayed with the two prisoners—one to guard them, one not wanting to play games today, and the third having brought one of his books to read until someone got hurt.
"Ada, this is fun, come join us!"
"No thank you, Legolas."
"You're no fun," Legolas muttered, and he started to climb up the tree, then remembered his own tactics and ran over to his father. "Please come?"
Thranduil almost did, but Legolas looked so much like the king's lost wife, more so every year... Tears pricked Thranduil's eyes and he looked away, shaking his head. "No, Legolas."
Legolas wilted a little, but he was used to his father's moods by now, and he bravely turned to Alagon instead. "Please may Tathor come play with us?"
"Absolutely not."
"Let the boy go," Thranduil snapped, too harshly. He had hurt his child's feelings, and would not allow Alagon to do the same.
Alagon backed up a step and bent to untie Tathor. "Yes, my lord," he said with rare meekness. "The butler as well?"
"I'm fine where I am, but thank you," Galion assured him cheerfully, seeing that the harsh reprimand had stung Alagon; the advisor-general visited the king's palace quarters often, so the butler knew he prized authority while also not wanting to overstep the king's.
Alagon was confused by the butler's behavior (and even more so when Tathor thanked him before running off with Legolas—did the child not realize his new freedom was only temporary?), but he shook himself mentally and managed to regain most of his lost pride. After all, competition or no competition, the king still outranked him by far and always would.
. . . . . .
"I said DO NOT TALK TO ME RIGHT NOW."
Sheyni squeaked and backed away quickly. "Sorry, Nana!" She left to a safer room, which happened to be the one where Lanthirel, Kilvara, Kimbrel, and Caliel were playing a card game.
Faena made a growling sound and lay back down on the couch; she was unsuccessfully trying to go back to sleep after being woken up for lunch. Aleinia, in fact, was the only one of the four in the living room who had so far managed to do so; she'd stolen Silana's mattress.
"Stop breathing so loudly," muttered Milaera, who had her head under a blanket.
"I can't fix my breathing."
"Try."
"Please shut up." Silana was trying to read by the window; she was the most functional of Lanthirel's three daughters, which wasn't saying much. They'd all inherited their father's inability to deal with sleep deprivation to some extent.
Faena—who was in the worst mood of all—threw one of the couch pillows at her sister.
"Hey!" But Silana caught herself before a real fight could break out, and slid out the window, saying, "This is a bad idea; I'll be on the roof."
Faena and Milaera had only a few seconds of peace before Lanthirel appeared in the doorway, having come to make sure her children were not about to cause each other serious harm. "Where is Silana?"
"On the roof," Milaera answered in as reasonable a tone as possible. "Please leave us alone, Nana."
Faena knew anything she said would come out much more harshly or rudely than it should.
Lanthirel smiled wryly to herself and left without another word, returning to her card game with the red-haired sisters, Caliel (who was yawning constantly due to not having slept in more than a day), and now Sheyni, who luckily took after her father in this case.
. . . . . .
Felrion only whispered "I told you so" under his breath once as he treated Heledir's broken wrist; it was fitting, he thought, that the elf whose idea this had been was the one to get hurt.
"I suppose I deserve this," Heledir mused good-naturedly.
"I'd be inclined to agree," said Felrion, patting his uninjured hand. "This should heal in a week or two." Which was much better than a human or dwarf would get.
The Master of Trade grinned sheepishly. "I do not suppose you could fudge the specifics of how it happened if Faena asks?"
"Nope," said Felrion and Ruscan at the same time.
"Figures. All right, I guess we had better stop tree-sledding."
"So now wha—"
Alagon interrupted Legolas. "Sparring practice. We have neglected it for five days."
"But—"
"I thought we could go swi—"
"Sparring practice." Alagon swept his gaze around the group, daring any of them to challenge his authority.
None did.
. . . . . .
"Are you joking?"
Alagon, being too young to have witnessed the many attempts by various elves to teach Felrion to use knives or swords, arched one dark eyebrow. "You know me better than that, healer; take the blades."
It said a lot, thought Felrion, that his wife's sister's husband had brought a whole bundle of sharp metal rather than just his own shortswords. "I'm not going to humiliate myself for your entertainment."
The eyebrow went even higher. "Funny, I thought standard procedure was for all healers to receive basic combat training."
Taensirion, who knew very, very well how sensitive Felrion was about this topic, tried to step in to prevent the nasty disagreement he saw approaching. "That was after he—"
Alagon snapped his fingers to interrupt the Sinda without looking at him. "Silence."
"...Excuse me?" Taensirion said, more concerned with the rudeness of the gesture than the fact that Alagon was definitely not allowed to shush him in that manner, seeing as they were of equal rank and Taensirion was his senior by more than two millennia in both age and time in the position.
As usual, Alagon paid no attention to him. "You will not fight?" he confirmed of the healer, a dangerous smile growing on his face.
"I don't think so, no." Felrion glared at him, showing no fear.
"Arrest him," Alagon ordered Ruscan and Feren.
"What?" Felrion twisted away, but was grabbed anyway by the two soldiers. "This has gone much too far, Alagon—"
"Has it?" Alagon, unconcerned, looked around at the others. "You voted me into authority, did you not?"
Some of the others shifted uncomfortably, especially Legolas and Heledir; Tathor booed from the stump and was quickly kicked by his father to prevent him from getting beaten up. Alagon flushed slightly but otherwise pretended not to hear.
"Perhaps you are taking your role too seriously," suggested Taensirion, thinking that this game of theirs was getting far out of hand, hopefully only for them and not the she-elves.
Alagon turned to him calmly. "Would you like to join him?"
Now Heledir, Ruscan, Feren, and Tairen all tensed, none of them wanting to tie up Taensirion.
