Summary: Oropher, Aran of Greenwood, has a very strange "fear". A coronation gift inspires his Queen to help him conquer it...

A/N: This refers back to a specific incident in AfricanDaisy's and my Thranduil series, when Oropher and Felith are still courting. Since "A Chance To Be Happy", was written solely by AfricanDaisy, and I can't put it here, I will reproduce that section here to begin with:

Five long-years after the fall of Doriath, in Lindon: (quoted from "A Chance to be Happy")

“Tell me something about yourself,” Felith said softly, as the night progressed. “Something that I don't know.”

Absently playing with the elleth’s hair, Oropher considered this. “Something about me that you don't know? Mmm...if there’s anything you don't know about me, that’s probably because it’s humiliating and to my detriment. I could tell you something like that about my brother. He wouldn't mind.”

“He would,” Felith said drily. “Please. Tell me something about you.”

“Me,” Oropher sighed pensively. “All right, then. Mmm...well...all elves have fears, no? One of mine is stupid. I mean, I have normal fears. I am afraid of losing my loved ones, dying alone and in a terrible way, not making my family proud of me. But I sort of have a little...very slight phobia...of...scented candles.”

Felith sat up and looked at the ellon, biting her lower lip to hold back a grin as a faint blush coloured his cheeks. “You’re scared of candles.”

“Scented ones. And maybe ‘scared’ is an overstatement. It’s more like I just dislike them,” Oropher backtracked hastily.

“Mhmm. You dislike them. All right, and why do you dislike them?”

“When I was a very little elfling, I suppose I couldn't have been more than ten, maybe younger, my mother used to have this large collection of candles and incense. She loved them. She had them all around the house. The only place she didn’t have candles were in my bedroom, my brother’s nursery and my father’s study,” Oropher recalled, his gaze going distant as the memory came back. “Adar didn't like them. He humoured her and let her decorate the house with them as she pleased, but the study was absolutely forbidden. Anyway...one day, she brought this candle home and it had the most beautiful smell. It was just like a strawberry pie, I swear. So I figured it had to taste like a strawberry pie.”

“Oh, Oropher,” Felith shook her head. “You didn't eat it.”

“What was I supposed to do? I was only little,” the ellon defended himself. “And I didn't eat all of it, anyway. Just some. But I did feed a bit to my brother as well. We both ended up sick for a number of days. It was terrible. I don't have anything against normal candles, but now whenever I smell scented ones, it takes me back and I feel terribly ill. So that’s why I dislike them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

S.A. 2458:

"...So that's why I dislike them." The words rang in Felith's memory, and a smile flickered around the edge of the new-made Queen's lips. Oh, it was difficult, settling into the fact that she was now not just nobility, but royalty. But in the months that had followed the decision of Greenwood that the throne would be theirs, gifts had poured in from their neighbours in all quarters: Elves, Men, and Dwarves alike.

Including a package sent from the women of Dale. Containing...scented candles. Various fruit scents, Felith noted absently; if their son was anything like his father...and the thirteen year old child was, other than in looks, his father's son...he'd be checking to see if they were made of sweets.

Strawberry sweets. A wicked grin spread over Felith's face, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oropher!" she called, getting her husband's attention.

"Yes, meleth?" he asked, completely innocent of his wife's intentions.

"Get Vehiron and come here, won't you, my love..."

When the ellyn were presented with the box, Felith Istuioniel, wife of Oropher Celepharnion, had the satisfaction of watching the brothers' identical horrified looks dissolve into laughter.

That was one fear conquered, she thought smugly to herself. If only all fears were so easily dealt with!

"Can we keep them?" she asked, all innocence, "in the name of diplomacy, perhaps..." and the ellyn snorted.

"I suppose," Oropher said reluctantly, "in the name of diplomacy, of course...but if Thranduil becomes ill, he's your problem."

Mercifully, in this, Thranduil had more sense, and no candle-induced illness befell the grandson of Celepharn. The matter of stuffing himself on a real strawberry pie, however, was somewhat more inevitable.

"He's your son, all right, Oropher."