Bow and reins clutched in one hand, I spurred my horse through the thick underbrush of the rarely-ventured woods south of our habitation. The haunches of a young buck flicked in and out of view, and I grinned. He'd be mine soon enough.

I notched my arrow and pulled back the string, watching the arrow tip as my horse plunged fearlessly after our prey. "Good girl," I whispered, adrenalin making my hands quiver a touch. "Not long now."

The cunning buck darted through a sharp turn, and my powerful steed thrust her back legs into the dirt for a faster rotation. Grunting with exertion, she launched into a full run once again, sidestepping thicker bushes and vaulting obstacles.

There—a clearer stretch opened up in front of us, the buck already speeding across to thicker shelter. Seizing my opportunity, I drew back my arrow and let it fly. A long shot...but it struck true, lodging in the back of the buck's head. He collapsed, and I smirked, quite pleased with myself. At last—months of practice had paid off.

I could barely convince my steed to slow, and even then she pranced in an eager trot. "Steady, Barien," I said with a chuckle. I'd only had her for a couple of years, but I liked her insatiable thirst for adventure. Related to it, even. As we approached the dead deer, I shouldered my bow and slipped from her sleek back. She swung her head around and regarded me with glittering, intelligent eyes.

Still smiling, I walked over to the buck. Adar had excused me from my duties this morning—how surprised he would be when I didn't return empty-handed. I removed my arrow from the buck's skull, then pulled his limp body across my shoulders. Turning, I started to remount.

"Greetings," came a smooth voice too close behind me for comfort.

I spun, fingers tightening around the bloody arrow. "Who goes there?"

A fair-haired ellon dropped down from the branches of the nearest tree—far enough that I'd have to wrestle my bow off my shoulder for the arrow in my hand to do any good. "I am Celeborn," he responded. "As you can see, I mean you no harm." He showed his hands in a partial shrug.

"I can see no such thing," I retorted. Wrestling the deer off my shoulders and onto Barien's back, I added, "What business have you in the Woodland Realm?" I shrugged off my bow and lazily plucked the string.

Celeborn again clasped his hands behind his back. "I have just moved with my people to the land south of here, where the Mallorn trees grow. The ellyn have been exploring the nearby lands, and I found this area to be remarkably peaceful...that is, until you came plunging through with your horse." He gave a terse chuckle.

"I am so sorry to have disturbed you." I crossed my arms and lowered my eyelids halfway.

He eyed me, as though unsure if I meant what I said at face value. A wary narrowing of the eyes suggested he did not...good. "I do not wish for trouble," he said carefully. "King Oropher is my uncle, though your people and mine have long separated."

"Because you sided with the Noldor scum," I replied lightly with a mocking bob of my head. If what he said was true, Celeborn was my cousin. But if what he said was true, and he sided with the Noldor, nothing he said could ever be trusted.

Celeborn took a deep breath and released it slowly. "This...schism is a chink in the armor of the race of elves."

I shoved the arrow back into the quiver and roughly mounted Barien. "Your observational skills are unimpressive and would be better off cast into the belly of a volcano...along with their host." Spurring my steed, I left behind an ally of kinslayers.

As Barien plunged through the woods, headed toward home, I stewed over the encounter. Why did he have to make his presence known to me? That required I report it to Adar, which required physical communication, which was something I'd been avoiding as much as possible lately.

Upon reaching the stables, I took my time delivering the buck to the butcher, then putting Barien away, sponging off the sweat covering her body and giving her fresh water and grain. But try as I might, my report wouldn't deliver itself. So I reluctantly left the stables and went to the palace.

The servants paused to stare at me more than usual, especially the ellith. I hurried my steps, just wanting to get this conversation with Adar over with. Taking the stairs two at a time, I made it up to the royal wing and knocked on my parents' door.

Please don't be engaging in...certain activities.

"Enter," Adar snapped.

No scurrying around or frantic activity—that was a good sign. I cautiously opened the door and peeked inside. Adar was dressed in nothing but a pair of loose-fitting trousers, and Naneth wore a modest nightgown. They lay propped up in bed, Naneth curling into his side and pillowing her head on his shoulder, and he had his arms wrapped around her.