Alagon noticed this and did not wait for Taensirion to finish considering his next words. "I thought not. Watch your mouth, then."
As Alagon oversaw Felrion's imprisonment, Taensirion slipped off to the king's tree, where Thranduil was sitting and staring off into the distance. "Alagon tied up—"
"I DO NOT CARE, TAENSIRION!"
The advisor shrank back, realizing he had caught the king at a very bad moment; still, Thranduil was the only one likely to stop Alagon's power grab, so he dared to say, "If you would only—"
"Go."
"Plea—"
"Go!"
. . . . . .
At Lanthirel's house that evening, dinner was a mostly quiet affair—mainly to avoid provoking the wrath of the host's three grouchy daughters, and to keep from waking up Caliel, who finally passed out with her face in a bowl of salad (from which she was soon removed to prevent choking). Oddly enough, Kimbrel was feeling better than most of them—sleep deprivation seemed to leave her meek and mildly confused—and thus Aleinia was able to engage her in an amiable whispered conversation while Lanthirel and Kilvara debated how to greet the males when they returned in a little over a day and a half; Faena, Milaera, and Silana ate quickly so they could go back to bed; and Sheyni read a book in silence.
. . . . . .
"Leave them."
"You mean... all night?" asked Tairen in surprise as he stopped untying the prisoners.
"No, I mean all year," Alagon sneered sarcastically before walking away.
Galion and Tathor bowed their heads in silent acceptance, but Felrion glared as Tairen retied his bonds. "You're really going along with him?"
Tairen grinned unashamedly. "C'mon, Felrion, it is only a game. No hard feelings, right?"
Felrion glared at him. "I hope someday someone ties you up all night." Even Sky had never left him tied for more than a few hours.
"Sorry," said Tairen. "Of course, you may not be here all night." Before any of them could ask what he meant, he was on his way to his sleeping tree.
"It's okay, Felrion," said Tathor optimistically. "At least it's a nice night."
It was indeed; it was warm out, a soft breeze created a soothing rustling in the leaves, and they had a good view of the stars for being on the ground. Felrion still grumbled until his apprentice stopped trying to cheer him up.
Soon all elven movement in the immediate area ceased, and after a while, Felrion's muscles began to cramp. He soon gave up on finding a better position and tried to distract himself by wondering what Kilvara was doing right now... hopefully sleeping.
"Psst!"
Galion and Tathor jumped, startled, while Felrion merely turned his head. "Legolas!" he whispered, a sudden hope rising in him that he might not have to spend the night here after all.
The nearly-grown elfling grinned at them from under the hood of the cloak hiding his blond hair. "We're gonna go hide in the forest until it is time to go home," he told them, wasting no time in setting his nimble fingers to work on Tathor's ropes.
"Didn't Alagon post a guard?" Felrion worried.
Legolas winked and pointed at himself.
. . . . . .
Tairen watched as four dark shapes snuck into the trees and went back down laden with bundles, probably entirely of their own possessions in at least three of their cases. The half-Sinda had thought this might happen; the young prince's best friend and two of his role models had been tied to a stump, and Alagon was bad at both reading facial cues and taking elflings seriously, so the likely outcome was clear when Legolas took the second watch. Tairen, being not entirely cold-hearted and wanting to see where this might go, was willing to help their cause.
It seemed to him that there was another elf who ought to go with him, one who might face Alagon's wrath otherwise and possibly go after the rebels anyway. Tairen found an acorn that had fallen into his hammock, lined up his shot, and lobbed the nut at his sleeping grandfather's head before pretending to be asleep himself.
. . . . . .
Taensirion was startled awake by a stinging sensation on his forehead, but was distracted by movement nearby. His first thought was that Thranduil might need his help, but no, this blond elf was too small—smaller even than Legolas. Tathor?
Wait...
. . . . . .
"I've got everything," Tathor whispered after scurrying down the tree. "I even stole some of the peppermint candies you saw Feren eating, Legolas." He glanced at his father to make sure this was allowed.
"He had candy and didn't tell us?" said Galion, taking one from the bag; Feren hadn't exactly been nice over the past day.
Legolas nudged them and gestured for them and Felrion to follow him. "Let's go before anyone wakes up and sees us."
But before they had gone ten steps, they were startled by Taensirion's voice. "Where are you going?"
They all turned around and grinned guiltily in the darkness. "We're escaping," Felrion told him truthfully.
"Not back to the she-elves," Legolas made sure to state.
"Can't we?" Galion asked wistfully.
"No," said Legolas.
Taensirion held up his hand to quiet them. "May I come with you?"
"What about the king?" Galion reminded him.
Taensirion had not thought of that. "It is only for one day," he murmured eventually. "And Tairen has done a lot of work with grieving elves; he should be able to handle anything that happens. I believe Thranduil will be all right."
"I have an idea," Legolas whispered, and he slipped away. He returned only moments later with Taensirion's possessions, all stuffed hastily into their bag. "I used your ink and some paper," he told the Sinda.
"Ah." Taensirion understood. "Come on, then." The five elves darted off into the night.
In his hammock above them, Tairen chuckled to himself.
. . . . . .
"Why's it so dark?" Galion muttered after tripping over a root for the third time.
"Because there's barely a moon tonight and we're on the forest floor so no one will see us in case they come looking, which means we're under lots of leaves," Tathor explained helpfully.
"Right," muttered the butler.
"Can you really not see?" Taensirion, ahead of them because he was moving much more easily in the thick brush, paused to wait.
"I can sort of see, but mostly the trees are guiding me," announced Legolas, who was hopping from root to branch to root in a manner that caused Tathor to acquire multiple scrapes when he tried to imitate it. Of course, the prince wasn't going to mention that he knew how to do this because he'd been sneaking out of the palace lately to explore at night (not that it would've changed anything if he had, since Taensirion and Galion already knew due to Thranduil finding out and choosing not to fight the elfling on this one since the forests were quite safe these days).
