Thranduil slid another piece of parchment from the pile on his desk to look over. Galion had prepared the list of expenditures for the wedding. It should perhaps have upset him to see such a sum detracted from the royal treasury, but he found a smile on his face at the prospect of the wedding. There was so much cause for thankfulness and joy.
Two hard knocks at the door broke Thranduil from his contemplation.
"Enter," he said, none too eager for the interruption. He was pacified to see General Cembeleg briskly come to attention before the desk and salute.
"My king, I would like to suggest a hunt tomorrow evening."
Thranduil studied his long-time mentor and, as usual, could read nothing on Cembeleg's stoic face as he stood with his usual rigid bearing, his shoulders stiff and his eyes fixed on the wall. "General, this is hardly the time —"
"Sire," he interrupted boldly, although he kept his rumbling voice at a respectful volume, "it has come to my attention that there is a part of your training that has been neglected. I feel this is a matter that cannot be postponed."
"What has been lacking in my training?" Thranduil asked, sitting back and staring, confused, at the man who had been teaching him weaponscraft since he could safely pick up a sword.
"There is a...type of hunt that…" Cembeleg's nostrils flared slightly as he searched for words, leaving his king even more perplexed at the uncharacteristic display. A small sigh of exasperation escaped him before he finished in a rush, "There is but one skill in which the king has not been fully instructed. I will elaborate tomorrow evening, if the king is so disposed."
Thranduil considered. He had every reason to trust Cembeleg, as he had done for his entire life. He also knew that there was no fighting style, weapon, or technique that Cembeleg had not yet drilled into him over the thousands of years they had trained together. However unbelievable the excuse, Thranduil resolved that it must be worth the trouble for whatever Cembeleg wished to teach him.
"Very well. How many soldiers?"
"Just the king and I will go."
Thranduil raised his brows in mild surprise. "What do we hunt?"
Cembeleg hesitated. "This target will require both sword and bow."
The king decided to ignore the evasiveness of the answer. "A sword on a hunt?"
"Yes, sire." Cembeleg provided no further explanation.
Thranduil huffed in amusement. "This hunting skill must be very new to me indeed, Cembeleg, for I do not see the sense in any of it. However, you have never failed me. I shall meet you tomorrow. Please inform my council."
"Yes, sire," was the gruff reply. Cembeleg immediately saluted and walked out. Thranduil thought he heard a sigh of relief escape his general as he sped down the hall.
~.~.~
Elluin plopped onto the grass the following day, wiping the dirt off her hands with a rag. She released a satisfied sigh as she surveyed her surroundings. Her garden was as vibrant as ever after a few weeks of tending to it. Thranduil had surprised her one morning by ordering some of his Silvan servants to bring in new plants to replace the ones that were unsalvageable. Soon thereafter, once even Thranduil admitted that she had recovered her previous stamina enough to return to her parent's cottage with them, she took up the routine of spending an hour or two there in the evenings before retiring.
The rest of her days of late had been filled with meetings. In the mornings, she walked to the palace, accompanied as ever by her silent guards. Then she met with Thranduil to break their fast and to take on more decisions Galion requested regarding the wedding ceremony. The king would then go through a few of the documents on the inevitable pile on his desk, explaining them to her as he dealt with them as a form of orientation to some of the duties Elluin would undertake once she was queen. They rested a while before having their midday meal, taking walks or lounging in Thranduil's receiving room, speaking of things that had nothing to do with the ruling of the kingdom.
At the midday meal, they were often joined by members of the council, Elluin's parents, or Silvan clan leaders. The Silvan guests were blunt with their questions and open with their opinions, voicing both concerns and approval easily. One by one, she and Thranduil gained their pledge to participate in the wedding ceremony. A few even consented to turns on the council. Thus, while Thranduil's chambers were expanded, Galion also commissioned additional talain close to the palace grounds to house those clan leaders from further away on their visits.
In the afternoons, Elluin would spend some time in her office tending to some of her administrative tasks as housekeeper, then head straight here to her garden. Sometimes, like today, her mother would join her there, sitting on a bench and embroidering. Linalda was often hard at work on the dress Elluin was to wear at the wedding. Other days it was Maethon or another friend chatting easily with her as the sun set.
"Dear, what do you think of this?"
Elluin looked at the sleeve Linalda held up for her, observing the floral patterns in silver and gold brightly covering much of the soft, deep blue of the fabric.
"It's beautiful, mother! But it seems more thread than cloth. Is it not too much?"
"I spoke to Aegil, the royal seamstress. She assured me that the king would have no objections to covering you and your dress entirely in gems." Linalda smiled brightly. "I think it would be more comfortable to have this sparkling thread adorn you."
