#good elf

Oh yes. I’m going to tell you about the time Ethari learned it was very unwise to try and start a prank war with three assassins that lived in the same treehouse as you. 

The thing about assassins is, you can sneak around without making a sound. and you are very, very good at making someone paranoid. 

Ethari’s go-to prank was always swapping out all the flower bouquets for fart flowers. he’s so dumb like he had to smell them too 

but the rest of us. Tiadrin, Runaan, and I. We showed no mercy. 

We managed to convince Ethari that it was customary to greet visiting Skywing elves by spreading your arms as if you had wings and flapping them behind your back. We brought it up casually over dinner. I’m still amazed I was able to keep a straight face. It was very timely, because Ethari had a few Skywing elves coming to get some new weapons made. We all crouched in a tree outside the treehouse when they arrived. Seeing Ethari greet potential customers with a concentrated face and flying motions instead of his usual friendly smile and handshake was something. I could feel the discomfort coming from the Skywing elves even from our far away vantage point. I couldn’t contain my laughter much longer, and when Ethari saw me laughing in the tree, he knew he’d been punk’d. 

The best part was the paranoia. This involved the three of us spending a lot of time not at home, so Ethari was constantly fretting, wondering when we would strike next. Anytime we were home, we would pretend like nothing had happened. We never brought up the Skywing incident again. Tiadrin would purposely linger outside the door to Ethari’s room for long periods of time. We stopped pretty soon though. A kind craftsman can only take so much.

A little practice doodle of @auliander-ffxiv‘s lovely boy to shake off the rust a bit.

Ossë had truly not expected anyone to dare the shore during his storm. When someone did emerge, he expected it to be one of his Elves, perhaps coming to see what had caused his temper this time. But it was not his Elf. It was the woodland Elf, come to watch the destruction at sea.

His approach was invisible, not clad in a fana to give away his shape amid the leaping grey waters and the howling wind. Only when he stood before Thranduil did he take shape, his body outlined by seafoam and his hair glistening with black ice.

He crouched before his visitor and as he leaned in, a smirk was on his lips. They were cold and damp as they pressed to Thranduil’s, and when he pulled away the salty taste of brine remained.