"Something just touched me," Tathor informed them without much alarm. "I guess it probably wasn't a ghost?"
"It was one of those big black moths," Taensirion told him. "There are a lot of them fluttering around."
The others looked around but couldn't see anything, causing Tathor to sigh regretfully.
"By the way, where are we going?" Taensirion asked curiously.
They all looked at each other, except for Legolas, who said, "You'll see; we are nearly there. Do you hear the creek?"
Each elf cocked a pointed ear in their direction of travel, then nodded to themselves. A few minutes later, they arrived at a patch of weeping willows around a small pond; Legolas led them into the middle where they would be fully hidden. "I can keep watch," the prince volunteered, already ducking back outside.
"You should sleep," Galion protested.
"Nah."
"Just like his mother," Felrion sighed.
. . . . . .
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE GONE?!"
Heledir (behind whom Ruscan, Tairen, and Firith were hiding) somehow stayed calm. "I mean Legolas apparently untied them and they all ran off. Sir."
Alagon seemed about to burst something. "Even Taensirion?! WHICH of you was supposed to be on watch?!"
"He switches to Silvan when he's upset," Tairen realized; he found this fascinating due to Alagon's preference normally being for formal Sindarin.
"What was that?" Alagon snapped, indeed in Silvan.
"Firith! It was Firith!" Tairen shoved the blond elf out from behind Heledir, and Firith stood frozen in utter terror. "Or rather," he added so poor Firith didn't get punished, "he would have been on watch after Legolas, had the prince woken him up."
Alagon stared at Firith until the young elf panicked and ran away, then snarled a few choice words in Silvan and stomped off, since he knew better than to insult the prince within hearing range of Thranduil, assuming the king was even awake. Some help the monarch had been this week.
As a matter of fact, Thranduil was awake—just rereading the note his son had left as he waited for the yelling to settle down.
Ada, it said in the elegant cursive Legolas had been forced to learn for the sake of the prince's script being readable later in life, I cannot stand Alagon's treatment of my friends anymore, so I have rescued Tathor, Galion, and Felrion. Taen is coming with us as well. I hope you will not worry, as I am nearly an adult and know the forest very well.
Also, Taen and Galion are worried about you—they are afraid you may have one of your bad days tomorrow and need their help. I know you are more resilient than that, but I hope I will have friends as good as them when I get older.
See you tomorrow,
Legolas
Sometimes it was nice to know that the sweet elfling of a few years ago was still there underneath the young anarchist currently living in Thranduil's house... and that Legolas could write a proper letter when he so desired.
. . . . . .
"Good morning, everyone. I am sorry I was such a bear yesterday..." Faena smiled apologetically as she joined the others for breakfast.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Kilvara mumbled around a mouthful of eggs. "Last day together, everyone—what should we do?"
Kimbrel grumbled something unintelligible at her.
"One would think you two switched personalities yesterday," Aleinia remarked, pointing at Kimbrel and then Faena with her fork.
Caliel, meanwhile, elbowed Kimbrel, who grunted irritably. "Cheer up; Alagon'll be back tomorrow around noon."
Kimbrel perked up noticeably. "True."
"Why don't we just relax?" Aleinia suggested. "We could have a picnic, and maybe play some games?"
"I would like to go swimming," Silana added.
"Sounds perfect to me," said Lanthirel. "Any protests?"
There were none.
. . . . . .
"...trees will not tell me anything..." Alagon muttered as he paced next to the log circle.
"Calm down and come eat, will you?" Heledir called to him (only to be ignored). "Which reminds me, thank you for cooking, Firith."
"I'm glad I could be of service."
Thranduil—in an unusually cheerful mood for the most part—patted the young elf's shoulder almost fondly and said, "I doubt you will convince the trees to give you Legolas's location, Alagon; even I can rarely do so anymore."
"That is what I said," the advisor growled.
"Sit down and eat," Thranduil ordered in his king voice, "and then we shall strategize, agreed?"
Look who just now remembered we existed, Alagon thought (but wisely kept to himself).
. . . . . .
"I wonder if they've noticed we stole half their food supplies," Felrion wondered.
Galion shrugged. "I'll bet Firith cooked; he wouldn't say anything... hey, about what I said last night."
Taensirion, reclined against the tree until this moment, now sat up and cleared his throat. "About that, indeed—I think we ought to complete the week, Galion. Hear me out, if you will? While I am ready enough to swallow my pride and go home—Lanthirel already knows I get homesick every time I have to travel—I believe this contest is quite important to some of our friends, to prove they are, as the humans would say, 'manly' enough."
Legolas was caught off guard by the realization that they were allowed to talk about this now.
"I miss Kilvara," Felrion admitted, automatically checking over his shoulder for Alagon, the no-feelings rule having been thoroughly beaten into all of them over the two days it was in effect. "But I'll stay out here another day to..." He coughed, then continued under his breath, "...remind myself how to be independent."
Taensirion and Galion laughed. "Is that how it is?" the former chuckled.
"Just... I mean... I love her and I know how lucky I am, but... to not have to tell anyone every tiny thing I did all day, you know?"
Taensirion and Galion started to answer, then realized they were probably the ones who wanted to know every detail of their spouses' lives in their marriages and stopped in mild confusion.
"I miss Nana and Lanthirel and Kilvara," Tathor put in when no one talked for a few moments. "And Silana. But I'm good with it if you want to stick out the last day."
The others nodded, then looked at Legolas, who looked down. "I do not really have anyone to miss, I guess."
Felrion put his hand on the prince's knee, Taensirion hugged him, and Galion and Tathor gave him mournful looks.