"I am sorry to disturb you," I said, focusing on my dirty boots. "I have news from the southern wood that I believe you would want to hear personally, and not through Nòrui."

Adar sighed heavily and lifted a hand to rub his eyes. "Very well. What is it?"

I braced myself. This would not go over well. "I encountered an ellon. He introduced himself as Celeborn, and claimed to be your nephew."

Adar went rigid at the mention of Celeborn's name. "What is he doing here?"

"He was merely taking a walk. Apparently a group of elves have moved into the area where Mallorn trees grow."

He disentangled himself from Naneth and stood, snagging a shirt hanging out of his dresser. "Did he bring his wife?"

"Oropher," Naneth murmured tiredly. "Can it not wait?"

He shoved his long arms into the sleeves and gave me a pointed, questioning look.

Just as I feared—Adar was going on the warpath. "I presume. He didn't explicitly say either way."

"Then it can't wait." Adar pushed his feet into his boots and laced them up with rapid precision. After straightening, he motioned me out into the hall and followed me out, shutting the door behind us. He started to bustle toward that awful conference room, then paused. "Thranduil, you are aware that you look as though you've been rolling around on the forest floor?"

I pushed a hand through my hair—or started to. My fingers quickly encountered an abundance of twigs that were thoroughly tangled into my hair. "Erm...possibly?"

He sighed, as though my wildness were some great burden to him. "Clean yourself up, please—try to be presentable when you go in public, if it's not too much to ask."

Maybe it was. But I knew better than to say so. "Yes sir."

Adar gave an appeased nod and continued on his way. I, on the other hand, walked away from the conversation much the way I'd walked away from our other conversations in the recent past.

Fuming.

A vast majority of our people—the Silven—decorated their hair with twigs, leaf circlets, feathers, and all manner of natural, wild things. And walked around in a constant state of partial undress, too. Just because I carried the title of Prince around, could I not err toward impropriety?

Of course not.

I stormed into my room, not bothering to close my door. Yanking off my outer robe, I cast it onto the floor, taking sadistic pleasure in being less than perfect. Looking around my room, I searched for a way to perhaps rearrange the furniture to create a hidden niche. I wanted a place to myself, something entirely my own that Adar couldn't ruin with his ideas of what a Prince could and couldn't do. But alas, I saw no means of creating a subtle hiding place large enough for my long legs and ever-broadening frame.

In absolute frustration, I stomped over to my desk, snatched up my polished wood comb, and attacked my hair. Within less than a minute, I was hissing and swearing and causing myself an unnecessary amount of pain, but too angry to stop.

"Prince Thranduil?" came Rosseth's timid voice.

Forcing myself to inhale entirely and let it all out before responding, I noticed my accelerated, heavy heartbeat and my flushed face. How did I manage to get myself worked up over little things like a title? "Yes, Rosseth. What is it?" I should've won an award for my neutral, cool tone.

"May I help you?" she asked softly. "You can't see the tangles in your hair...I suspect that's why you're having such a difficult time with them."

Not the first hint of condescension or amusement—if there had been, I might've thrown the desk at her. Nonetheless, I wrestled with my pride. Finally, I sighed and nodded, risking a glance at her. "Thank you, yes."

A relieved smile graced her lips, and she stepped into my room. She detoured to where I'd dropped my outer robe and plucked it up, shaking out the dirt and random leaves, then meandered closer and draped it over the back of my desk chair. Then she turned to me and held her hand out.

I set the comb in her palm, my fingers lightly brushing hers.

Rosseth nodded at the chair. "Could you sit down? You're a bit tall for me to reach."

Flipping the chair around, I sat facing the backrest and draped my arms across my discarded robe. A moment later, my scalp prickled with the light sensation of having her fingers in my hair.

"Ai, you've knotted it up tight," she murmured, tugging at a strand, though not painfully.

"I'm inclined to leave it there," I groused, though halfheartedly—I liked this. "Aren't twigs some kind of beauty statement amongst the Silven?"

