Disclaimer: The characters and universe portrayed in this work of fanfiction were created by and belong to J.R.R Tolkien. All credit goes to him and his estate. No profit is being made from this story.

WARNING: This story contains corporal punishment being used upon a young child as a method of discipline. If that is likely to offend you, stop reading now. As I said in my last story, if you choose to read and are still insulted by this, please note that there were warnings.

A/N: Feedback would be appreciated.

As the sun set and was slowly replaced by twinkling stars and a crescent moon, a family of elves were gathering to share an evening meal together in their private dining room. Present already were Prince Tiryn and Prince Ilfirin, animatedly discussing the afternoon they had spent watching the fearless warriors of Mirkwood train. Fighting was in their blood. Their grandfather had been cut down whilst battling for his love of the people he ruled, his family and Middle-earth itself; their father had succeeded him as king of a great realm after the war, already a formidable wielder of all manner of weapons. A thousand years on, he was still the best fighter in the kingdom, admired and adored by males and females alike, beautiful even when removing enemy heads or running them through with bloody blades. His four sons worshipped him as their hero, and could only hope that they would become half the elf he was.

"Did you see the veterans and the speed at which they moved? I thought they would lose their heads, the way those knives for flying," Ilfirin said breathlessly, pausing only briefly to flip a lock of silver hair from his sapphire eyes. "I thought that perhaps we would lose our heads."

Prince Tiryn smiled at his brother's enthusiasm, and nodded in cool agreement. Half way through adolescence, he was at the awkward stage where he could not decide whether to step into the shoes of Crown Prince Feladhil and accept that it was time for him to grow up, or maintain the immaturity he was prone to whilst in the presence of his younger sibling. "Aye, I saw everything that you did. I was there, after all."

"You blinked, though. You must have missed a few things," Ilfirin taunted. As he finished speaking, the door swung open and the lastborn member of the royal family entered with his head hidden in a battered book. "Hello, 'Las. Wait until you hear what we have to tell you. We went to the training fields and watched the warriors this afternoon. You should have come when we offered. It wasn't even a tournament or display, but it may as well have been."

Gracing his brothers with a careless shrug, little Legolas pulled himself up onto his chair and kicked at the wooden legs with the heels of his small boots. "I was busy," he announced proudly.

"Reading?"

He nodded happily, and waved the book at them. "This is my favourite story. I can read most of it by myself now, and I only had to ask for help on a few words."

"Well done," Tiryn smiled. "You are improving."

"You are becoming dull," Ilfirin muttered.

Legolas' blue eyes snapped up, and he glared at the boy closest in age to himself. Although immortal years differed somewhat to human calculations, he appeared to be no more than five summers. No child of five was boring, and he was certainly not the exception. "Just because you have never turned the page of a book in your life," he snapped. "I happen to like reading, and I don't care what you think of that."

"Oh, His Royal Highness is becoming angry now," Ilfirin mocked.

"Shut up, you two," Tiryn muttered, as the door opened once more to reveal their father and eldest brother. Both elves were deep in conversation, but that did not mean the king's eyes would be temporarily veiled to the antics of his other three sons. "Stop arguing."

"He is the one arguing," Legolas whispered. He raised his book, and stared determinedly at a picture of a horse. "Not me."

"Carry on reading at the dining table and Ada will be angry," Ilfirin warned in a malicious hiss. The words were met with frosty silence. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Fine, have a spanking. See if I care."

That was almost enough to lower the youngest child's book, but he caught himself just a second before common sense got the better of him, and turned another page. He felt rather than saw King Thranduil and Crown Prince Feladhil take their seats, and listened to the sound of wine being poured into three elaborate goblets. Neither he nor the brother closest in age to him were allowed near the potent drink, something for which he was secretly thankful. He liked fruit to eat, but the heady liquid was too much. Even the smell made him wrinkle his nose.

As his heir reached across the table to remove the silver lid from a platter of meat, Thranduil raised one hand to halt the blond youth's movement. "Wait. What is wrong with this scene?" He waited for recognition to flash upon the fair faces of his first three sons, before turning a gently chiding gaze upon his fourth and youngest. "Now is not the time or place for that, Legolas. If you want to read, do so in your own time."

"It was my own time before everyone arrived," Legolas muttered.

"I know it was, but now it has ended. You will put the book away and return immediately to the table," Thranduil ruled quietly.

Sighing, Legolas slid off the chair and walked towards a table on the far side of the room, deliberately dragging his feet. His book remained open, and he continued to stare at the pictures. He could feel eyes of many different blues trained intently upon him, but he forced down the pink flush which threatened to colour his cheeks, and slowed his pace somewhat to study a simple drawing of forest animals at night. He was not doing anything awfully wrong. His father always said that he should read more to improve his spelling and writing skills.

"Legolas..."

The small prince dropped his book onto the table with a sharp breath of irritation, and stalked back to the table. Throwing himself into his chair, he stared mutinously at his plate. "I am here," he snapped. "Everyone stop looking at me."

"That tone is not needed or advised," Thranduil warned, his voice dangerously soft. It was a tone recognised by his three older children, but he had never been forced to use it upon his youngest before then. "Unless you have anything polite to say, I suggest you sit through this meal in silence."

"Not hungry." As though struck by inspiration, Legolas' eyes flew towards his abandoned book. "Can I read if I don't eat?"

"No."

"But that's not-

"No!"

Breathing heavily, Legolas folded his arms over his small chest and growled low in his throat. "Fine!"

