Title: Enthrallment
Author: foreverdistracted / 4everdistracted
Fandom: The Hobbit
Summary: Thorin and Thranduil's first meeting left quite an impression on both parties.
Relationship: Thorin & Thranduil (gen)
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Thranduil, Tauriel, Elrond
Notes: Based on Ninjababypowpow's crazy adorable prompt on the meme that just wouldn't leave my head. Sadly, I didn't manage to grab the bonus points (I hope the prompt gets more fills, because I would seriously love to read them), but the OP luckily didn't mind. This version has been edited a bit more versus the one posted in the meme.
A mountain of Dwarf babies for my wonderful proofreader. All remaining mistakes are my fault. Sorry for what's probably bastardized Khuzdul.
"I fail to see why you must trouble yourself with my affairs," Thranduil said, leading the way down a well-travelled corridor deep in Erebor, his retinue behind him and Elrond with his diplomats at a distance to his left. "Seeing as how we handle things quite differently here in - am I boring you?"
Elrond and his two companions had stopped keeping pace and were staring at something down the path they'd travelled. He was quick to smoothly catch up at the mere shift in Thranduil's tone, however. "This is a tune I've heard a hundred times. Yet four months have passed, and this 'simple matter of a trade disagreement' remains unresolved."
"And you, of course, thought the fault was mine."
"I mentioned no such thing," Elrond said, with a placating tone.
Thranduil huffed. "I've not seen you pestering the Dwarves whenever trouble arises here."
"Perhaps I merely prefer your company over theirs."
"There is no need to be insulting." One glance at Elrond and he dryly continued, "I do believe you keep doing that just to aggravate me."
"Hm? Oh. Apologies." Elrond turned slightly from where he'd stopped and gave him a smile over his shoulder. "But it appears we have a very persistent shadow."
Thranduil frowned and followed his gaze. As soon as the last member of his retinue moved to clear his line of sight, he spotted it - a lump of shadow far down the corridor, slowly making its way towards them. When it stepped onto a mirrored reflection of sunlight (slim, precise rays that illuminated otherwise dark corridors during the daytime, and evenly-spaced across the halls - he must remember to ask someone how such a thing was achieved so deep under the mountain), a few murmurs rose from the others in their party.
No wonder Elrond had seemed so entertained. It was a young Dwarf child - perhaps barely a year or two old and fresh from infancy, crawling on all fours. Though even as they watched, it gingerly rose on two legs. Before it could achieve stability, it launched itself forward - momentum (or perhaps sheer force of will) managed to propel it a few paces on wobbly little legs, before it collapsed once again onto its hands and knees.
Thranduil canted his head curiously at the approaching creature. When it was closer, it seemed momentarily dazzled by the range of Elven boots and finery available to it. It sat on its rear, its fat legs waving at its front, face looking mildly perplexed at this sudden conundrum. A moment later, it was rolling onto its side and back to mobility, making a beeline for Thranduil's set of robes in particular.
True to form, his Militia Captain had the child in hand well before it could stumble onto his clothes. The little thing fussed and struggled and whined. Its flailing hands grabbed hold of Tauriel's braids, which had it momentarily appeased.
Apart from a mild wince, Tauriel's expression held pure curiosity. "Where do you think you're off to, you tiny thing?" she said, amused. "Let's have a look at you."
"Far too young to be searching for mischief," Thranduil muttered, although he was among the many who drew in close to observe. Dwarves were notorious for their secrecy, and in all these years, the only time Thranduil had ever seen Dwarf infants and very young children were when they were swaddled protectively up in blankets and tucked safely in their parents' arms. He'd seen Dwarf youths, of course - older ones well on their way to adulthood. Although they, too, were taught to be wary of other races at a very young age, and often had little cause to be present whenever he was.
"Tauriel, I think she's lecturing you on your braids," Lindir said. Smatterings of laughter rose from the assembled Elves. The child was preoccupied with trying to unravel Tauriel's left braid, its tiny fingers digging into the woven ends and pulling them apart.
"He," Elrond helpfully said. Many heads, including Thranduil's, turned to look at him.
"How can you tell?" Thranduil asked.
