Title: Wine and Daisies
Author: R. F. Lupin
Rating: PG
Paring: het, Thranduil/OC
Warnings: cheesiness, random stupidity and my inability to spell/type
Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape or form, take any credit or financial profit from any of the Great Professor Tolkien's creations; I simply twist them around and make Tolkien roll over in his grave with pain and aggravation. ;-)
A/N: Light, fluffy and not to be over analyzed. Written many years ago for a writing challenge on a Yahoo!Group.
Wine and Daisies"Thranduil, could you please come here a minute?" Legolindé called.
She was currently balancing herself carefully on the tip-top of a very high ladder, attempting to re-hang some very stubborn garland, which was refusing her help and kept falling down over her eyes. This was really not a good thing, because the tiny Elleth could hardly see anyway, as her hair had begun to loosen itself from that fancy braid she'd put it up in this morning, and it strayed into her face every now and then, preventing her from seeing clearly.
The Elfking looked up vaguely from the council manuscript he was reading, and upon discovering his wife's distress, he gladly leapt up to assist her. This paper was so boring, and he was really growing tired of it. And now, what a wonderful excuse to stop reading! He could just see it now:
"No, I'm terribly sorry, Senator. I wasn't able to finish looking over that document. My wife was in dire need of assistance, and I was the only one there to help her. I shall try to get to it today."
Yea, like that would ever happen.
"What do you need, love?" Thranduil asked is wife, who was in an obvious state of frustration. He could tell that it wasn't the fear of falling 9 feet to the ground that was bothering her; it was that stupid garland of daisies which wasn't doing what she wanted.
Legolindé was very picky about the decorating of the Palace. Everything always had to be "just so", and if it wasn't, she went on the warpath. She would make life miserable for everyone around her if even one minuscule thing went wrong during the winter holidays, and it was usually very hard for Thranduil, who spent most of his day with her. (This was never a problem for him otherwise, because the two were deeply in love.) Luckily, the King was a swift learner, and he could decipher what she wanted done without having to anger her.
"Could you help me get this garland up again?" she asked, brushing another rebellious lock of her knee-length golden hair away from her face. "I had it perfect yesterday, but someone must've bumped it and knocked it loose."
The King smiled and began to ascend the ladder, talking to her as he rose.
"Someone was walking around 12 feet above the ground and the knocked your garland loose?" he asked, attempting to show her the absurdity of what she'd just said.
"Yes," she said adamantly, looking up at him as he reached the top stair. There was no way in Mordor that both of them would fit on the top platform, and Thranduil was still taller than her anyway.
Legolindé was about 5 feet, 1-½ inches tall (Thranduil had thrown her a small party when she breeched the 5-foot mark), and the lovely Elfking towered over her at nearly 6'5". He didn't need the extra elevation of the small platform to reach places that she couldn't.
Thranduil smirked at her and gently took one end of the garland. He didn't really see the point of decorating the Palace in the middle of the summer, but he could sway his wife's mind even if he tried with all his might. She wanted seasonal flourishes everywhere all the time, and Thranduil wasn't able to do anything to stop her. She had tried to put flowered collars on all the royal hounds, but Thranduil reminded her that the dogs would just as soon eat her lovely creations as they would wear them, so they were spared that.
"Where do you want this put?" he asked, not having gotten the decorating gene from his mother. He didn't care where the garland went, just so long as it was out of his way, but Legolindé would throw fits if it was off even by the slightest fraction of an inch.
"I want it right there, on the hanger," she said, pointing to a small, shiny hook about two feet away. "That's where it was before, until somebody knocked it down."
Thranduil decided to just let her think that the citizens could scale the sheer, cliff-like walls of this chamber and inquired as to how they were going to reach the hook.
"That's why I needed you," his Queen said slyly, handing him the rest of the prickly, daisy-adorned snake. "You have longer arms than I do, so you get to put it up."
Thranduil stared at her in disbelief. He knew how this was going to end. She'd get mad because he didn't have it perfect, and when he tried to fix it, he'd just make it worse, and they'd wind up back where they started, with an un-hung garland and sore tempers.
"You realize what you're asking for?" he said, hoping to make her see the light before it was too late.
"Thranduil, I'm asking you to hang a garland. That's all. It isn't a huge and life-changing tactical maneuver. It's just decorating."
She made it sound so simple, so reasonable, but Thranduil knew better. Nothing was ever "just decorating" with her.
He sighed, and moved up to the top platform, eyeing the tiny hook with a vengeance. He was determined to get this right; even if it meant ripping this stupid flower arrangement into pieces so small one couldn't see them. Taking a deep breath, he reached out carefully, and then quickly withdrew is hand, turning back to look at his little wife. She'd stepped down to the second step from the top, glaring at him expectantly.
"Well?" she prompted. She was getting edgy already.
"If I do this, you have to promise not to yell at me if I get it wrong. Even if it's more lopsided than the beds in the visitor's quarters, you will not patronize me. Deal?" The King was good a striking agreements and bargains with council members and traders, but his wife was a different creature entirely.
She laughed and hugged his knees, looking up at him with bright, joyous eyes.
"Of course I won't yell at you," she chimed, smiling her little face off.
Thranduil knew that if he got this wrong, she was going to wail on him barnyard style.
Great. He'd have bruises for a month.
