Apologies for this late arrival. I just had a mishap with my foot... sprained it trying to do a ballet combination for class. Honestly, crutches are fun until you need to use them. I feel ashamed to be writing about these perfect elves when I am such a mortal person... Nevertheless, here is chapter eight. Enjoy and *review*, por favor.

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It had been nearly a week since Maethien had journeyed out toward the Mountain, and all who knew of this journey were at an uneasy rest. The Southerners had set up their things in any extra room they could find; for now the Northern Mirkwood Palace was not just a place to visit: it was their home. Meanwhile, the Lothlórien elves were trying to get out of Mirkwood entirely. Thranduil had mulled the thought over and over but still could not decide whether or not he wanted to tell the masses of elves what was occurring in Amon Lanc. He was planning on holding a banquet in mock honor of the Southern elves' arrival, then telling them about the mishaps there. He knew it wouldn't go very well, but he had to give it a shot.

The dining hall was lavishly decorated by Galion (who knew he could be an interior designer?), and all of the food prepared. The well-off elves were dressed in their best clothing, even the richer children. Most of them had had their hair done by some sort of servant of the Palace, except for those who could do their own hair, which were a sparse few. To complete the ruse, Legolas and Angthoron had to act, dress, walk, and talk like princes; this took some time and a whole lot of screaming to finally get them to understand. The princess Draugcel was in a dress, but wearing boys' trousers underneath. She disliked the thought of acting like a lady extremely, and insisted on leaving her hair down. Niphredil had not been attended to by anyone before the Banquet although no one could tell; she chose her best dress and thoroughly brushed her hair beforehand.

Once the Hall had opened, elves of both races poured in. Mostly, Mirkwood elves all stayed together on one side and Lothlórien elves had established themselves opposite them. The younger elves had a separate table, as to distract them from the imminent business matters; and even there groups had begun to form. Legolas, Niphredil, and Angthoron (in that order) had sat together; Draugcel sat beside Angthoron for she was friends with no other Southern Mirkwood residents. Elanor, Mallos, Authan, and various other children of the Golden Wood were opposite them at the table, with various Mirkwood elves strewn in between them. Not one dared to speak until a roar of adult conversations had arisen already in the room.

"Hey Angthoron, who's that girl sitting beside you?" Niphredil asked, poking at the food on her plate.

"You mean me?" Draugcel prompted, jolting forward to look across Angthoron at her.

"Y-yes... Uh... Suilad!" she began humbly, and stuttered trying to remember the Sindarin: "Man eneth lín?"

"Ya don't have to use that formal stuff with me just 'cause I'm a princess," Draugcel said. "Cel's the name; or Draugcel, if you don't plan on becoming a friend."

"O, I do! And my name's Niphe," said she.

"What kind of a name is that?" Draugcel asked rudely.

"It's short for Niphredil," Legolas piped up, "like the flower!"

"That's stupid," Angthoron said. "I mean, you don't even look like the flower. You would think they'd have saved the name for someone with silver hair."

"Er, thanks," Niphredil said.

"Well what do you know anyway? You stupid prince," Draugcel muttered at Angthoron. He became enraged.

"I am NOT stupid!" he yelled.

"You're stupid enough to pick a fight with me!" Angthoron grumbled and went back to his meal. Not that anyone was eating much of anything. There was tension thick enough to be cut by a sword in the room as everyone ate uneasily.

"You know," Legolas said at length, "Ada never usually throws banquets like this."

"Well, duh, muindor tithen. Something is obviously awry. Can't you tell by all the people's faces?" Angthoron said. Legolas looked around and saw the anticipation of something indescribable on many faces of the room.
"I wouldn't know," Draugcel said, prior to stuffing her face full of some sort of baked animal.

"Well I would," said Angthoron. "If it's any of your business, little twerps, I overheard Ada in a meeting with some other elves. He was talking about-Southern Mirkwood, I believe; something with yrch. Lots of 'em."

Draugcel gasped. "At my home? How many exactly?"

"I wouldn't know. Ada wouldn't say. But he did say he thought you can't ever go back there."

"Serves them right," a familiar voice chorused in. It was Elanor. "I mean, they don't deserve to be here anyway."

"Neither do you," Draugcel spat. Elanor sneered. "Your kind is just here to be annoying, but we have to be here. You wouldn't understand, fool."

"Hahaha," laughed Elanor sarcastically. "Did you just call me a fool?"

"So what if I did?"

"Then I suggest you take it back," Mallos stated. "You must not know Elanor."

"She doesn't," Niphredil whispered to Legolas.