"This, right here." With a single finger, Elrond carefully lifted then smoothed out a swath of hair from behind the young child's head. Attached to it and keeping most of the wavy hair away from his face was a flat hair ornament, barely an inch large, all polished white silver and covered in runes. "Typically only given to boys." At the touch, the child turned his head this way and that, searching for the source and diverting his attention away from Tauriel's (now frayed) braid. When he spotted Elrond's retreating finger, he drew back a chubby arm and tried to hit it.
Elrond chuckled and kept his finger in reach, letting the young one grab and shake it.
"Surely the soft fuzz growing downward near his ears are marks as well? Looks to be the start of a thick beard in a few years," Lindir said. Elrond seemed to have sparked freedom in touch among the group, as Lindir, too, indicated with a finger the fine hairs growing close to the child's jawline.
The ensuing laughter this time was directed at the Elf instead. "Lindir is young and has not had much chance to sort fact from fiction regarding Dwarves," Elrond explained.
"Begging your pardon," Lindir said, with a wry, embarrassed smile, "I had thought that mere rumour."
"If you wish to learn more of their ways, the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains in the West are not as strict nor vigilant in guarding their culture as their cousins here in the East," Elrond added. "But a chance to marvel at Erebor's riches and architecture is an achievement on its own."
"I've seen better," Thranduil muttered. Erebor's wonders had soured for him when their stubborn king made one too many demands on how Greenwood was to handle Dwarven trespassers. And there were plenty of those.
"Yes, you like to say so." Elrond's tone was lightly admonishing, but he let it pass - for the child was now looking at him rather intently and waving his arms in his direction.
Thranduil frowned, with little to no effect on the young one. "What's he doing?"
"He's reaching for you," Elrond said.
"Why?"
"Who knows."
"My Lord...?" Tauriel asked, while tilting the struggling child in his direction.
He nodded and met the reaching hands with one of his own, with the other ensuring the child was safe as he was brought close to Thranduil's side. Transferring from one Elf to another just seemed to delight the little thing. There was a quiet moment when they simply stared at each other - up close, the child was even more lovely than Thranduil ever thought possible of its race, with large, crystal-blue eyes and thick, wavy hair that fell across his back and framed his face.
The tiny Dwarfling had an opinion as well, which he gave voice to by suddenly launching into a string of emphatic Khuzdul.
Thranduil's eyebrows rose. That was perhaps the most amount of Khuzdul he'd ever heard casually spoken in his presence. Beside him, Elrond wore an amused expression. "My knowledge of their spoken language is not as extensive as I would like, given their reluctance to share it. He is too young to properly pronounce some of the words, though, I think." He chuckled when the young child merely kept going. "I've never heard Khuzdul spoken in this manner before."
If by 'in this manner' Elrond meant through a clumsy tongue and baby teeth, then Thranduil would have to agree. It didn't sound quite as guttural nor grating as it normally did.
"A harsh language, Khuzdul," he muttered at the child, who blinked up at him. "Know you Westron?"
The child patted his nose.
"I suppose not." Thranduil heaved the child upwards, anchoring his back and legs with one arm while his right tucked his loosened garments back to some semblance of order. He wore rather impressive finery - blue, embroidered silks with the hems containing bold patterns of tiny animals. The hair framing his face was adorned with spiralling bangles that cast blue reflections at the smallest turn in angle. A member of the nobility, perhaps, or a rich merchant's son. He was also missing a sock. "His speech seems well on its way to fluency, however. Should he not be walking properly by now?"
"I have heard babes who wish to be held take longer to learn how to walk," Tauriel said from nearby, with a large smile at the child busily mapping out Thranduil's face. "And this one certainly likes being held, don't you, you bold, little thing?"
The child looked at Tauriel, then back at Thranduil and released yet another phrase of Khuzdul.
Thranduil nodded. "Hm. Yes, quite."
His agreement seemed to embolden the little one further (and what a handful this one was going to be - Thranduil could already detect an imperious note to his manner of speech), and he said something else while his fingers tangled themselves in Thranduil's hair.
"Well, naturally," Thranduil mildly said in response. When the child spoke next, it sounded a bit like a question. He planted a brief kiss on the hand patting a corner of his mouth. "Of course it is - oh." He frowned. After he spoke, the boy began to tug at his hair and extend his arm down the corridor. "Did I just agree to something?" he asked Elrond, whose eyes were alight with amusement. At his expense, no doubt.