"That's the idea, my dear."
The conversation was interrupted by the hoot of a long-eared owl from a stone's throw away.
"We are to have a visitor," Elluin said, recognizing the sound as her silent guard Nidhair's warning that a friend was approaching. Indeed, Aurados soon jogged up in his soldier's uniform and greeted the ellith with a smile.
"An outrider has reached the palace, my lady," he said, addressing Elluin with a salute. "The king wished you to know that Lady Anarrima and the rest of the company from Lorinand will arrive by noon tomorrow. Celeborn and his family are among the party."
Elluin thanked him and he left with a kind farewell. She tried to quell her nervousness as she watched him disappear down the path. Linalda, naturally, noticed.
"Daughter, what plagues you? It is good for the king to have some of his own family here ahead of the wedding, is it not?"
"Yes, it's just…" She turned to her mother, allowing her uncertainty to show. "We have not obtained their official blessing. And they are such high-born Elves, I dare not hope they would give it so easily."
Linalda scoffed. "Oropher made himself a king, by no other right than the consent of the Silvans of Greenwood. That means that you and Thranduil are, essentially, an even match."
Elluin's lips tightened, unconvinced, eyes dropping to the grass.
"They might object due to our age difference."
"They will not," Linalda insisted. "You have no lack of maturity. And you have demonstrated the qualities of Elvenqueen."
Elluin groaned and rose from the ground to share her mother's bench. "How can I go before them and ask their blessing for me to take that station, which is higher than any of theirs?"
Linalda sighed. "You are trying my patience, daughter. Stop your fretting! There is no reason for them to refuse. In any case, even if Thranduil asks them for their official blessing, it would be no more than a courtesy. His mind and yours are set. Your father and I have consented. Your betrothal was officially announced to the kingdom at the Summer Festival just last week, to the elation of all the guests. Preparations have long since begun. None but the Valar would be able to stop this wedding from happening." She smirked and added under her breath, "The Valar who carry swords, to be precise."
Elluin lifted her eyes to the rapidly darkening sky, as if to seek the answer there. The stars were not yet visible in the dusk through the canopy, but knowing that they would soon appear was still a source of hope for her. She leaned over to rest her head on Linalda's shoulder.
"Thank you, mother," she said.
Linalda kissed the top of her daughter's head. "I only speak the truth, Elluin. But I'm glad it comforts you as it should."
A smile grew on Elluin's face as she straightened. "I can't wait to see Turiel tomorrow," she said. "There is so much to tell her, and I wish to hear all about Lorinand."
"By all the stars, I just know you two will be up all night exchanging your stories," Linalda said in mock exasperation, gathering her project to go inside their lantern-lit cottage. "See that she comes for dinner."
~.~.~
Sulros knew better than to question the General. When Thranduil returned from informing his council members that his aunt was to return tomorrow, Sulros had the king's hunting clothes already prepared, as well as his sword and bow.
Thranduil noticed the questions in his servant's eyes as he stalked into the room. "Sulros, I cannot explain Cembeleg's orders any more than you can," he told him as he started removing his formal robes.
"Perhaps the General recalled some ancient Sindar technique from before you were born," Sulros ventured, holding up the hunting tunic.
"Perhaps," Thranduil said skeptically, quickly pulling on the tunic.
"One that requires only a single arrow," Sulros added.
"What? I am not to bring a full quiver?" He sat, switching into the tougher boots set aside for him.
"No, sire," Sulros confirmed with a baffled shake of his head, swiftly putting away the finer boots.
"Any other instructions I should know of?" Resigned, Thranduil stood to receive his weapons.
Sulros handed over the sword and belt. "You are to go on foot."
"No horse..." Thranduil sighed. "I do not believe Cembeleg is the type of Elf to jest, but perhaps he will prove me wrong tonight."
Two knocks on the door signaled Cembeleg's arrival.
"It is a proper mystery. Will you tell me about it, sire, when you return?" Sulros requested boldly, finally giving Thranduil his bow and the single arrow.
Thranduil smirked. "What if I am not successful at catching my prey? I would be subjected to ridicule by my servants."
"You are undoubtedly right, sire," Sulros said with a smile as he opened the door.
~.~.~
The oncoming night was still clinging to the warmth of late summer. Thranduil was pleased to find that Cembeleg was acting more like his usual confident, straightforward self. Were it not for the unusual choice of equipment, he could almost relate this excursion to some of Cembeleg's other past training exercises. None of the palace guards they encountered indicated surprise or confusion to see how the pair was armed, saluting as they passed.