"Mmph! Taen!" The prince wriggled away and scrunched his nose at the advisor, though he was secretly grateful for the support. "Also, we will have to get back at Alagon and his lackeys somehow."
Felrion looked around at their little band of five and said, "I'm not sure we're the best group for revenge, princeling. Sorry."
A grin slowly spread across Legolas's face. "Challenge accepted."
. . . . . .
"You do not like babies?!" Faena gasped, sitting bolt-upright to stare at Kimbrel. All the she-elves were sitting or lying in the grass after swimming in a calm part of the river (even Kimbrel had eventually been coaxed into the water by Caliel, who was pretty good at coaxing given her two rather cautious children).
"They're loud and gross and needy," the red-haired elf said contemptuously.
"They are sweet and adorable and precious!"
Caliel defended her new friend. "Not all she-elves have to be obsessed with babies; I like them all right, but I don't love them unless they're mine."
"Alagon doesn't like elflings, either, so they make a good pair." Kilvara sniffed disdainfully, much as Kimbrel had at the mention of infants a few moments ago.
"We have agreed never to have children," Kimbrel confirmed scornfully and without looking at her older sister.
Lanthirel looked around at her daughters and oldest granddaughter and remarked, "You do not know what you are missing, I think."
"Morning sickness, swollen feet, labor pains, night feedings, spitting up, toilet training, screaming tantrums?"
"How do you know about all that?" wondered Kilvara.
"Kyra."
"Figures. That's our sister," Kilvara explained for those who didn't know, which was most of them because Kyra lived way up north with her husband, a weaponsmith. "She raised five daughters."
"Impressive," said Silana. "And she was permanently scarred?"
"That, or she's loved to complain since birth. Who knows?"
. . . . . .
"So we do not know where they are," Alagon repeated.
"Nope," said Ruscan.
"And we cannot track them because the prince, a forty-year-old elfling, has a closer connection with the trees than any of you and will sense us coming."
"Forty-four," Thranduil corrected, and was ignored.
"And none of you have any ideas."
"Nope." Ruscan.
"Not really, no." Tairen.
"I do not." Heledir.
"Nor I." Thranduil.
"Sorry." Feren.
Firith wasn't even sure which side he was on, or why everyone found it necessary to pick sides to begin with. They'd been civilized a day ago... Sort of.
The elves thought silently for a while.
Heledir began, "I wonder if they went ba—"
"We are staying," Alagon interrupted him.
"I said th—"
"If they surrendered, all the more reason for us to stay for the final day and prove we are strong, even if they are not." The red-haired elf glared around at the others.
Thranduil would have been laughing once, but now his face showed no humor despite his words as he said, "Though you may not have noticed, this is not actually a war."
"On the contrary!" Alagon objected. "The consequences if we lose—"
Ruscan snorted, interrupting the rant, and leaned back against the log he was sitting against. "Consequences, huh?"
Heledir gave an amused sort of groan and lay down lengthwise on the log; Feren openly laughed, while Thranduil decided he was tired of this whole adventure. Firith continued polishing the frying pan as he'd been doing for a while now, trying to look unimportant.
Tairen, on the other hand, leaned over his log and propped his chin on his hand. "Don't tell me you think you will lose your wife's respect over something like this."
Alagon opened his mouth and then closed it.
Tairen wrote that down. "I see."
"I worry about you," Heledir told Alagon, shaking his head and chuckling.
"I—" The Silvan elf snapped his mouth shut and deliberately looked away.
Tairen turned to the others and shrugged; Ruscan and Heledir both mouthed "Leave him alone" scoldingly.
"So," Thranduil said finally, "we are not going after Legolas and the others, I take it?"
"They are probably back with the she-elves already," Alagon muttered grumpily.
. . . . . .
"Why are we doing this again?" Galion wondered, wincing repeatedly as he gingerly touched his spare shirt against the bark of an aspen tree.
Legolas grabbed the shirt from him and began aggressively rubbing it against the tree. "It's the plan."
Galion made a whimpering sound.
"It's okay, Ada, it washes out," Tathor said from a few trees over, where he'd crawled halfway up a tree trunk to reach more of the powdery white stuff found on aspen bark. The elfling seemed confident, as if he knew what they were doing... or maybe he just really trusted Legolas.
Galion turned to Taensirion to ask for help, but he and Felrion were obediently covering their own garments with the chalky white stuff, so the butler dejectedly returned to deliberately staining his clothing... oh, the horror!
. . . . . .
"And then there was the time Sky and Storm and the prince and I pranked Felrion by rearranging his entire house," Kilvara mumbled sleepily. "He was so confused; you should've seen him turning in circles trying to figure out whose home he'd walked into. Best prank ever."
"One morning I covered the windows and tried to convince Taensirion we were still in Doriath," Lanthirel offered, leaning on the back of the couch Kilvara was on. "He said he did not believe me because he could hear birds that only live in Greenwood."
"When Firith was learning to walk, I taught him to push a little tray with a fancy breakfast into the bedroom so Galion thought for a second that he'd learned to cook," said Caliel, while munching one of the biscuits left from their picnic.
"Occasionally I change outfits throughout the day to see if Heledir notices," Faena sighed. "He usually does not."
Milaera giggled. "I have put hot pepper in Ruscan's wine before."
"My husband and I had a little bird statue we hid in all sorts of places," Aleinia remembered with a sad smile.
Silana yawned. "I once helped Sky dye Storm's hair all black when he was asleep; even he admitted it looked good."
Everyone looked at Kimbrel expectantly.
"You think I'd prank Alagon?" Kimbrel was appalled.
"I suppose he does not seem like the type to appreciate pranks," Lanthirel admitted.
Silana poked Kimbrel. "I dare you to try one on him."