"She ought not mess with Elanor," he whispered back.

"I shan't take it back. I mean every word that comes out of my mouth, and I make sure of that," Draugcel said, glaring at Elanor. Her hand strayed down to her hip where a small dagger rested, sheathed, under her dress. Draugcel never wanted to take chances.

"Then prepare to face consequences," Elanor said. She opened her mouth wide, as a young child would to tattle on another. "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALTHÔN!"

"I've had enough of your supposed superiority," Draugcel said firmly, taking out the dagger and pointing it at Elanor from across the table. Niphredil and Legolas gasped, as did half of the rest of the children. Angthoron just laughed.

"Hah, stupid little girl you are to mess with Cel," he said to Elanor. "She really does know how to use that..." He touched his jaw where Draugcel had punched him and recoiled slightly.

Elanor looked horrified at the dagger, but at that moment, Malthôn came waltzing over to the table to answer the call of the little wench. Draugcel promptly hid her dagger underneath the table.

"What is it, Elanor dear?"

"Th-th-that girl right there," she stuttered, pointing at Draugcel. "She has a dagger!"

Malthôn gave a look of knowledge; the look that parents give their children when they are talking of nonsensical things. "Silly, there is no way that this little girl can have a dagger."

"Yes there is!" Elanor shouted. "Look! She's got one!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Malthôn stated. "Now, do not make me come over here unnecessarily with talk of absurd things."

"But it's not absurd, it's-"

"May I have your attention, please?" Thranduil's voice boomed over the bustling crowd. All speech came to naught as soon as this announcement was made. All attention was on Thranduil, who was under the utmost pressure to inform the guests and residents of the reality in Southern Mirkwood. "This Banquet has been held to celebrate the coming together of Southern and Northern Mirkwood for the first time in a century!" A tremendous amount of applause came from the tables belonging to the Mirkwood elves, but the Lothlórien elves clapped gingerly. "But that is not all that this Banquet contains... As many of you Southern Mirkwoodians know, there have been some difficulties in the South with... erm..."

A door swung open violently and a badly injured elf fell to the floor. A gasp arose in the mass as Thranduil ran to the elf's side.

"Hír nin, Hír nin!" he cried as Thranduil approached him. "Maethien firn!"

"Na man?" Thranduil asked.

"Dangen... na yrch o Dol Guldur..." The elf seemed to have tried to say more, but collapsed completely into his own silver blood.

"Is that all the information we shall have?" Thranduil asked himself. He turned back toward his people. "This elf, brave soul... seems to think that there is an orc-fortress down in Southern Mirkwood called the Hill of Sorcery, hence Dol Guldur. Our Maethien and countless others have been slain by the foul hands of yrch." Another gasp came from the crowd, then fervent whispering. "And that, my people, is the evil that has arisen..."

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A/N: I have decided to throw in some freebie translations for any of you who do not understand the point I was trying to make...

IN CHAPTER SIX:

"Ion lín, Aran nín"-"Your son, my King." "Ion nín? I Hir Tithen o ir Ernil Tithen?"-"My son? (literally: The Little Lord or the Little Prince, but also could be: ) Angthoron or Legolas?" "Hir Tithen lín. E norn...!"-"(Your Little Lord or) Angthoron. He ran away...!" "Man dôr?"-"Wither to?" "Ú-iston."-"I don't know." "Enni togtha den."-"Bring him to me," but literally "To me you will bring him."

IN CHAPTER EIGHT:

"Maethien firn!"-"Maethien is dead!" "Na man?"-"By what?" or "how?" "Dangen... na yrch o Dol Guldur."-"Slain... by orcs of Dol Guldur (It's a place you ought to know about by now...)"

That's all I'm giving out to you free-loaders! Figure out the rest yourselves. I looked in Ardalambion for grammar and the Sindarin Dictionary for words. All of the conjugations are thought to be correct, and most of the sentence structures (from lessons on TOR.n, ) are correct. You can check in the aforementioned places to see what it means, because I can trust that no Tolkienite will stumble upon this little fic and criticize it to death (thank Ilúvatar, huh?). However, since I've tweaked phrases from their literal meaning, I don't suggest that you use parts of these sentences and expect them to be the correct word. If you are going to use them, using them in whole is a better idea.

Thanks for reading thus far, and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! I'll love you eternally! O, and I'll give you... eh... I don't have any money, so can I pay you in peaches? (Heh heh, Tikis... get it? Though I don't know why I'd be giving it to reviewers when I could use it myself... ^^;; )

~Trickssi