With a word, the pair set off at an easy run, keeping to the deeper shadows out of ages-old habit. They silently passed the palace's outlying buildings and the residences close by and kept going, until the inhabited areas were far behind them. They took to the trees, leaping swiftly among the branches, using arms and legs to propel themselves along their invisible path among the leaves.
At last, they reached the small clearing they had favored ever since the palace was built. The general appreciated that its isolation frequently drew wildlife, allowing impromptu lessons in stealth and honing the senses. The king enjoyed here a respite from eyes that constantly held such high expectations, relishing the time with Cembeleg as a chance to rely on someone else, temporarily shedding his royal mantle.
Dropping down from the branches and striding onto the springy grass of the clearing, they set aside their bows and Cembeleg motioned for Thranduil to take his place opposite him. Though still achingly curious, Thranduil knew better than to ask his general any questions unbidden; he never took kindly to interruptions in his intended lesson plans. Thus, he resigned himself to the comfortable role of student, watching and listening.
Cembeleg swiveled his head briefly, casting his perception into the surroundings. As he had always done during training sessions, the general dropped his king's title and spoke as directly as he would with any common soldier. "The prey is not yet near," he concluded. Thranduil did not entirely believe that such a quick judgment could be made, but did not reveal his doubt.
"I will teach you how to capture it," the older elf continued, moving his hand toward the hilt of the sword at his hip. Thranduil echoed the movement. "The prey you will be meeting is similar to you in the way it can move, and has similar speed. Its strength is less, but against you, its weapons are more powerful."
The king blinked in confusion, attempting to identify what creature the general could be referencing. Elves did not hunt Men or Dwarves. Trolls were slow. Dragons and wargs did not move like Elves. Perhaps a well-armed Orc? But no mere Orc could have a weapon strong enough to defeat the Elvenking, especially not on its own.
As if reading his thoughts, Cembeleg clarified, "You will not be facing an Orc, nor indeed any creature of evil. It will respect you, and you, it. You see how we both prepare to draw," he said, calling Thranduil's attention back to their identical stances. "When you meet this creature, it will come prepared but likely skittish. Invite me to engage."
The younger Elf fought down his confusion and did as instructed, stepping slowly back and leisurely drawing his sword. He brought it forward, the point toward one of the general's feet, and waited.
Cembeleg nodded his approval.
"With the creature, I cannot say which of you will make the first move. Regardless, keep your movements slow, predictable, and easy until I coax more from you. I cannot say how prepared your prey will be, but as a matter of honor, you must not allow yourself to be defeated."
Thranduil swung his blade tentatively toward Cembeleg's shoulder and it was met with an easy parry. He repeated the motion toward the other shoulder, alternating until there was an easy rhythm. With blocks coming earlier, the pace quickened slightly until Cembeleg moved with a thrust toward Thranduil's abdomen. Their movements then became more complex as they gave and took ground, still inhibiting most of the strength behind their blows as their blades met in measured clangs.
"You will have already drawn blood from your prey by now," Cembeleg said, Thranduil picking up his voice over the sound of their swords, "but defeat can only be gained in surrender."
The tempo increased as Cembeleg expanded the range of his attacks. In answer, Thranduil became more aggressive.
"Do not be too eager, Thranduil. Wait for a more obvious opening." Student and teacher were by now panting in exertion but still moved with flawless elegance, the moonlight glinting off the whirring metal and flying hair.
The minutes went by as Thranduil repeatedly probed his partner's guard, but he was consistently thwarted. Suddenly, Cembeleg renewed his attacks, and the king was hard pressed to regain the equilibrium of before.
"Seek surrender," Cembeleg reminded him between quick breaths.
Thranduil at last let go of his restraint and fought at his potential, seeing that Cembeleg was willing at last to match the intensity. Once more, they fell into a more balanced pattern, but Thranduil noticed Cembeleg's movements become more stiff. Instantly picking up on the new pattern, he waited another few moments before taking advantage of his opponent's clearly less guarded flank and stepped in close, swatting the other sword forcefully away as he grasped Cembeleg's shoulders and brought his own blade up to his partner's throat.
The pair froze, breathing heavily, before Cembeleg's face softened in a show of satisfaction. "Well done. I surrender. Now yield to me."
Thranduil had not realized that Cembeleg had been using his stiffer movements to mask subtly maneuvering a dagger out of his leather vambrace, the point protruding only slightly by Cembeleg's elbow but now held close to the king's stomach. Thranduil was not pleased with himself for missing the move, but appreciated its creativity. He nodded his head in acquiescence.
They stepped apart again and sheathed their blades, recovering quickly from the exertion.