"I caught the words buzn and hubûn-maldarûn."
"Hubûn-maldarûn...?"
Elrond shrugged. "A Dwarven game of some sort."
"Ah." Thranduil pondered - they did have time. They'd been told a few minutes earlier that an unforeseen complication had arisen, and that King Thror would be occupied for quite a while (along with the appropriate apologies and an offer to show them the hallmarks of the kingdom). Pressing for details had been an exercise in futility, and Thranduil had had little choice but to wave off the messenger.
They were supposed to meet with one of Erebor's lieutenants, presumably to be shown the outer defences the Dwarves had erected to keep Trolls, Orcs and wild things at bay, and to seek advice if they wished to part with any. Thranduil, however, had no doubt that it was to keep them out of the castle and out of range of whatever it was that had the Dwarven court preoccupied.
Well, he knew with whom he would rather be spending time. Young, hopeful eyes closed momentarily when Thranduil pressed his cheek against soft hair and a round ear. "All right, little one. Where shall we go?"
They didn't have to travel far. The young child led them to a large, underground garden, meticulously maintained and built with children in mind. There were many wooden playthings lying about, and a smoothed stone fence separated the small waterfall from clumsy, tiny feet. He gave orders to two of his guards, telling them to let someone know where they were and to call upon them when it was time for the meeting.
The young boy pointed out a high shelf containing all sorts of toys and items. With some difficulty in communication, Thranduil singled out a box that contained a thick, folded board with drawn patterns and runes, as well as a large pile of multi-coloured glass pebbles.
A minute later saw most of their assemblage exploring the curiosities of the room, from illustrated storybooks to the craftsmanship of the inert wall sconces. Thranduil and Elrond occupied the grassy patch close to the waterfall, lying on the ground and watching as the child assembled the game to the best of his abilities. At one point, Thranduil guessed that the game must have started and was still continuing. There was a small pile of green pebbles on the child's end, and a larger pile of red ones on his.
He threw the die again. The child clapped his hands and placed another red pebble in Thranduil's pile.
"You are very bad at this," Thranduil said, with a mock-reprimanding tone. The child giggled. "I am not even familiar with the rules of this game, and yet I am winning."
Elrond looked over from where he was perusing a Dwarven puzzle tome. "I doubt he knows the rules either. I think he just likes to give you sparkling things."
"Obviously a behaviour we must encourage." The young boy was tapping his palm on the board and making the die rattle - a signal for Thranduil to throw another round. Thranduil tut-tutted and rose from his seat. There was some numbness in his legs from the uncomfortable position he'd been holding. He took the child once again, the little thing fitting snugly into his hands. The initial kicking and fussing abated quickly when Thranduil placed an arm under his bottom and braced him against his chest.
So fearless, this one. Wide, blue eyes regarded him with open admiration, while tiny hands stroked his hair, ears, and what he could reach of his face. He mirrored some of that curiosity, his right hand tracing over the smooth forehead, soft skin, and impressive nose.
"I have decided that if your parents do not show up within the next hour, I am taking you home with me. Would you like that?" The child seemed too enamoured with his hair to have heard. He ran the tips of his own fingers through those charming, wavy black curls. "Will you thrive under sunlight and green canopies, little one?"
Young fingers were gliding over his crown now, specifically the portion pressed close to his cheek. His curiosity about that particular item seemed immense - he grabbed hold of the wooden end of the half-arch and started trying to tug it loose.
"An eye for the fine things, I see. Here," Thranduil ignored the small gasps from other Elves as he carefully extricated the crown from around his head. He kept hold of it but placed it well within reach of the child - and reach, he did. The Dwarfling was quick to stroke and caress the intricate details of the aged wood. "We will weave you a crown much like mine, but smaller and with little sapphires to match your eyes, hm?"
Tauriel hesitantly spoke from near the entrance of the garden, giving tentative voice to the protests probably boiling silently within the others. "My Lord...is that...I mean no disrespect, but your crown is quite old -"
Thranduil frowned at her. "Desist, Captain. Look, the young one is quite careful."
Said young one stared pensively at the network of shaped vines and leaves. A heartbeat later, and one of the wooden tips of the crown was between front and lower Dwarfling teeth, the gleaming baby ivories clamping down repeatedly on the tiny branch as if testing its mettle.
