That night, hours after Thranduil had been sent to bed, the blond elfling sat wakeful in his chamber, unable to fall asleep. All he could think of was the happenings of that day, and the fact that none of the adults seemed to be taking it seriously.
In the short time he had known his older kinsman, Thranduil had become absolutely devoted to Celeborn. He followed at his heels most of the time, drinking in his every word and thoroughly enjoying having someone knew to play with. For an adult, Celeborn was a lot of fun! And now that horrible, horrible elleth was going to try and take him away! He could not let that happen!
'Perhaps she was just admiring his silver hair!'
Erestor's comment was swimming around and around in his mind. Erestor was wise, very wise – Ada and Nana both said so – so if Erestor thought that Celeborn's hair was the attraction, then so it must be! All he had to do to save Celeborn was to find something to make his hair a different colour! Then Eámanë would not be interested and she would leave him alone!
Everything is so simple to the mind of a five year old child! Chewing on his lip, a habit of his while deep in thought, Thranduil began to rack his mind for something to change the colour of Celeborn's hair.
Ashes from the fire? No, that would not work – ash was washed off too easily! Blackberry juice? Perhaps, but there were no blackberries to hand at the moment! What about ink? He had managed to get ink on his fingers once and it did not come off for ever so long! Yes! Ink would do it!
Erestor always had lots of ink with him in the library, for he always seemed to be writing since he came to visit Ada! Thranduil had seen the raven-haired elf write in black, blue, red and green…but he had better stick with the black; just in case Eámanë happened to admire red or green hair too!
Throwing back his bedclothes, Thranduil leapt lightly out of bed and silently slipped out of his bedchamber. He crept along the corridor, slipping into the shadows, or behind a curtain whenever anyone was approaching, until he finally reached the library. Thranduil opened the door and slipped inside, finding the room in total darkness.
Beginning to get nervous, Thranduil groped his way towards the table he had seen Erestor sitting at earlier in the day. He gave a small smile of satisfaction as his fingers closed around the glass of an ink-bottle. Please let no one catch him now!
Creeping back out of the library, Thranduil found, to his immense satisfaction, that the ink in his grasp was indeed black. He then wound his way through the candle-lit corridor until he came to the door of Celeborn's bed chamber, where he paused, listening very intently for any sound of noise coming from within. There was none.
Easing the door open very gradually, the elfling cautiously crept inside. To his relief, Celeborn was lying on his side sleeping peacefully; his eyes wide and blank.
'This will teach you to try and get my cousin to fall in love with you, Eámanë!' thought Thranduil determinedly. Careful not to make any noise, he climbed up onto the bed and shuffled behind Celeborn; edging up to where the older elf's silver hair was spread on the pillow behind him.
'I must not get too much on the pillow!' Thranduil thought desperately, as he unstopped the bottle. 'Naneth will skin me alive!' He was forgetting, of course, that the pillow was going to absorb a lot of the ink from Celeborn's hair anyway. Using he scrap of cloth he had brought for this purpose, he began to dab the ink carefully onto Celeborn's hair. In no time at all, with remarkably few drops being spilt, the whole of his head was covered. Thranduil was remarkably gentle of touch for a child and, apart from stirring slightly at the ticklish sensation once or twice, Celeborn had slumbered on unawares.
'He looks just like Erestor!' Thranduil thought, fighting hard not to giggle. 'Eámanë won't want him now!' Smiling broadly, the little one fled back to bed again.
The next morning, many of the elves of Oropher's court had already broken their fast by the time Thranduil came down to the dining hall. He at once went to sit with by his parents, who both greeted him affectionately. Erestor couldn't help but notice that there was an air of suppressed excitement about the young elfling, but he could not imagine what was causing it. He was still trying to remember what he'd done with that missing bottle of black ink. He could have sworn that he left it in the library last night!
Suddenly, they heard a distraught cry from upstairs. The older elves started in alarm, several of them rising to their feet, while Thranduil's face broke into a delighted grin, before he hurriedly schooled his features back into solemnity and looked back down at his porridge again.
Suddenly, Celeborn rushed into the room and Erestor choked on his mouthful tea. Oropher pressed his lips into a firm line and desperately fought not to laugh. A few of the councillors, however, were not so successful and broke into snickers.
"It appears we have discovered what happened to your ink, Erestor!" smiled one of them, looking at Celeborn in amused surprise.
"It is not funny!" yelled Celeborn angrily, his cheeks unnaturally flushed. "Look at my hair; it is a mess! I cannot go to the festival like this!"
Celeborn's hair was indeed astounding. It was jet black, some of the tresses clapped together in lumps, while a couple of black dots of the ink that had obviously been used to dye it were splattered at the top of his forehead.
"If you really wanted to change your image, mellon-nin, I would have suggested the less drastic measure of wearing some different coloured tunics," chuckled Beredhil, one of the younger councillors.
"I did not do this to myself!" Celeborn's anger erupted spectacularly. "Some one has played a practical joke in very poor taste! Whoever it is, they are going to be sorry! I am not setting a foot outside until this hideous look washes away! I had no wish to 'change my image', Beredhil! I was quite happy having silver hair!"