"Listen to me," Thranduil said, countering the child's raised voice by gentling his own. "We are at the dining table about to eat our evening meal, and this is a time for family. You know that. I want you here with us, but if you cannot conduct yourself properly, you will be sent away to your room. Would you rather be there? Because if so, it is best that you leave now and do not return unless you are sorry for your behaviour."

"Can I take my book?" Legolas asked quietly.

"No. If I have to send you away, it will be a punishment," Thranduil replied.

The prince considered in silence for a moment, before pushing his chair back and heading straight to the table upon which he had left his story. He caught expressions of shock flash across his brothers' faces at his blatant disobedience, but paid them no heed. He began to run towards the door, but his father had already risen to intercept him. A strong hand wrapped around his left wrist. Almost immediately, he found himself being led out of the dining room and a short way down the corridor, with his book gently but firmly removed from his hold. Although he tried to struggle, there was little to be gained by doing so. He stood no chance against the one who overpowered him so easily.

Using his free hand to open the door to the smaller lounge area next to the royal family's private dining room, Thranduil guided his son inside. "Come with me," he commanded quietly.

"Why are we here?" Legolas whispered, glancing around at the sudden change of surroundings.

Waiting for the beautiful eyes of sapphire to fall upon him, Thranduil sat in an armless chair and entwined his fingers with the child's small ones. "We are here because of your unacceptable behaviour in the dining room. I don't know what happened to make you so suddenly angry, but you are not being raised to lose your temper and speak in such a manner to anyone, whether they are an elder or one of your friends. What would you think if someone addressed you like that? You would be upset, no? Your feelings would be hurt."

"But I...I didn't hurt anyone."

"Do you think your brothers enjoyed it? Do you think I was happy to watch my kind and gentle little boy snap?" Thranduil asked, his voice soft. "No, Legolas. You did not hurt us. But you upset us, and that is enough. You were given fair chances, all of which you refused. If you had taken one of them or heeded my warnings, we would not be here now. As it is, I have no choice but to punish you for your behaviour. That is why I brought you in here, where none other could see what is about to happen."

"Are you going to...?" Legolas swallowed hard, overcome by the sudden desire to run far, far away. "Ada, I don't want..."

"I am sure, but it has to be done. Listen carefully to what I am about to say. This is important, and you must remember it. I love you very much. Along with your brothers, I love you more than anything else; nothing will ever change that. It is because of such great love – not in spite of it – that you are going to be punished. Do you understand that?" Thranduil murmured. He waited for his son's head to bob slowly up and down, and released a barely audible sigh. "All right. Now I want you to tell me why you are to be disciplined. I would not have you believe that it is without reason."

"Because I was naughty," Legolas whispered.

"The real reason, little one."

The prince closed his eyes, and he let his mind drift back to just a few minutes ago when he had been in another room and another frame of mind. "Because I was reading at the table, and when you told me to stop, I...I didn't. And I shouted, and I...was naughty," he finished lamely.

Studying the downcast expression worn by his youngest child, Thranduil wrapped his fingers around the boy's wrist and gently but firmly guided the small body over his lap. Had Legolas been older or the crime greater, he would have taken down the leggings and delivered a sound smacking to ensure that the message was undoubtedly understood. As it was, the leggings were of a thin material and did not offer much protection; besides, this was Legolas' first physical punishment, and the last thing he wanted was for the elfling to fear him. He drew a silent breath, closed his eyes to prepare himself for the task ahead, and raised his right arm.

SMACK!

It was important for the first slap to gain the errant child's attention and hold it; sure enough, Legolas gasped and instinctively tried to jerk away, but the hand resting on his lower back kept him still. Whilst he had not been hurt, the sting had come as something of a shock. Letting his eyes fall shut, he turned his face against his shoulder and accepted another three slaps before tears began to leak from under his lashes and make the swift journey down his cheeks. Above him, Thranduil blocked out the sounds of distress with the expertise of a parent who had plenty of experience doing just that, and landed two more swats to the seat of his son's leggings. The last one was fast approaching, and he made it as forceful as the first had been, dead in the centre of the recipient's small bottom.

"Ada!"

Silently proud that his youngest had lasted until the seventh and last smack to cry out and protest, Thranduil moved his hand up to Legolas' hair. Stroking the silken locks, he let a minute of sobbing pass before turning his son over and pulling him up into a warm embrace. "Hush, hush," he soothed. "It is over now, little one. Everything is forgotten. You took that so well, and you have paid for the events of tonight. We will not speak of them again, or this, unless you want to. It is all finished..."

And so the comforting continued. Loud wails slowly changed to soft crying, which in turn became barely audible whimpers. "I'm sorry," Legolas sniffed. "I'm so sorry. I love you, Ada."

"I love you too," Thranduil murmured.

"I'm sorry..."

Pulling back slightly from the embrace, the fair Elf-king raised his son's chin so that their similarly shaded eyes met. "I know you are. You only need to tell me so once, and that is enough."

As the older immortal put a hand on his shoulder and guided him from the room, back the way they had come to the dining area, Legolas reached behind and gave his backside an experimental touch. It still stung slightly, but was surely nothing compared to the punishments he had been warned about by his siblings – the ones that left the recalcitrant elfling unable to sit comfortably for a while. Sitting would be easy after a few minutes of shifting to find a suitable position. In truth, the majority of his tears had come from the shaming and saddening knowledge that he had upset his beloved father so much that a spanking had been the only option. He silently made a promise to never put either of them in that position again.

But as he stepped back into the dining room and muttered apologies to his suddenly downcast brothers, the youngest prince of Mirkwood reflected that such a feat might just be easier said than done.

Thanks for reading.

Laichiril.