Elrond's laughter wasn't loud enough to drown out the panicked cries of Thranduil's retinue. Whether it was due to the combined ruckus or the guards he'd sent away earlier, a number of Dwarves finally arrived at the scene. Most of them froze at the entrance, their expressions betraying their unspoken opinion of the sight of an Elf carrying a Dwarf child. Or perhaps it was because the aforementioned Elf was the neighbouring Elven King, and his crown was currently being chewed upon by one of theirs. Thranduil couldn't even begin to guess which one would bother these people more.
The boy's eyes widened at the Dwarves, but honed in on one in particular, who was pushing in from behind the armed Dwarven soldiers at the front. He promptly released the crown from his grasp and from between his teeth. Enthusiastic arms flailed in the Dwarf's general direction. "'Amad! 'Amad! Sakhab ku -"
"Thorin!" The Dwarf yelled - and as she stepped forward, Thranduil could clearly see that this was a Dwarf woman of some great import, her fine dress and jewellery easily exceeding anything else he'd seen of the Dwarves that day. Even the bangles in her black hair and beard were studded with precious jewels, and immediately reminded him of the tiny versions threaded through the child's own hair.
Thorin, she had said. He looked back at the child in his arms with renewed wonder. This adorable little thing was Prince Thrain's eldest and heir-to-be?
At the moment, young Thorin was looking quite taken aback at the Dwarf lady's (his mother's?) barely-concealed panic. He fired off another string of excited Khuzdul but the woman stepped closer, hurriedly reached up and shushed Thorin's lips with two fingers.
Ah. The distress was mostly due to Thorin's free use of Khuzdul in the presence of Elves, it seemed.
He glanced to his side and saw Elrond's cautious expression. The other Elf's mirth had vanished when the young one's name was made known - he knew, as Thranduil did, that this could very easily turn into something more grave, depending on how it was handled. To his left, Thranduil was keenly aware of Tauriel and her hand resting on one of her daggers, her demeanour exuding false calm.
"Back to your family, princeling," Thranduil muttered, with a sigh he couldn't quite suppress. Extricating Thorin from his hair, clothes, and just about everything he could reach of the Elf was something of a group effort. The young child simply did not want to let go, and Thranduil would be lying if he said that didn't warm him in some manner.
"We found him wandering a corridor, and thought it best to entertain him until his parents came searching," Elrond said, his tone conveying the sort of diplomatic nuance that Thranduil rarely bothered with.
The tense expression on the Dwarf woman's face didn't wane until Thorin was in her grasp (and even then, only minutely). "He has a knack for evading his guardians and likes to lose his way in our halls," she said. She held Thorin close and did a cursory examination of his person. Satisfied that he was mostly fine, she turned back to Thranduil with a tight smile. "Please accept our humblest apologies, King Thranduil. If he has bothered you-"
"He was no bother," Thranduil said, and tried to ignore how his arms felt annoyingly empty. He clasped his hands behind his back. "He is quite curious and intelligent. We enjoyed our time with him."
She and the other Dwarves seemed relieved that he took no offense, though she was also quick to wrap Thorin in a large, blue blanket and tuck him away from view. Before Thranduil lost sight of him, he saw the tiny head turning frantically, as if trying to catch another glimpse of them - but his mother's hand was firm and kept his head buried against her shoulder.
They learned after that the matter suddenly preoccupying King Thror had been the frantic search for his grandson. There was little wonder, then, why they would want the Elves out of the castle.
"You seem upset," Elrond observed (thankfully in Sindarin), when most of the Dwarves had departed, save for three armed soldiers who were to be their escorts towards the meeting hall.
"I seem nothing of the sort," Thranduil replied with a brief glare. "Come, we have a meeting to attend."
The walk towards the distant hall was silent. As they were about to turn a corner, Elrond laid a companionable hand on his arm and said, in a low voice, "If it matters, he referred to you as 'the pretty Elf' and was asking if he could please play with you again." He drew back and smiled - there was no hint of malice behind it, no matter how hard Thranduil searched. "I have heard that the King dotes heavily on that one. It would not surprise me if he extends an indefinite invitation for your return before we leave."
"Well," Thranduil said after a while, as they stepped past the double doors that led to the ostentatious throne room of Erebor, "if he does, perhaps I will accept."
End