"I'll help you if you want," Caliel offered.
"Mm..." Kimbrel wasn't sure about this.
"C'mon," said Silana.
"No."
Caliel grinned widely. "Are you sure?"
"I am, but... thanks? I guess?" Kimbrel wrinkled her nose at her new friend.
Kilvara smirked at her sister, then asked, "Does that answer your question, Sheyni?"
Faena's daughter nodded as she finished writing on the clipboard Tairen had lent her to collect data for him. "That's perfect, thanks."
. . . . . .
"Wow."
"You want to make some? I'll show you how."
"No thanks, 'Las." Tathor knelt down to examine the strange arrows the prince was making—really just straight, thin sticks with holly leaves as fletching and lumps of clay for heads. "I have to help Felrion and Taen dig the pit, but won't these break when they hit anything?"
Legolas winked. "That's the point; the question is whether they will shoot straight enough."
"Huh. Cool."
. . . . . .
"This is depressing," Feren said. He was sitting on a branch with his two brothers-in-law and his nephew, watching as the king sat against a tree with his eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched; Firith fidgeted and occasionally took a few rebellious steps away from the log circle before glancing around guiltily and returning; and Alagon paced and muttered.
The other three nodded. "I see two elves who've snapped, and one who's about to," observed Ruscan.
Heledir raised an eyebrow. "Which one is about to?"
"Firith."
"Firith's always been a bit crazy," Feren objected.
"He has a strong inclination to seek harmony and order but a highly logic-based thought structure, combined with a perfectionistic inclination and unusual attention to detail," said Tairen, looking at his notes.
Heledir and Ruscan exchanged looks. "Four. Four not-quite-sane elves," corrected the former.
Ruscan shrugged. "Milaera and I tried, all right?"
Feren's brow furrowed. "By the way, are we allowed to talk about the she-elves now? Who's in charge?"
"To be honest, I haven't a clue," Heledir answered honestly.
"Every elf for himself?" Ruscan offered.
"I mean, if you want to make Alagon mad at us..." The Sinda scratched his chin. "We could always go home; I have no preference anymore. I miss Faena, but it sounds as though the she-elves are having fun, and I am not sure I want to explain what happened to my wrist." Said wrist was now in a brace, and had gotten him out of gathering firewood the previous night.
Feren flicked his shoulder reproachfully. "C'mon, it's only one more day."
"True, true... Tairen, stop that." Heledir narrowed his eyes at his nephew.
"Stop what?" Tairen asked innocently, his eyes on his three relatives while his hand (and a thin stick of graphite) darted back and forth across his clipboard, recording observations. Uncle Heledir continues to be less competitive than Ada and Uncle Feren...
. . . . . .
"Lord Taensirion, report?"
"The you-know-whats are ready, my prince."
"Thank you." Legolas turned to Felrion, trying to imitate his father; he'd had too much fun directing their efforts today. "And you, healer?"
"The thing's ready, and we're ready for the other thing." Felrion's mouth twitched, but he forced it back into a straight line.
"Galion?"
"The, uh... I'm ready to... yeah." Galion cleared his throat. "I got everything."
"Well done. And you, Tathor?"
His friend bowed with great seriousness. "I have done the task and am prepared for the event, O lord prince."
Felrion and Taensirion both coughed to hide their laughter at the elfling's solemnity.
"Well done, my army." Legolas folded his hands behind his back. "For Greenwood!"
"For Greenwood!" Taensirion, Felrion, and Galion echoed dutifully.
Tathor raised his hand. "Isn't the enemy also fighting for Greenwood?"
"Good point." Legolas frowned. "For revenge!"
"For revenge!" said Taensirion, Felrion, and Galion.
Tathor considered this. "But nothing happened to you and Taen."
"We're getting revenge for our friends," the prince explained.
"Oh, okay. For revenge!"
"For revenge!" repeated Taensirion, trying not to giggle.
Legolas gave the advisor his best imitation of a stern glare. "Lord Taensirion, I wonder if you are properly aware of the magnitude of our task?"
"Apologies, my lord," the Sinda apologized with a low bow and an absolute absence of amusement at how well Legolas could copy his father's speech patterns. "I shall try to keep a proper attitude from now on."
Legolas raised an eyebrow in a very Thranduil-like manner. "Are we prepared?"
Galion and Tathor raised their hands.
"Yes?"
"Do we really have to do this? It seems... well... kind of mean," said the butler. Tathor nodded in complete agreement.
Felrion snorted. "They tied us to a stump; seems fair."
"We are not doing anything too cruel," Taensirion reminded the two. "Only messing with them a bit."
Legolas thought it might turn into more than that, but kept his concerns to himself. "Are you in or out?" he asked Galion and Tathor.
"In," Tathor promised immediately, and after a moment of reluctance, Galion echoed him.
The prince looked around at the darkening forest, his eyes turned almost green by the gold glow of dusk. "Then let's go."
. . . . . .
Ruscan sat bolt-upright in his hammock. "What was that?"
Heledir yawned and looked over at his friend. "Probably a ghost," he joked.
The Silvan elf gulped. "See, that's what it looked like..."
"Hmm? Go to sleep, you are seeing things."
Ruscan shook himself, knowing Heledir was right, and was just lying down again when Heledir yelped.
"What was that? Did you see—?" His head whipped back and forth, looking in no particular direction. "Something hit me!"
Ruscan's sarcastic response was interrupted by a blow to his side, knocking him partly out of his hammock; as he scrambled back in, he caught a glimpse of something white in the branches nearby. He was too distracted to notice the shattered arrow tumbling to the ground. "See, there it is again!"
Tairen poked his head over the side of his hammock above them. "What is going on?"
"Ghosts!" they both hissed.