She couldn't quite mask her snort of ungainly laughter. "Not when it looks as though you fell out of a tree and didn't miss a branch."

I laughed at her unexpected honesty—her teasing tone shifted the judgment to my outer appearance rather than my state of being, which made it funny.

But Rosseth didn't laugh. "I...I'm sorry, Prince Thranduil, I keep forgetting myself and saying improper things...please forgive me."

That killed every ounce of amusement to be had. Suddenly concerned that I would lose a friend—an honest, genuine friend that I couldn't afford to lose—I twisted in place to look at her. "Why do you apologize? You did nothing wrong."

She withdrew her hands and stared at the comb, cheeks going pink. "It is improper, Your Highness...I oughtn't be so casual with you. It isn't respectful of your title."

I wanted to spit. Instead, I took a steadying breath and released it. "Rosseth, listen closely, because you need to understand something. Every person in the kingdom, except for my parents, calls me by my title, respects me, and behaves very appropriately. I'm sick of it. Nobody tells me what they're really thinking—or nobody did, until you came along."

Her cheeks flushed darker, and try as I might to catch her eye, she stared at the floor with resolute determination.

"What I'm about to ask is not a command," I said carefully. "This is a request, from one friend to another."

At that, she cautiously made eye contact. Her gaze revealed a vulnerability I didn't understand.

I cleared my throat. "When we're alone, I would like for you to not call me any titles. I would like for you to call me Thranduil, and always be completely honest with me. Which means, if I look as though I kissed the west end of an eastern-facing pig, I want you to say exactly that."

Rosseth snickered...and sniffled at the same time. How do ellith manage to be so emotional about everything? Hastily swiping at her eyes, she said, "In that case...Thranduil...I really ought to finish combing your hair?"

I nodded and faced the back of the seat again, rolling the sound of my name without a title around in my mind. I liked it.

Rosseth resumed combing out my hair, making steady progress in the silence. She primarily used her fingers to pull apart the tangles, which hurt significantly less, and her knuckles frequently brushed my neck as she combed the length of my hair into her palm. Even when all the knots had been worked out, she continued to comb my hair in silence, until she finally murmured, "I like your hair."

My eyelids drooped as I tilted my head, letting her comb along the side behind my ear. "I like your hair," I retorted lazily.

"Really?" she questioned, disbelief saturating her tone.

"Hmm...primarily when it's not covering your face up."

A long pause in the conversation ensued. Whether she was too busy blushing to formulate an answer, or too wise to engage me in bickering, I couldn't see to know. But the strokes of the comb remained smooth and calming, gently stimulating my scalp.

At length, she separated a section of my hair from the rest and began a tidy running braid around the back of my head. "If I may ask...what were you so upset about earlier?"

I sighed, sad that this pleasant exercise had to be interjected with talk of unpleasant things. "I'm angry at my adar again. I try to please him, but he's never quite happy with me...there's always something I could've done better with, a situation I could've handled better, or some aspect of my Princeliness that I failed to remember and fulfill."

She didn't respond—her fingers were too busy dancing across my scalp, I supposed. But that was okay. I didn't need or even really want her to answer.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence while she added complexity to whatever she was doing. I didn't ask—I was a bit afraid to know. But also curious.

Finally, Rosseth withdrew and moved from side to side, examining her handiwork with a proud grin. "Do you have a mirror?" she questioned, excitement sparkling in her eyes.

I reached up to poke at my hair. "...yes, in the bathing chambers...?"

"Don't touch!" She snatched my hand away from my hair. "You have to see."

I let her lead me off the chair and to the bathing chamber. Standing in front of the mirror, I scarcely recognized myself. An array of silvery braids twisted across my head and faded back into the rest of my hair. A wild look. A fierce look.

"Now you look like a Silven ellon." Rosseth crossed her arms and appraised me with a critical eye. "Except, they rarely wear that much. And their hair is almost always dark. And we usually use a lot of different stuff in the hairstyles. Leather cords, beads, feathers, small bones...all kinds of stuff."

