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“I will settle for nothing less than that which we are owed!”
Thorin surged up, large hands slamming the table top. The delicate ornaments clattered, and he vaguely registered the rest of his advisors (also known as the Company of Thorin Oakenshield) springing to their feet in a show of support.
He growled, anger flooding his veins. Thorin should have known better than to expect anything less of Thranduil and his folk. Elves. They were all the same. Greedy and grasping for the treasure that was not theirs.
However, Thorin had to admit that they had been treated more kindly than he had expected when they had been offered the hospitality of the Elvenking’s halls for trade negotiations. They had been fed well - with real food, none of the silly plants that Elrond had deigned to grace them with.
Even so, Thorin was not ceding an inch to the arrogant monarch.
“Owed?” he thundered. “You’ll not see a single piece more than what we’ve proposed. It is a more than generous deal!”
Thorin’s company clamoured in agreement, muttering jabs and insults at the elves, who had remained seated, faces smooth as marble. Blasted elves. Did nothing shake their composure? But then again, Thorin mused sullenly to himself. The tree-shaggers had no feelings to irritate.
But Thranduil - Thranduil had risen silently to his feet. Thorin noted with satisfaction the light pink spots high on his cheeks, the way the Elvenking trembled with rage. The King Under the Mountain narrowed his eyes, hands grasping at his axe at his belt, as Thranduil started to motion to the guards at the sides of the hall -
When the doors burst open. Thorin spun around, lifting his axe clear of his belt in an instinctive motion. But it was not the clatter of armoured warriors pouring in he heard; it was the pitter-patter of small feet. The dwarf king stared, eyes bugging out a little.
“Ada! Ada!”
Jaws gaping open, stunned eyes followed the progress of the tiny elfling’s arduous journey across the enormous expense of the room, between the door and negotiation table.
"Is that-" he heard Gloin mutter.
"Mahal, I think it is!"
"An elfling?!?"
"One so small!"
"He's actually adorable..." Fili muttered.
"Who knew those weed-eaters could actually have cute kids?" Kili enthusiastically returned.
Thorin had to grudgingly admit: the kid was cute. He was ridiculously tiny as well as slender, with unbound pale blonde hair that fell to his waist. His eyes were comically big as he gazed at the dwarrows.
"Legolas!"
Thorin glanced at the Elvenking, eyes widening at the look of anger on his smooth face. It was enough to make even the hardiest, most rebellious dwarfling cringe and whimper apologies. Mahal only knew how the child had survived in such close proximity to Thranduil.
"How did you get in? Did the guards not inform you that I was busy? You are not to -"
"Come now, Your Highness," Balin interrupted, completely ignoring the incensed look that Thranduil gave him for interrupting. " No harm is done. The wee babe must have been curious."
"I'm not a babe!" A high, clear voice rang throughout the room. Out of the corner of his eyes, Thorin could see some of the previous stone-faced elf courtiers stifling smiles of mirth.
"I'm 103!" Legolas proudly announced, folding his arms with a huff. "Almost grown up!"
It was now Gloin, who chuckled fondly, for indeed, the elfing must have reminded him of his son.
"Aye, almost full-grown," the dwarf agreed, glancing at Balin, amusement shining in his eyes. "You must forgive this old dwarf, young master. Seen too many winters, he has."
He ignored the glare Balin shot his way.
"Enough!" Thranduil thundered, rising to his feet. The room quietened instantly. "Legolas, go straight to your room. You will be confined there for a week for this breach of-"
His sentence on the young elf was met with a barrage of outraged shouts from the dwarrows.
"You cold-hearted-"
“Elvish bastard!”
“Heartless, orc-filth-”
“Kili!”
“What, it’s true!”
“Lock up a poor child-”
“Some father you are-”
“ENOUGH!”
Thranduil’s enraged roar instantly commanded silence from the room.
“I’ll not have dwarrows,” he started, an ugly sneer twisting his face, “lecturing me on how to rear my son.”
“That wasn’t lecturing - that was shouting you ignorant-”
“Fili!”
“Wait- his son?”
The dwarrows hushed whispers were not doing them any favours. Indeed, the frown on Thranduil’s face seemed to be growing even darker.
“He has a son?”
As one, the dwarrows turned to stare incredulously at Thranduil, who lifted his chin haughtily, without deigning to answer.
“Legolas,” he repeated for the third time, voice tight, face hard and cold. “You will return to your room immediately, and remain there for the rest of the week. If you remain on yours best behaviour, I will-”
“But Ada, the archery trials are tomorrow!” Legolas protested, eyes widening almost comically. “Everyone will be there! I told Dorondir and Ruichon that I’d be there! We all-”
“Legolas,” Thranduil cut off, gliding forward to look down upon the outraged elfling. “Actions have consequences.”
Thorin saw the Elvenking throw a glance at the dwarrows, before focussing once more on Legolas. His son. Thorin still couldn’t quite wrap his head around that. A son. The weed-eater actually had a son.
“You will simply have to…”
Thorin glanced at Thranduil, puzzled, The monarch's voice trailed off, and he was staring at his tiny son with a panicked expression on his face. Thorin blinked, rubbing his eyes. Panicked. Thranduil the unflappable’s face was creased in a mixture of worry and horror.
What…. Oh.
Thorin had only a moment to see Legolas’ fair features twisted in a perfect picture of sorrow, bright blue eyes welling up with tears that threatened to spill over, before his view was hidden by Thranduil.
Thranduil had rushed forward, bending to sweep his son into his arms, wrapping Legolas into a secure embrace.
“Legolas, ion-nin, my little Greenleaf. Le melin, child, wipe your tears! Ada is sorry - he did not mean to make you weep. Your entrance was no unforgivable deed, ion-nin. I know how much you have been looking forward to your trials tomorrow, of course you must go!” Thranduil all but crooned to his son, one white hand carding softly through the silken hair of Legolas.