"I never thought you two were the type to imagine things."
Ruscan was too alarmed to think of a comeback. "I swear, something hit me—"
Heledir shushed him. "Look over there!"
Two pale forms watched them from the darkness, one a little taller than the other and holding a bow.
"Oh, those ghosts," said Tairen, whose voice was suddenly a bit higher-pitched.
Heledir frowned and pulled himself up onto his branch for a better view. "Hold on, are those—THEY ARE NOT STANDING ON ANYTHING, HOW ON ARDA—" He yelled and scrambled away, followed by Tairen and Ruscan. The three jumped to Feren's tree. "FEREN, WAKE UP!"
"Mm, wha?"
"What's going on?!" Firith called from nearby.
"GHOSTS!" Ruscan, Heledir, and Tairen shouted together.
"Ghosts aren't r—"
Firith screamed.
So did some of the others, and then they all fell silent. "Firith?" Feren called uncertainly, squinting into the gloom. The two pale shapes had by now vanished.
The blond elf hurtled onto their branch, causing more yelps. "Something grabbed me!"
"Where is it n—Is that blood?!" Tairen jumped back, staring at Firith's clothes, which were stained with something dark.
"It's—it's not mine," Firith stammered.
"What is going ON over here?!" Alagon appeared on the next tree over, angrily pulling on his cloak.
"There's something—"
"Ghosts—"
"They grabbed—"
"Floating—"
"Blood everywhere—"
"QUIET!"
They shut up, some hyperventilating more than others.
"Ghosts are not real. You are not children. Go. To. BED!" Alagon was not happy about being woken up.
They all traded glances. "But there were—" Tairen dared to say.
Alagon made a growling noise. "GO!"
The others huddled closer together.
Alagon pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked closer and wrinkled his nose. "Firith, what is on your—" A primal shriek came from somewhere in the darkness, and Alagon jumped despite himself. So did all the others. "SHOW YOURSELF!" he bellowed at the forest, then had an idea and reached out mentally to the trees. Who is there?
Blood, thought the trees. Blood hate KILL!
Alagon froze and his eyes went wide.
"What do we do?!" Firith squeaked, and all the elves looked to Alagon for guidance.
The fierce advisor-general swallowed hard and called, "King Thranduil?"
No answer.
The elves stood in silence for a few seconds, too scared to move.
Creeeaaaaaaakkkkk...
"What is that?" Heledir yelped.
Alagon stepped closer, though his eyes were glued to the darkness as well. "Everyone stay ca—"
"It's the TREES!"
"THEY WANT TO KILL US, LISTEN!"
"RUN! GET TO THE GROUND!"
Alagon was torn between keeping up the appearance of being in control and staying within the safety of the group. After a very brief hesitation and another creeeaakkk, he chose the latter and bolted down after the others.
. . . . . .
"Thranduil?"
The king's hands loosened their grip over his ears, and his eyes, which had been squeezed shut, now blinked at his surroundings in confusion. "...was it not a dream? The screaming?"
Galion moved closer in concern. "Were you having a nightmare?"
Thranduil stared at his butler in almost childlike bewilderment for another moment before his features hardened. "Leave me."
Galion wanted to argue, but he knew better. "Yes, sir." He'd wanted to check on the king, but hadn't realized the effect the surrounding shrieks of terror would have. "Legolas and the rest of us are playing a prank on the others," he felt he should explain.
Thranduil ignored him.
"I'm sorry," Galion whispered before running to rejoin the others.
. . . . . .
"Did you see Alagon's face?" Legolas snorted as he coiled the thin ropes they'd used to hang from a branch.
"I don't know if I like this prank," Tathor mumbled.
"C'mon, they will think it is funny in the morning."
"Think so?"
"I promise. And tell Felrion the fake blood is perfect."
. . . . . .
"Now what?!"
"I don't know... the trees are everywhere!"
"Maybe if we get out of the area, they won't be so angry?"
"Everyone look at me!" Alagon had regained his composure, and now he regarded them with disappointment. "This is clearly all a—"
Feren gave a strangled gasp. "Alagon," he whispered, "look up..."
He did, a chill going down his spine though he would never admit it, and mere feet away he saw an elven form, its whitish outline eerily lit by a weak shaft of moonlight and splashed with red liquid. Its face was so marked by blood that Alagon couldn't even tell if it was male or female. The thing watched him, perfectly still.
The others began to back away slowly. "Alagon?" Feren hissed.
The red-haired elf didn't react, too horrified to move.
"Alagon!" Heledir snapped.
Alagon had gone deathly pale, and several of the elves wondered if he'd simply died where he stood and forgotten to fall. Finally Firith—Firith!—dashed forward and yanked the paralyzed elf away. As he did so, the ghost let out an unearthly shriek and lunged at them.
The elves screamed and scattered.
Ruscan and Heledir dashed one way—the former dragging his son behind him—and almost immediately tripped over something. When they recovered, Heledir was gone.
Ruscan grabbed Tairen and pushed the younger elf behind him, though he was smaller than the half-Sinda. "Heledir?" he choked out.
Silence, aside from a scream a short distance away that sounded like it belonged to Feren.
"Uncle Heledir?" Tairen tried.
Something dark and wet landed on Ruscan's arm, and the Silvan elf almost threw up as he looked up and saw a tawny-haired form hanging there upside-down, squirming slightly. "Heledir? Are you... still alive?"
"Mm mmimimriom," the trapped elf mumbled around the gag that was apparently in his mouth, oddly sounding more annoyed than terrified.
Ruscan, oblivious to this, sorted out which tree his friend was hung from and started toward it. "Stay close, Tai—" He cried out as the ground gave out under him. Tairen quickly tumbled into the pit after him, and strangely familiar laughter sounded.