I barely even heard her prattling on. "Where did you learn this?" I exclaimed, gingerly poking at where two braids intersected, meshed, and separated again without a hint of a flaw.

"The semi-annual Silven Games," she answered innocently. "Almost everyone participates somehow...I'm not good enough to enter in the Games themselves, but people like me pick a team and compete fiercely to show the best-decorated contestants."

Silven Games?

"This is all rather basic," she said, gesturing at my hair. "But it gets rather difficult when you're braiding over a bear claw strap, or trying to make a hairstyle visible through a helmet." She grimaced and shook her head.

"Slow down...what are the Silven Games?" I demanded, turning to face her.

Rosseth's brow furrowed. "Competitive training...a reason for young ellyn to hone their skills, and friendly combat experience. Glory and laud to the victor, as well as a generous prize." She interlaced her fingers and dropped her gaze. "Forgive me if I'm boring you...my cousin Rirosdir enters every Game, and I always cheer him on. He's never been very good, but he's getting better every year, and he's very competitive...or just determined not to get stuck braiding someone's hair. It's a big deal in my family."

"You aren't boring me," I assured her the moment I could slip it in edgewise. These Games were clearly one of her peak interests, and gathering information wouldn't be hard. "What do the contestants have to do in the Games?"

She shrugged, delight pouring from her expression. "We never know. But winning takes some mad skills, and the competition is fierce. Loads of elves enter every Game, and it grows every year. Last season, they built this massive tower that the competitors had to climb, and it had all these booby traps along the way. Rirosdir stepped in a false foothold and got his leg trapped. Broke it in three different places, but he made it further in the Game than he ever has before. So he was happy."

My eyes bulged—these Games sounded more dangerous than war itself. And more fun than I'd had in ages. "When is the next Game?" To mask my eagerness, I politely added, "That is, will he be able to enter?"

Rosseth bobbed her head. "Oh yes, he healed right up and he's been training hard." Her expression sank. "Only problem is, no one will team up with him, and time is running out. Not many elves dare to enter alone, and only one single-elf team has ever won in the last thousand years. He still competes, but the designers are making it harder to make it through the course without a teammate."

Eru must've loved me today. I smirked. "Could I team up with him?"

Excitement bloomed across her face, shortly followed by concern, then worry. "I...I don't know. The Silven have been competing in the Games since long before we had royalty. I don't know of any rules about royalty entering, but...that's a lot of risk for a pr—"

"Don't say it," I warned, and she obligingly silenced. Staring in the mirror, I squared my shoulders. "I want to do this." My private luxury—the thing all to myself. This was it.

A daring grin stretched across Rosseth's lips in the mirror. "I know how we could change your hair color, at least for a couple of days."

Yes—this might actually work if I could blend in. I nodded my approval. "And I'll need clothes that are less..."

"Opulent?" she volunteered. "I'm sure you can borrow something from Rirosdir. He's kind of tall."

"Perfect." I was afraid to hope this would actually work—but hope I did. "I just need an excuse to disappear for...how many hours?"

Rosseth winced. "Two days...sometimes three, if the competition is too stiff."

That would be difficult. But with everything else falling into place, I would find a way. "I'll just need to do some planning. When does it start?"

"In two months," she answered. "But...you'll need time to work a bit with Rirosdir. When teams don't work well together, they always fail."

Another complication. But a minor one. I turned and grinned at her, very pleased with the plot we'd devised. "With you on my side, Rosseth, there's nothing I can't overcome. I will compete in these Games."

***Author's Note***

Merry Christmas!!! I hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter, please let me know what you thought!

As most of you know, I go to a writers' conference every spring. It's the highlight of my year, and if you're interested in becoming a published author, I highly recommend this conference in particular.  The atmosphere is particularly welcoming, and professionals come looking for material to publish.

Like...

Normal people get three-book contracts out of this conference every year.

All that to say, if you'd like to take some amazing writing courses, meet some of the coolest people in the writing industry, and meet me (:D), you can follow the link to their website and/or message me with more questions.

http://www.floridacwc.net/

As always guys, more content coming soon. Love ya, and merry Christmas!