"Do you understand how to coax out surrender, now?"
"Yes, general."
"Good. Now, the bow."
Thranduil obediently picked his bow up from where he had left it leaning against a tree, silently wondering when the lesson would become apparent.
"You must string it if you are to catch your prey."
The younger ellon barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes at the obvious statement, but his patience won. As he strung his bow, he reasoned that Cembeleg did not give instructions unnecessarily.
His next command came swiftly. "Fit your arrow. Move into your stance."
The student complied again, although they both knew his stance had not changed in thousands of years.
"You have drawn and now there is just the right amount of tension in the wood of your bow, and in the string," Cembeleg recited. "Your touch is firm and secure, not strained or rough. You do not release until you have sighted your target. Remember, your goal is surrender."
Thranduil could no longer resist the questions that he was now more at liberty to entertain in his mind. "You have already trained me in swordcraft and archery, and how to read an opponent, general. May I ask now what prey I should be prepared to meet?"
Cembeleg looked into the sky and scanned their surroundings again. This time, he took longer to listen and his eyes twinkled as he seemed to hear what he sought.
Blatantly ignoring the king's question, he said simply, "Let us climb."
Slinging his bow onto his back and carrying his arrow, Thranduil followed his teacher to a large oak tree a stone's throw away. They climbed up into the branches until they were hidden from sight but still had a view of the clearing.
"Stay quiet," Cembeleg said with a muted excitement that Thranduil did not usually see from him. The older ellon continued in a whisper. "The prey that I have just taught you to capture — I caught the same kind for myself, many years ago. I asked it to come this way tonight."
Greenwood seemed to echo Thranduil's renewed curiosity. The rustling of leaves grew still as the light breeze faltered. The sounds of the creatures of the night seemed more distant as something approached on silent feet nearby. Thranduil strained his eyes and ears a moment longer before his lips parted and he let out a breath of shock.
An elleth emerged from between the trees and walked slowly into the clearing. Her light brown hair was braided down her back. Her tunic and breeches were dark gray, blending into the shadows of the night. One hand rested loosely on the hilt of a dagger hanging low about her waist, but her expression was serene and content as her eyes traveled the stars.
Thranduil knew her. She was Lairien, the daughter of one of the Silvan leaders that had governed the people long before Oropher and his followers had even set foot in Greenwood. He remembered, Lairien and his general had fallen in love the moment they saw each other, his ancient and battle-hardened spirit finding companionship with her ancient and compassionate one.
This was the general's wife...his prey. The lesson took on a new light. Thranduil was suddenly glad of the darkness for it hid the blush that overtook his face. Cembeleg had taken the role of his absent father and explained how to —
His gaze dropped to the silver ring around his finger.
— how to make a queen.
"Will you remember the lesson?" Cembeleg's whisper interrupted his thoughts as Lairien's retreating form melted into the shadows beneath the trees once more.
Thranduil managed a nod that he was sure Cembeleg would sense despite the darkness.
The ellyn allowed time to pass as they sat motionless in the tree. Night insects close by resumed their enthusiastic songs and the breeze stirred the canopy in its age-old lullaby.
Now Cembeleg was the one to hesitate. "Do you have any questions?"
The way an Elven bond was formed or children begotten was no secret among the Firstborn. Anatomy was taught early to all Elflings and any wood-Elf would know from nature about the act of mating. But the Elves were close about the details, considering matters of bonding too private to share with others. Since bonds between parents and children started at conception, a similar event to forming a marriage bond, it would have fallen on Oropher to teach Thranduil about what was expected.
Conquering his embarrassment, Thranduil was struck by gratitude that his long-time teacher had not forsaken him in this.
"When I draw first blood…" the king began hesitantly, "will it not detract from the experience?"
Cembeleg cleared his throat, betraying his discomfort as he searched for the right words. "The best strategy will be distraction. Finding enjoyment in the…battle itself will draw attention away from the pain."
Thranduil barely hummed his understanding.
Silence fell between them again.
"Thank you, Cembeleg," the king spoke quietly into the darkness.
A faint grunt was all the reply he received. Soon enough, the pair dropped out of the tree and sprinted a winding way back to the palace, parting wordlessly at the gates.
"How was it, sire?" Sulros probed as he helped Thranduil into his sleeping clothes.
"Informative."
The servant risked another question. "What did the general teach you?"
Thranduil pegged him with a considering look. "Perhaps I will tell you later."
Sulros managed to keep his brow from furrowing in confusion. He recognized the finality in the king's tone and knew he would get no more out of him. "Very well, sire," he murmured. "Good night."