"I should feel guilty, but somehow I think you deserved that."
"Grandfather!" Tairen yelled indignantly, struggling to remove himself from Ruscan.
. . . . . .
Feren and Firith raced in a different direction, only to almost collide with a ghostly form floating a few feet off the ground. Feren screamed and whirled around, Firith sprinting to keep up, but then there was another ghost, and another, herding them toward some unknown place. All the while, the trees creaked and groaned, their thoughts radiating rage toward the frightened Silvan elves.
Suddenly Firith grabbed Feren's arm. "Wait!"
Feren skidded to a stop, his eyes darting around to see what terrible thing they'd run into this time.
"Feren, ghosts aren't real!"
He started to point out that this wasn't really the time for that sort of thinking, but then the full force of the young elf's assertation hit him. "...they're not, are they?"
"So why are we running?"
"And what are we running from? ...Legolas!"
Firith grinned weakly.
"Shh!" Feren ducked down, seeing a flash of pale gray nearby. "Look, they can't see us as well as we can see them, so let's hide..." He crouched in a stand of ferns. "...and when they come..." He made a pouncing sign with his hands.
"But what if..."
"Ghosts aren't real, Firith," Feren reminded him confidently.
"But the trees!"
"Legolas," he said in explanation. The prince was already gaining a reputation. "Now, shh..."
A "ghost" appeared, then another, and they paused and looked around, wondering where their quarry could have gone.
"GO!" Feren launched himself at one of the "ghosts", knocking it to the ground, and Firith did the same with the other. "It's Legolas!" Feren yelled gleefully.
"Ada?" Firith jumped back in surprise.
Feren was not so forgiving, and Legolas yelped, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as he was pummeled.
"Feren, don't do that!" Firith ran over and tried to pull the other elf off his friend.
"Hey!" As Feren was distracted, Legolas squirmed out of his grasp and ran away. "Come back here, you little goblin!"
. . . . . .
Felrion was amazed by how easy it was to terrify Alagon out of his wits.
The healer had his brother-in-law cornered against a tree, and since Alagon was shielding his face with one hand and cowering against the bark, Felrion took the opportunity to stalk closer. As far as he was concerned, Alagon had this coming for being such a bully these last few days, and (in Felrion's opinion), for his whole life.
Alagon gritted his teeth against the pitiful whimper that came from his mouth as he waited for the blow to fall; he hoped fleetingly that his death wouldn't upset Kimbrel too terribly. Then again, it occurred to him that she might be the only one who would mourn his passing. That thought upset him more than he would have expected.
Many beats of his pounding heart slipped by. The strike did not come.
"Not so tough without your army, are you?"
Was that...?
Alagon straightened up and stood in one motion, staring down the ghost, who suddenly seemed much smaller. "Felrion..." His eyes blazed with a predatory glint. One did not humiliate Alagon without severe consequences.
The healer gulped, suddenly remembering that he, who couldn't even outfight his very young apprentice, had just antagonized the elf who'd once cracked one of Thranduil's ribs.
Felrion ran for his life, Alagon right behind him.
. . . . . .
"I think you broke my wrist worse," Heledir muttered at his father-in-law as the four of them walked back in the general direction of the log circle, three of them glaring at the other. "How did you do that, anyway? One would think you had practice tackling people and shoving gags in their mouths."
"Sheer determination," said Taensirion. "And I am sorry, I forgot you had a broken wrist and I did not want to frighten Ruscan too much by taking Tairen."
Heledir deliberately looked away.
"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! HELP!"
"Is that Felrion?" Taensirion broke into a run, followed by the others (who tripped a few times in the darkness), and they quickly discovered the source of the shouting. "Oh my—Alagon, I think that is quite enough—" The Sinda tried to pry his furious coworker off the healer, who was curled in a ball to protect himself, but it took Heledir and Ruscan helping him to rescue Felrion. "What happened?"
"He," said Felrion, brushing himself indignantly (and feeling much braver now that he'd been rescued), "has quite a fear of ghosts, don't you, Alagon?"
"That is hardly what it looked like," Taensirion said, stepping between the two of them, and still hanging on to Alagon, who had Felrion fixed with a death glare. "Though," he added to Alagon as an afterthought, "you did appear rather terrified when you first saw him." He made the fatal mistake of letting go of Alagon as he chuckled and said, "This is going to make a good story to tell our wives."
There was a crack and suddenly Taensirion and Alagon were rolling in the grass, the latter's wrath and element of surprise more than a match for the Sinda's greater strength and experience.
. . . . . .
"Ow! Feren! Get off!"
"Apologize first, and promise not to breathe a word of this to Silana," the older elf ordered, grinning as he pinned the struggling prince to the ground.
"Never!" Legolas declared, writhing ineffectively... until a small blond-haired ball of fury slammed into his captor.
"GET—OFF—MY—FRIEND!" Tathor yelled, punching and kicking Feren until Legolas struggled free and joined him in beating up his former attacker.
. . . . . .
"Such violence," Firith remarked to his father as they watched the fighting below. "And they've got Tathor in on it..."
Galion nodded in total agreement.
"Why Tairen, look who it is."
The two looked up to see Ruscan and his son perched on a branch above them.
"Funny prank," said Ruscan. "Now it's our turn. You have until the count of ten to run."
"This isn't nice," Galion protested, while Firith bolted.
Tairen shrugged. "It is not nice to scare elves out of their wits, either. We were going to beat up Grandfather as soon as he turned his back, but Alagon got him first. Now—six, five, four..."
Galion yelped, "Legolas made me do it!" but wisely ran after Firith as he spoke. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a head start.
. . . . . .
"Alagon broke my nose," Taensirion complained when he finally found his way back to the camp the next morning.
