Disclaimer: The Hobbit, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

Author's Note: Fill for a prompt on the hobbit-kink meme.

Elf Friend Mine

The dwarves had resigned themselves to it by now, praying the phase would pass quickly. Thror heartily disapproved; yet he could not hold it against his favorite grandchild and so indulged him. Though the little one was barely past infancy, he made it crystal clear that those unacceptable books in the library, shoved away in the back, dark, musty corners about those tall, ugly, glowing creatures were the only reading material he preferred. None of those epics about the dwarves' deeds and heroes or other histories about Middle-Earth for him, thank you very much. In his mixture of developing Khuzdul and the common tongue, Thorin piled questions about the elves on anyone within earshot.

Worst, though, was when companies from the elven kingdoms came to Erebor. The little prince, more often than not, was found shadowing them, babbling constantly, his blue eyes wide. Or having wormed his way into their presence, he was delighted when they paid attention to him, at times even passing him around in their arms for a cuddle. Those were the best times! He would tremble, starry-eyed, unable to contain his excitement at being with real regal elves. For the rest of the dwarves, they had near heart attacks and wondered where they had failed their prince.

So then, when the latest elven visitors, this time from Mirkwood, were shown into the vast throne room, the plan was to briefly introduce the prince and then suggest (no, it was not begging) the elves not take too much notice of the child. In the end Thorin yet again undermined their plans.

King Thranduil barely completed his bow to the dwarf king and opened his mouth when four-year-old Thorin suddenly dashed from his place between his mother and nurse and ran towards the startled elves.

"Thorin!" his mother took a step as though to follow, then paused.

The dwarfling did not stop until he reached the elven king who had instinctively dropped to one knee and stumbled into his arms. Thranduil reflexively caught the little firm body. There was dead silence as Thorin leaned his head back some to better look up at the pale face, the blond hair, and the majestic crown. The two blinked at each other.

"Elf friend!" Thorin suddenly exclaimed with a beaming smile, then proceeded to plant a big sloppy wet kiss on the king's cheek and hugged him happily.

The commotion that followed – the gasps, stares, chuckles, murmurs (in several languages), fainting – was great indeed. Thror's rumbling laughter rose above it all.

"Welcome, King Thranduil of Mirkwood. Welcome, Prince Legolas Greenleaf," he said, shaking with lingering mirth. "You have already met my grandson, Thorin. His not having been born before your last visit, I ask you to pardon him; he is still learning the ways of protocol."

Thranduil rose with the prince in his arms – who had flat out refused to end the hug and now had his fingers curled curiously around long braids – the faint blush in his cheeks brought about by his unexpected welcome cooling. Solemnly he bowed his head to the dwarfling. "Well met, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror," he greeted gravely.

For a moment Thorin stared, his eyes growing round with wonder. "Hello," he whispered, awed, and wrapped his arms around the elf's neck.

A corner of the elven king's mouth barely twitched, his sharp hearing catching his son's breathed, "Adorable!" Yes, he mused, returning the prince's gaze, quite a bold little fellow you already are at such a tender age.

"I'm going to marry you one day!"

The normally composed elven king could not stop his mouth from half falling open. His cheeks turning as red as apples, he could only manage a stuttering, "Oh-h-h-h?"

"Dear heart, such a thing is not possible." Thorin's mother materialized at their side. While her voice was calm, her eyes were uneasy.

Her son pouted at her in confusion. "Why? He is pretty, nice, and glows!" Turning back to the king, he added, "I like you!"

Thranduil smiled a little, warmth spreading through him. "And I like you, little one," he admitted.

One would have thought Thorin had just found the most precious gem in all of Middle-Earth with how his whole body lit up at the elven king's words.

"But your mother is right. I am not a lass or a dwarf."

Thorin's face crumbled, tears welled up in his eyes, and his chin quivered. Sniffling, he tucked his head into the crook of the elf's neck.

"There, there," Thranduil crooned gently, rubbing comforting circles on the dwarfling's back. "It will be okay. Somewhere out there is a dwarf just for you. A pretty, nice lass…"

"And glows?" Thorin drew back to see the elven king. His eyes still wet, there were hints of sunshine breaking through. "I'll marry someone just like you," he decided firmly with a serious nod.

Thranduil, unsure how to react, simply bowed his head, then was startled by another big kiss and hug before Thorin reluctantly went to his mother. The prince waved cheerfully goodbye to his new friend as he was carried from the hall. A swift glance to his entourage revealed their silent amusement. Thranduil wondered if he would ever live down being called "nice," being kissed, and being sort of proposed to.

"A charming, bold, fearless lad," he turned to Thror with a bow. "Your grandson will turn into a fine brave leader."

The King Under the Mountain smiled with satisfaction and agreement.

It proved to be extremely difficult to keep Thorin away from the elven king during the rest of his visit. And in subsequent visits from the Mirkwood elves, it became obvious that Thranduil was far and away the dwarf prince's favorite elf even as he bowed to protocol and responsibilities and had to put aside some of his fascination with the immortal creatures.

And when many decades later, in the restored Erebor Thranduil was an honorary guest at Thorin's wedding to a noble dwarf lass, he recalled that first meeting with the now King Under the Mountain.

"You found your One," he murmured to the king later at the wedding feast.

"Just as you predicted," Thorin replied, his eyes tenderly tracking his bride as she paused at the table where his whole company and their burglar were seated. "She does not glow, though." He grinned.

"But she is very pretty and nice."

"Like you, just as I promised."

Thranduil shook his head with a light chuckle, "Much prettier and nicer than I."

There was a snort. "Aye! I discovered that long ago, growing older and discovering there was more to elves than just glowing."

"Yet you did not cast me completely aside." Thranduil's eyes clouded with bitter memories and regrets. A warm hand on his arm drew him back to the present.

"You were, are, and always will be elf friend to me," Thorin claimed, steadily holding the elven king's gaze.

The elf breathed deeply, not feeling he deserved it, yet grateful for it. "Thank you."

At the tug on his sleeve, he allowed himself to be guided down until Thorin could lightly tap their foreheads together.

The dwarf king smiled at his friend's surprised expression. "There is still talk about my lack of propriety when I kissed and 'proposed' to you when I first met you." His eyes twinkled with laughter. "Do not wish to ruin your reputation more."

Thranduil laughed loudly.

THE END