Okay, so before we begin, some background info: most of these chapters take place in Greenwood, as mentioned in the first paragraph. In case you didn't know, Thranduil and his father are actually Sindarin elves, not Silvan elves like most of the wood elves of Greenwood (a.k.a. Mirkwood). They came to Greenwood after leaving their home and maybe wandering around for a while (for the purposes of this story, a long while because that works better for me).

...

The forest was ancient, surely older than the race of elves, and showed no signs that any intelligent beings had ever been there before. Some of the trees reached more than a hundred feet into the air, and almost that to each side. Many of the trunks were five times as thick as an elf was tall, and emerald vines, often covered in flowers, had wound themselves around and around, in some cases up to the very top. Truly, Greenwood lived up to its name—but beauty did not always mean safety.

It was sometimes said in Middle-Earth that every elf was at home in a forest. While technically true, what that statement neglected to mention was that not all elves were at home in all forests. In fact, there were, at this very moment, a hundred or so Sindarin elves who were slightly uncomfortable in the realm of the less civilized and as-yet-unseen Silvan elves.

They were led by Oropher and came from Doriath, but that was no longer their home; as a matter of fact, they hoped to make a new one here—Oropher thought the Silvan elves might accept their guidance and possibly even a king. The others crowded close to him, attracted to his confidence like moths to a flame, watching every shadow warily. They should have been looking up, although they probably would not have noticed even then that they were not alone. Green eyes, the same color as the sun-lit leaves, watched them from above.

The Silvan elf crouched on a wide branch only ten feet above their heads, listening for clues as to who they were. She wasn't sure she cared, though; most of them were wearing showy robes, which automatically marked them for pranks in her eyes. She guessed—correctly—that those were supposed to impress her, but she had yet to meet the Silvan elf whose first thought wouldn't be that they were rather impractical, and, really, just because they lived here didn't mean they were naïve.

"Sky."

The speaker—or rather, whisperer—was another Silvan elf right over where the Sindar would be in a few seconds. This one's eyes were the same green interrupted in some spots by deep brown. He was her brother, nicknamed Storm. The meanings of their names in the Common tongue were Skyfire and Stormfire, and since they both were named in and spoke Silvan, they were referred to by each other and everyone else by just the first part of their names as a timesaver.

"Tripwires? Pitfalls? What do you think?"

She was about to decide on tripwires when one of the Sindar-the only one who wasn't at all hiding behind the one in front, and who looked enough like him to be his son—said something.

"Are you certain this is wise?" Thranduil managed to mutter the question just loudly enough that every Sindar—and the sharp-eared Silvan elves—heard it clearly.

Oropher almost groaned; somehow he had known he was about to hear that from his son again. He had sensed it growing within him; indeed, he had expected it to come a minute or so before. His son was not afraid; he was simply so sure he knew better than Oropher did. "I assure you, Thranduil, we have nothing to fear from them. Their weapons are inferior; they may have bows, but nothing else. They are harmless."

There was a twang and a soft thud, and Oropher pulled up short, suddenly feeling the back end of an arrow against his nose. Trying to move backward, he discovered another against the back of his head, stuck fast in the outer bark of one of the massive trees.

Up above, Storm shook his head as Sky lowered her bow and leapt to another branch before the Sindar could trace the arrow's path.

Thranduil drew his swords as Oropher pulled out from between the two arrows. "They hit at the same time, from the same direction, and at the same height," Thranduil noted. "One archer."

"One extraordinary archer," Oropher said. Then, louder and in Silvan, "We come in peace!"

Then keep your insults to yourself, Sky thought with a grin, watching the rest of the swords appear, and put away your weapons. "Oh, I'm sorry," she called down, "I thought you were a rabbit. I'm glad you aren't, though; I could never defeat one of those. I should stick to butterflies."

"Enough cringing!" Oropher hissed at his elves. "There is only one!" Of course the first one had to be sarcastic; from the sound of it, she was worse than his son.

This one could match my father for sarcasm, Thranduil thought. "Come down and talk; we will not harm you."

"Nice to know," Sky said, jumping down.

Thranduil's eyes widened. The she-elf's hair was a dark brown, but in the sun it shone like copper, and her eyes...

Oropher wasn't quite sure what to make of it, either. He had heard these Silvan elves usually had red or brown hair, but this was unexpected.

Thranduil shook the thought away. This pretty elf had nearly killed his father. She gave him a curious look, perhaps having noticed his stare, and waved experimentally. He raised an eyebrow.

Another elf, this one male, landed beside the first. Thranduil shook his head; this must have been her brother, because he had the same hair—though it looked like he had stained parts of it with charcoal—and two-color eyes.

"Hi," the second Silvan elf said. "I'm Coryn, and this is my sister, Eithryn. She's the one who shot at you, but if you knew her, you would understand why I couldn't stop her." He snickered slightly, undermining his claim of innocence.

They were not from his culture, Oropher reminded himself. Perhaps they did not know any better. "We are Sindar, displaced from our home—"

"And you've generously come to enlighten us?" Coryn asked.

Oropher had not known just how generous he was being until moments ago. "That is correct."

Coryn turned to his sister. "Hey, Sky, they've come to correct our stupidness," he said dryly. "How nice of them."

"Ooh, maybe they can teach us how to cook food and talk goodly!" Eithryn cried.

Oh, wonderful, Oropher thought—now they were both doing it. "This is a serious matter," he protested. Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"But sister," Coryn continued, ignoring him, "how can we cook the food if we can't find it? Do you think they can teach us that?"

The she-elf gasped. "No! No one has that much smartness!"

"But look! Their clothes are shiny! They must have very much power!"

Oropher cleared his throat. "We would be appreciative," he said, somewhat frustrated, "if you would introduce us to some of your friends."

"But great master," Eithryn protested with a bow, "they do not have the smartness to know what you are speaking!"

"Enough," Oropher growled.

The brother nodded with pretend thoughtfulness. "You thinks they have the smartness to know little words of it?" Oropher drew in a breath, and Coryn held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, calm down." He sprang into the nearest tree. "And keep up!"

Eithryn followed him.

Oropher knew what was coming; he could almost hear it already. Sure enough, the words came from Thranduil exactly as his father had imagined them: "Harmless, you said?"

Oropher sighed.

I've already started work on the next chapter and have rough drafts of the first bunch, but I can't promise I'll finish soon. Thanks for reading!