"Perhaps she was just admiring his silver hair!"
Suddenly, it was all clear to Erestor. He turned around, and fired a questioning look at the young prince, who suddenly resembles a frightened rabbit. He had not expected Celeborn to be so angry!
Oropher followed Erestor's line of gaze and chuckled softly, before forcing a stern expression on his face and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Thranduil, do you know anything about this?" he asked gravely. Thranduil went very white, looking at his ada in alarm. He did not reply. Oropher took this as an affirmative.
"Let me see your hands!" the King instructed sternly. Eyes filling with tears, the young prince held out his hands, palms up, for his father's inspection. As he had expected, there were several small blotches of ink on both hands.
"Well, little one, what have you to say for yourself?" the High King demanded. Thranduil chewed his lip and hung his head, a dark flush creeping up over his face.
"I only wanted to save him from Eámanë," he confessed in a very small voice. "I borrowed Erestor's ink to do it with." Celeborn's jaw almost hit the floor.
"You little horror! When I get my hands on you!" he yelled, and darted towards the breakfast table. Knowing that he was in a great deal of trouble, Thranduil leapt out of his seat, before anyone could catch hold of him, and took to his heels. He fled from the room, hotly pursued by the now dark-headed Celeborn; who could be heard shouting threats all the way down the corridor.
As soon as the young elf was out of earshot, everyone in the dining hall burst into gales of laughter.
Glorfindel tipped his head back, shaking with laughter, his deep chuckles echoing through the Hall of Fire. The picture of Celeborn pursuing a mischievous child around the stronghold of Greenwood amused him greatly; as the Lord of Lorien was normally so dignified and composed.
The elflings, however, were torn between amusement and surprise. Haldir tried to swallow the urge to laugh, thinking it would be wrong to laugh at his foster-father's predicament while Faelwen was wide eyed and looked as though she was afraid to hear the ending. Erestor reminded himself that she had been used to being punished for nothing at all. Doubtless, she would be imagining the dire consequences she herself would have suffered had she been in the same position.
As for the twins, Arwen and Legolas, they were in fits of delighted laughter. Legolas was overjoyed to hear any tale about his ada as an elfling, while the image of Celeborn with black hair had the twins and Arwen quite convulsed.
"Did Daerada catch him, Erestor?" asked Arwen, between bouts of giggles.
"Yes, he did," laughed Erestor. "But not before he had chased all the way down the main corridor and out into the courtyard. Thranduil was quick on his feet even then!"
"Did he get into lots of trouble?" asked Haldir.
"Well, Celeborn was all for wringing his neck to begin with!" continued Erestor. "But when he found out that the real reason for their prank was simply that the young one didn't want to share his attention, he didn't have the heart to punish him. His ada was not pleased with his behaviour, though. Oropher forbid Thranduil from attending the festival altogether and he went to bed that night with a red backside."
"Did it take long for the ink to wash out?" asked Legolas, eyes shining with mirth.
"Two weeks, if I remember aright." chuckled Erestor. "And true to his word, Celeborn did not venture outside until it had washed out. I believe Thranduil was quite happy with this turn of events, for he really was quite convinced that Eámanë was trying to take Celeborn's love away from Galadriel; which was of course not the case. Luckily, the healers managed to brew an elixir that helped to wash the ink out, so he looked his normal self when the time came to depart back home."
"Erestor! You didn't tell the children that tale!" came an outraged voice from the door, and everyone looked round to see the three lord of the Elven Realms standing by the door. Celeborn was looking horrified, Thranduil rather sheepish, while Elrond was laughing merrily.
"I never had you marked down as a mischief-maker, my Lord Thranduil!" Glorfindel's laughter filled the room once again.
"I was five years old!" protested Thranduil, blushing rather darkly, sending everyone into peals of mirth once more. Legolas, in particular, was quite delighted with the thought of his father getting into mischief as a youngster.
"I can not believe you told them!" sighed Celeborn, looking affronted.
"Why not Daerada?" chuckled Elrohir, mischief beginning to twinkle in his own eyes. "I hear you were very fetching with dark hair!"
"He was very…distinguished looking!" said Thranduil gleefully, before ducking to avoid a cuff around the head.
"And you can count yourself lucky, young one, that it was your Ada who punished you!" Celeborn felt his cheeks flush, embarrassed at having his foster-son and grandchildren hear the story. "Had I been the one who tended to you, you would not have been able to sit for a week!"
Everyone else laughed all the louder at this, but when Celeborn looked over at Faelwen, he found her regarding him with a worried expression. He kicked himself inwardly for speaking so carelessly. He knew he should not have spoken such words, even in jest, because, having suffered as she had; she would take them seriously. It would be difficult for her to understand that Oropher had disciplined Thranduil to correct him; not to deliberately hurt him. She was beginning to adjust to this new way of life. But it still needed a lot of time and patience.
Casting her a kind smile, he sat down beside her and began to explain.