Thorin was pretty sure he was dead. He was torn between laughing and total shock at Thranduil’s actions. The proud Elvenking, on his knees before his son, to ease his tears?
“Come, ion-nin. We shall go to the kitchens. The cooks have specially prepared your favourite dishes for you, tithen-pen.” With that, the king swept out of the room, not even bothering to address the dwarrows to close the meeting.
Gaping in shock, Thorin stared after the retreating figures. His eyes, however, landed on the elfling’s face, eyes no longer filled with tears, but mischief. He grinned at the room in general, eyes sparkling smugly as he nestled his head upon his father’s shoulder.
There was a profound silence.
“Well, by my beard. I never thought I’d live to see the day…” Dwalin grunted, and the other dwarrows chimed in in approval.
An elf chuckled. Thorin immediately swung his gaze over to the other half of the table, only to raise a disbelieving eyebrow when he saw the other elves chuckling to themselves. One of them caught Thorin’s eye, and smiling broadly, explained the cause of their good humour.
“Our Prince has his father wrapped around his finger,” the elf grinned. “The moment he cries, the Elvenking will give him anything he wants.”
“Our Legolas is going to be the most spoiled elfing in all of Arda,” another said, shaking his head in rueful amusement.
“What-” Thorin uttered, still feeling shell-shocked. “But it’s Thranduil! Everyone knows he has no feelings! He’s an utter-”
“You would do well not to complete that sentence, my Lord,” an elf told him, tone razor-sharp. “Our Lord King is worthy of your respect.”
Thorin snarled, the old anger and hatred welling up once more. “Respect? Don’t talk to me of respect, elf! The is the same being who turned away when Smaug attacked Erebor!”
The elf narrowed his eyes.
“Your Highness,” he said icily. “Our forces then were much diminished by the sudden surge of attacks against our outposts. We could spare no more warriors - not to take on a dragon. If you had come to us for aid, our King would have gladly provided you with supplies and treatment.”
Dori snorted. “Are we talking about the same king?”
The elves rose fluidly to their feet, anger chiselled on the hard planes of their faces.
“Our Lord King is a harsh elf, dwarf,” he snarled. “But forget not that he has seen more than an Age pass. As a King in a realm perpetually at war against Evil, he has needed to be unrelenting and to show no weakness. In this, however, he, too, knows what it is like to be wandering and homeless.”
And on this last cryptic note, the elves left, leaving the dwarves to stare after them in bewilderment.
“...What in Mahal’s name was that?”
***
Thorin was wandering the gardens in the evening. Despite his widely proclaimed disdain of all things elvish, the dwarf did have some appreciation for gardens and nature. Probably cultivated by Bilbo on the quest.
He shook his head wryly, stretching out on a stone bench, watching the sunset. He had a lot to think about today, particularly the elf’s words at the end. Was Mirkwood at war? Here, in the fading light, the wind rustling through the silent foliage, it was hard to imagine.
“Hello!”
Thorin jumped, spinning around. He was greeted by a pair of wide, blue eyes, and a large grin. Legolas.
“Prince Legolas,” he greeted, smiling despite himself when the young elf attempted a suave bow, before nearly falling over. “What brings you out here at this time of the day? Were you not supposed to be confined t your room?
Legolas waved a hand dismissively.
“Ada re-scin-ed the punishment. He always does when I cry,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Unless I did something really bad then he punishes me anyway.”
Thorin raised an eyebrow at the elfling. “Really? That wasy to make him change his mind? If only you could show me how to do the same at the negotiation table, young Legolas.”
He watched the elfling frown in puzzlement at his words. “Why would you want him to?”
Thorin hesitated. How much should he say to Legolas? Would his words turn him against his father? But then again…
“Your father asks for more than what the trading route is worth, Legolas,” Thorin explained, weary. “He lusts for the treasure beneath our mountain, and we will not give in to such selfish desires.”
This provoked quite the opposite of the reaction he had been expecting.
“But Ada said you have lots of treasure! So you can give a little more - it’s good to share,” Legolas told Thorin earnestly, giving a nod of emphasis. “And we need it more than you do anyway!”
Thorin frowned, befuddled. “Need? Elves need no gems and treasure, little one. They believe that wealth comes from trees and grass and starlight.”
Legolas was already vehemently shaking his head. “No. Ada says we need them for… for…” he frowned. “Trade! He says we need more stuff, so we need things to trade! Ada’s really worried,” Legolas confessed in a small voice, looking up at Thorin from beneath his lashes. “He thinks I don’t know but he spends all the time in meetings and doesn't have time for me anymore. And he always looks worried. He never looks worried.”
Thorin felt a lurch in his heart at the downtrodden expression on the elfling’s face.
“Your… ada is probably busy… He loves you very much. What things, Legolas? What use have the elves of Mirkwood for items made by mortals?” Thorin felt guilty for exploiting the small elfling - but he needed to understand in order to wrap up this negotiations as quickly as possible.
“Metal, food, weapons,” Legolas shrugged, quickly losing interest as he gazed at something that Thorin could not see. “Ada said we need to watch what we eat now because winter is coming and we need our food to last. It’s nice seeing you, Mister Dwarf! Bye!”
And with that, the elfling was gone.
Thorin shook his head, frowning in confusion. Rationing food? It was summer now - they should not have to dip into their stores until winter truly started. And even then, from his memory, they always had had enough.
Oh, well. Thorin stood up and stretched, ready to head to bed for an early night. He could do nothing, until Thranduil came to him for aid.
But if things were truly as bad as the elfling said… Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to give the elves a little more in payment.