Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm

Thranduil drew to a halt a few steps away from the figure sprawled on the stairs, his face growing sour.

Calion had half expected him to be banished from the festivities like a child in shame, so was surprised by Gil-Galad’s invitation. He accepted, not wanting to spend the entire evening sulking in his room. 

The king in exile dressed accordingly, nothing overly audacious mind you. An outfit in shades of purple with a few pieces of gold jewellery to contrast; and a pair of boots with a touch of heel to increase his height. Throwing a plum coloured cape over one shoulder, Calion marched smartly down to the gathered party. After exchanging a few polite words with Elrond and Gil-Galad, he helped himself to whatever alcohol they were serving.

After a few cups of wine, the rage that boiled up within Thranduil with every glance at Pharazôn slowly turned to a mild simmer. The wine wasn’t just good, it was excellent, Thranduil decided. He’d have to find an elf pliable enough from whom to get the recipe.

“For you, certainly,” Thorin replied, automatically. He smiled a heartbeat later as his eyes flicked own to the puzzle-box. Ah ha! Was Thranduil having difficulty? The look on his face seemed to indicate he wasn’t happy. Already Thorin’s grumpy mood began to lift.

He stepped closer to Thranduil and lightly set a hand on Thranduil’s silk-clad hip. “Why don’t we step inside your chambers, hm?”

It had been a long day, longer than he was used to, and he’d pushed himself hard so as not to appear weak in front of the dwarf delegation. Dwalin had helped him cover up how weak he was. He owed him a lot. But as long as the day was Thranduil’s presence perked him up and he really was looking forward to seeing the look on his face when he got the box open.

He was trusting someone to have brought food up for the kittens. They would be fine for a bit longer. At least until Thorin had to change before the evening meal.

Thranduil didn’t like the way Thorin’s expression brightened, from weary to amused within seconds, when he saw the puzzle-box. Torturing his lover was giving Thorin altogether too much fun, and Thranduil wasn’t going to stand for it any longer.

“Fine,” he snapped, feeling irritation begin to sizzle within him. He had to control himself. If Thorin was taking satisfaction in his annoyance, he would not give him more occasion to rejoice.

Thranduil drew to a halt a few steps away from the figure sprawled on the stairs, his face growing sour.

If Calion had the energy reserves he would rise to that little jab, but he was let drained - only able to bite halfheartedly, like a turtle snapping from a shallow puddle. “Just…” he said, taking a deep breath in. “Go somewhere else and be self-righteous and important. I’ve apologised, you’ve apologised. There is no need for the conversation to continue. Unless you’re the type that enjoys self-punishment?”

ar-pharazon-the-fallen:

If Calion had the energy reserves he would rise to that little jab, but he was let drained - only able to bite halfheartedly, like a turtle snapping from a shallow puddle. “Just…” he said, taking a deep breath in. “Go somewhere else and be self-righteous and important. I’ve apologised, you’ve apologised. There is no need for the conversation to continue. Unless you’re the type that enjoys self-punishment?”

With a final glare, Thranduil turned on his heel and left the room wordlessly. He’d very much wanted to snap something back at Pharazôn, but knew how that might end. He’d promised Elrond to behave.

And he did. He ignored and avoided Pharazôn whenever he next saw him. All would have been well if it hadn’t been for the moment he sighted Pharazôn at the next feast. 

Thorin half laughed and half sobbed at the revelation of the kittens’s names. “Hilarious,” he managed to mumble as he wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. Naming the kittens after themselves… could that mean they’ve resigned themselves to Thorin never coming ‘home’ again? “I’ve missed them so much, Dwalin. I’ve missed everyone. I’ve missed you. It hasn’t felt right without you nearby.” He sighed and reached into the basket to lightly stroke the orange kitten’s, Filiki’s, fur with a calloused finger. Filiki murred in his sleep but didn’t wake.

“Which is completely unfair of me to say. I left with no intention of ever returning to Erebor.” Which was, technically, true. “I would like to apologize to you for…” For abandoning him. For seeking death. For falling in love with someone else. “…that.” he finished, without looking at Dwalin. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Dwalin loved him and he loved him in return. He would, still, gladly die for Dwalin if it came down to it. 