"So I gathered," said Thranduil with a raised eyebrow. "Breakfast?"
"Did you cook that?" Taensirion asked, feeling his nose to check that he'd finally gotten it set straight.
The king nodded toward Galion, who was nursing his injuries and sending nasty looks at Ruscan, who was, if anything, in even worse shape. "The cook was otherwise occupied."
"Who started this stupid game?" muttered Felrion, holding a poultice to his impressive black eye, which, now that the fake blood was washed off his face, was only one of many visible bruises.
"I wonder," said Thranduil.
"Shut up."
Nearby, Heledir and Firith—the former's wrist having had a week or two added to the time it would take to heal, and the latter having only a bloody nose and a few other injuries since Tairen had taken it easy on him—were being treated by Tathor (who was the least injured of all with only a cut above his eye). Next to them, Legolas was joking with Feren and Tairen; all three had a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises (and in one case, several bite marks courtesy of Tathor), but they were the most cheerful of the group.
Thranduil watched with great interest as the last of the group limped into camp—Alagon had several impressive bruises and winced often, rubbing his side; indeed, he seemed to be in worse shape than most of the elves, including the one sitting next to the king. "Why, Taensirion," remarked Thranduil with considerable surprise, "did you win?"
"Hmm?" Taensirion looked up and saw Alagon, who gave him a look and stalked to the other side of the log circle. "Oh, that. Yes, you could say I did."
Thranduil remembered a certain incident earlier that week and wondered if Taensirion should watch his back for a while, having embarrassed Alagon twice within the span of a few days. "Odd, I seem to remember him having a reputation for winning fistfights as a young soldier."
Taensirion shrugged nonchalantly and said, "I believe I had my own reputation once."
"...I beg your pardon?"
But the advisor only smiled and sipped his tea.
. . . . . .
"Here they are, Nana—Oh, my!" Silana burst out laughing.
Lanthirel put the last touches on Caliel's makeup—the she-elves had to look pretty for their husbands, after all—and joined her daughter at the window. She, too, was greatly amused by the male elves' appearance as they filed out of the forest, eyeing each other warily. "Well, girls, it seems there was a slight disagreement among our husbands; shall we show them how we fared?"
The she-elves drifted over to the door and, at Lanthirel's signal, filed out and down the steps. They'd been up since early that morning selecting dresses and doing each other's hair and makeup, and now, to an elf, were positively radiant. The men, not so much.
"Hello," said Lanthirel pleasantly as the two groups met in the open space in front of her house. "Did you have a good week?"
Taensirion, whose nose was still swollen, declined to answer.
Lanthirel and Kilvara traded looks, and the she-elves all took a moment to look smug.
"Let's never do that again," muttered Felrion, just loudly enough for the she-elves to hear him.
Kilvara grinned. "So, you admit you need me?"
"We all would've been fine if not for him—" Felrion pointed at Alagon, who bristled.
"I would like to see you lead—"
"Enough," said Thranduil, stepping between them. "And Alagon, remind me to never again put you in a leadership position without some sort of supervision."
Alagon had the decency to hang his head, while Taensirion smirked ever-so-slightly.
Thranduil raised an eyebrow at his second advisor. "Need I remind you who was voted out of office due to his ineffective policies?"
Taensirion blushed.
"I did not see you doing anything to help," Alagon muttered at the king.
Taensirion raised an eyebrow. "Nor did I, come to think of it."
Thranduil narrowed his eyes at both of them, then spun on his heel and walked away. "Come along, Legolas."
The prince bade farewell to his friends and trotted off.
Taensirion turned back to his wife and grinned sheepishly. "It could have gone better."
Lanthirel laughed and swept forward to embrace him. "I missed you. Is your nose broken?"
"It... might be..."
The other couples quickly followed their example. Kilvara clucked disapprovingly as she ran her fingers over Felrion's swollen eye. "Who did this?"
"Alagon," he muttered irritably.
"I'll get him back for you," she promised, and she kissed him.
Faena ran to throw her arms at Heledir, then sighed and shook her head at the brace on his wrist. "Heledir, love..."
"Sorry," he said meekly.
Milaera chuckled at Ruscan's injuries; after a quick welcome-home kiss, she cheekily inquired who had done this to him, and snorted in a very unladylike manner when he grudgingly indicated Galion.
Caliel gave Galion a good, long smooch on the cheek. "Hi! What happened to your face?"
He blushed. "Mm... we played a prank..."
"You played a prank? Wow, character growth. Where are my kiddos?" She bear-hugged both Firith and Tathor and demanded to hear what they'd done since she'd last seen her younger son.
Kimbrel shyly trotted up to Alagon and squeezed herself against his side; while he gave her a quick peck on the lips and pretended to go back to watching the others, his hand came up to stroke her hair and he pressed a shy kiss to her hair when no one was looking. Internally, he was trying to figure out if this hug meant she'd missed him more than usual.
Silana tackled Feren, yelling, "Welcome back!" and then let him up so Aleinia could hug him and fret over his injuries. Off to the side, Tairen and Sheyni hugged and then quietly exchanged notes.
"Hey, Kimbrel," Caliel piped up suddenly, breaking away from her sons and running up to her new friend. "Want to go canoeing again next week? Just the two of us?"
Kimbrel's eyes widened—somehow she hadn't expected Caliel to still want to spend time with her now that Galion was back—but she managed to nod. "I-I would like that."
Alagon blinked a few times—he'd always figured his wife must spend her time with someone while he was at work, but he hadn't realized she even knew the butler's wife. Maybe he should have been easier on Galion and his sons...
"Huh?" said Galion eloquently. Since when had they...?
Caliel winked at him.
Hey, I needed at least ONE dysfunctional couple. Luckily, Alagon and Kimbrel are surrounded by good role models.