Taking another breath for reassurance, the King looked at the tiny hook, and he knew it was mocking him. It dared him to come closer, taunting him and forcing him to screw up. How did his wife deal with this humiliation?
Then he remembered: she was magic.
"You know what?" Thranduil turned around to look at his wife again, smirking with a newly formed plan. "I have a better idea: why don't you hang the garland."
"Honey, I can't reach it!" she said shrilly, throwing her hands up.
"That's where I come in," the King said, scooping her up with one muscular arm and holding her out from the platform. She threw her arms around his neck in terror, as though she'd just realized how far off the ground she was. Legolindé shrieked, half out of fear and half from the shock of being hoisted up by her husband in such a manner. Thranduil laughed and explained his plan to her in more detail. He'd grasp her around the waist and hold her out away from the ladder, while she hung the garland up and arranged it until she was happy. Legolindé wasn't as thrilled with this idea as he thought she would be.
"What if your arms give out?" she demanded. The King crossed his limbs in front of himself so that she might see the taunt muscles rippling beneath his tunic, hard earned by years of military practice. No, they wouldn't give out. Not even if you dumped a ton of slate on them, they wouldn't budge. The Queen still wasn't convinced.
"What if you drop me?" she inquired hotly, biting her lip at the thought. It was a very long way to fall.
"Now why on earth would I do such a thing to you?" Thranduil wanted to know.
"Because you're cruel and sick like that," his wife replied.
She had a point.
"Little One, I am not going to drop you, and my arms are not going to give out," Thranduil said after a brief pause. "Now, the more time we stand here arguing about the 'what ifs', the less time we have to be doing other, more pleasurable things. And besides, pulling out every little idiosyncrasy of this situation is not going to help us hang that garland any faster. So, do you trust me?"
Legolindé contemplated this query for a moment before she replied. Yes, she trusted her husband, and she knew full well that he wouldn't ever do anything to harm her. But, if she said yes, she'd be deprived of a chance to pounce on him when he wasn't expecting it, which is what she'd been getting at all along. Oh well, he was right, and plus, she'd get to be around him some more while engaging in her favorite hobby: decorating.
"Yes, you know I trust you," she finally said, pecking him softly on the cheek. Thranduil smiled down at her and hoisted her up about the waist, angling her towards the little hook that was still mocking him.
Carefully, he extended his arms out over the gap between the top of the ladder and the shiny apparatus, making sure that he had a good firm grip on her the entire time.
Meanwhile, Legolindé worked on figuring out how to place the garland so that it would hang properly and evenly, without any unnecessary sagging or shortening. She almost had it, and when she could reach the little hook, she simply plopped the decoration onto it, and Thranduil pulled her back in so that she could examine her handiwork.
"Perfect," she said as she studied it. It was hanging nicely, and both sides were even in length and droop. She'd never seen a more accurately executed garland hanging in all her years.
Thranduil was simply amazed by how easy she'd made it look. If he'd done that, she'd have found something wrong with it and would have made him do it ten times over before she'd shoved him aside and done it herself.
"Now, that wasn't so hard was it?" Legolindé said, gently tapping the edge of her husband's regal nose. He just narrowed his eyes at her before descending the ladder. He'd had enough decorating for the day, and was eager to go try that new wine that had come in from Esgaroth.
"Why don't we celebrate?" he said as he reached the ground, looking up at his wife.
"And how are we going to do that?" she asked, even though she could suspect there would be alcohol involved somehow. Legolindé began to go down the ladder as well, stepping daintily on each rung before she went for the next one.
"By engaging in a little taste test," the King informed her, sweeping her up before she'd gotten to the last few steps. She hung on for dear life, knowing very well what would happen if she let go, having accidentally done it before.
"A taste test?" she repeated as her husband stopped spinning. "Of what, may I be so bold as to ask?"
"Of the new wine I just received from my friends in Lake Town. They told me it was very good, but I want to experience it for myself."
King Thranduil was as picky about his wines as his wife was about her decorating.
Legolindé sighed, but she knew she couldn't decline his offer. She didn't really like the taste of alcohol, but it always had a wonderful effect on her husband, and it always provided her with many pouncing opportunities, nearly all of which were utilized. She nodded swiftly to her husband, letting him know that she was up for his little taste testing fiasco.
Thranduil smiled at her and merrily kissed her forehead. It was his small token of thanks; the big one would come later. He put her down and took her gently to his side, beginning to dive into a large explanation about why this wine was so great and so wonderful. Legolindé was only half listening.
Then, she noticed a stray bunch of daisies that had fallen off the garland, probably when Thranduil had been handling it. She broke free from his grasp and raced over to get them, leaving her husband slightly dumbfounded and a little miffed that she was ignoring his sermon. Upon her returning, Legolindé conceived a devilish idea, and before her husband could protest or jerk away, she reached up and tucked the little bouquet behind his ear cheekily. It gave him a slightly silly appearance, and she giggled to herself as she pulled back to look at him.
The King didn't really know what to make of her sudden outburst, but half expected her to reach up again and fix the flowers because they weren't right. She didn't, and ordered him not to take them out. He tried to reason with her, but she remained firm and insisted that this would make her wine-drinking experience merrier.
At that, the King accepted the annoying and scratchy flowers behind his ear and started to lead his wife down to the wine rooms, preaching again about the benefits of alcohol and its consumption.
Right now, the flowers didn't matter, because he could live with wine and daisies.
: End :