He was as confused by the bright, burning love he had for Thranduil as he was sure his old friend was. But, as confusing as it was, it also felt that for the first time in his life, he was in the right place with the right person. He would die for Dwalin but for Thranduil he would live. When he finally joined his family and friends in the Halls of Mandos, Dwalin would join him… but Thranduil never would. They only had the remainder of his lifetime to spend together and that was not much time, to an elf.

“Breakfast should be out in the hall. Will you breakfast with me?”

Dwalin’s grip on Thorin’s shoulder tightened, and he went to rub the back of his neck at his friend’s words. Mahal, they’d missed Thorin so much too. Of course it didn’t feel right for him to be away, with elves, of all people! Dwalin understood why he had to do it, but it wasn’t fair. Thorin had won back Erebor for them, and now he was still an exile, all because of that cursed treasure.

“It’s all right, ye great softie,” he rumbled at Thorin. “I know it’s hard for you, and you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.” And he’d find a way to get Thorin back into Erebor one day, even if it took him centuries.

“Yeah, c’mon, let’s get to breakfast. Dunno about you, but I’m starving, then we’ve got work to do with the halfwits who’re setting up your forge.” With that he nudged Thorin towards the door, hoping that food would settle their nerves.

---

By the end of the day, Thranduil was at the end of his tether. That damned puzzle box. He still couldn’t help but think that this was some kind of mockery. Elrond would have loved this, of course, but he wasn’t Elrond and he had no love for brain-teasers.

So when he heard Thorin return from setting up the forge, he majestically but rather haughtily stepped out of his chamber, puzzle-box in his hand. His face was severe, not as twisted with frustration as it had been only minutes earlier, but certainly not friendly either.

“What have those boys gone and do-” A sleepy ‘mew’ stopped Thorin in his tracks. His hand stretching towards the basket, froze in mid-air. Had his ears deceived him or had he just heard a cat? No. They wouldn’t have… He glanced at Dwalin, as if to ask permission, then crept up on the basket to peek at its contents.

Inside of the basket were two Ereborean kittens! One was grey and black and white with stripes the other was a golden orange and white with stripes. Like all Ereborean cats, they had large pointed ears with tufts on the ends and enormous paws for such tiny kittens. Some Ereborean cats grew so big they stood half the height of a dwarf!

The kittens were tangled up in each others’ limbs as they slept; just like his nephews often had . “They’ve, uh, the cats… they’ve come back to the mountain, then?” he asked in a gruff voice.

It had been one of the things Thorin had noticed when they’d been preparing for a siege. No cats in Erebor. Obviously, the dragon had scared them all off. He wondered if Smaug had also scared off the vermin the cats usually hunted? 

He wondered if his moustache would absorb the tears he felt threatening to spill over before Dwalin had noticed he was weeping.

Not likely. Dwalin tended to notice things like that.

“…” He tried to quietly clear his throat when words would not come to him. Did his nephews send these kittens to be their stand-ins? The thought of never seeing them again stabbed at Thorin’s heart and his vision went blurry.  He had nearly lost them! Oh, he wanted so badly to pick one of the kittens up but he didn’t trust himself to be gentle with his shaking hands and visions of his nephews covered in blood dancing before him.

Thorin’s face was a picture when he heard one of the kittens in the basket, and Dwalin gave a smirk and a nod, encouraging him to look into the basket. Fili and Kili had surpassed themselves; the kittens even sort of looked like them, though Dwalin wished -- for Thorin’s sake -- that they wouldn’t be quite as mischievous.

“Aye, they showed up while you were healing,” Dwalin said softly, sensing the emotion overcoming Thorin, and feeling a little moved himself. “One day a cat just turned up out of nowhere -- sort of suspect they were in the northern eaves o’ the forest, truth be told -- and followed some of our scouts home. Then more came. And now they’re making kittens.”

Dwalin placed his hand on Thorin’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He hadn’t exactly expected for him to start bawling, and when Thorin bawled, Dwalin’s eyes prickled, and that wasn’t something he wanted.

“I’ll cut your throat! That’ll shut you up!”

“You’re beautiful…”

Happy Tolkien Reading Day!