Thranduil did not know how often he had told his servants to take care of that particular unevenness in the floor. While Thranduil himself had never stumbled over it, he had seen plenty of others do so. Elrond had a particular penchant for tripping in that precise spot and it offered some amusement between the tedious meetings whenever Elrond came to visit. Perhaps, Thranduil had to concede, he should have phrased his request slightly differently than asking his servants to take care of the bump in the floor "sometime in the next one or two millennia".
And now, he had forgotten all about the uneven floor because his soldiers had caught dwarves in his forest.
It was not a difficult guess to figure out what a band of dwarves heading east was aiming to achieve, especially since their leader was the dwarven prince Thranduil had seen standing next to King Thror's throne before Smaug destroyed the kingdom of Erebor.
That, of course, did not mean that the dwarves were willing to give Thranduil any information. The insolence of their leader in particular was unbelievable.
"We did not attack your elves. We merely wanted to beg for food because we were starving."
"Then why were your weapons drawn?"
The dwarf - Thorin, Thranduil remembered, that had been his name - gave an undignified snort.
"Have you actually taken a look around these woods of yours? The squirrels are so grimy they are black. You haven't done a spring cleaning since Durin carved his halls into the mountains, judging by the cobwebs. And of course, that has given the spiders the chance to grow to the size of horses. We would have had to be mad not to have our weapons out."
If Thorin were not a dwarf and had his impudence not been directed at him, Thranduil might have liked his nerve.
Perhaps, if the dwarf was honest, Thranduil would show some lenience towards him and let him and his warriors go after only a few days in the dungeons. That was if they swore an oath not to seek out Erebor, of course. Thranduil did not have the particular wish to deal with the consequences of their failed quest.
"What were you doing in my realm in the first place?"
Thorin clenched his jaw and his companions also deepened their scowls.
Thranduil frowned. Apparently they took him for a fool. Well, there was a different way to do this.
"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror." Thranduil's voice boomed through the hall. "You intend to reclaim your homeland, but at what cost? If you cannot slay the dragon and I sincerely doubt your ability to do so, the beast will be awake once more. It will devastate what is left of the countryside and attack Lake-Town, perhaps even my realm."
"It is not of your concern how we plan to deal with the dragon..."
Thranduil lowered his voice to a hiss and swooped towards Thorin.
"You know nothing about dra-"
For the first time ever, Thranduil tripped over the bump in the floor.
Luckily, Thorin caught Thranduil, preventing him from crashing to the ground in a completely undignified manner. Thranduil just wished he hadn't done so with the help of his lips.
They both froze. Thorin's large hands were clasping Thranduil's shoulders while Thranduil's legs were at an awkward angle somewhere between falling and catching his fall.
Thranduil blinked and realised that he must have closed his eyes. Blue eyes stared back at him. The cracked lips were warm on his and the beard felt strange against Thranduil's face.
Seconds passed without either of them moving. Then Thorin shoved him away and Thranduil struggled briefly to regain his posture. They held eye contact for another moment.
Thorin spat and wiped his mouth.
"Watch your step, elf."
The other dwarves were murmuring and a few of them even sniggered while the elves stood in stunned silence. Thranduil's face burned.
"Take them to the dungeons," he managed. "And somebody finally take care of the floor." With that, Thranduil gathered all the dignity he had left and strode out of the throne hall.
...
Thranduil paced along the corridor. It was the second time a dream had driven him out of bed in as many nights.
A single unevenness in the ground, one careless moment and now he felt the memory of those rough lips on his whenever he did not keep his mind occupied. And all that over a dwarf, and the most unreasonable one at that.
For all Thranduil cared, the dwarf could rot in his dungeons. The insistence with which his mind reminded him of the prince only solidified that sentiment. Thranduil had a realm to rule and no time for foolish games.
Thranduil rounded the corner and nearly jumped. He had not expected to meet the captain of his guard at this time of night.
"Good evening, Tauriel. Is everything quiet?"
"Yes, my lord. There has been nothing remarkable on the guard rounds this evening. We have heard nothing more of the footsteps Gwalothion thought he heard last night. Is everything well with you, sire?"
"It is. I was merely unable to sleep."
Tauriel hesitated for a moment, gazing at the floor. Then she straightened her shoulders and looked up at Thranduil again.
"Forgive my impertinence, sire, but perhaps you should try to talk with him."
Legolas had occasionally mentioned that Tauriel had a meddling way of trying to be helpful. Thranduil suddenly had to agree with him.
"I do not know what you are talking about," Thranduil said coolly.
"Legolas may not have realised the reason for your distraction but I have. I think you might gain by talking to Thorin. It could at least improve the diplomatic relations between Mirkwood and the dwarves and, as unlikely as it may seem, you might even find a personal connec-"
"I have nothing to discuss with the dwarf and there is nothing to gain. Dealings between dwarves and elves have never gone well. Good night to you, Captain Tauriel."
Thranduil strode down the corridor, suddenly certain where he was going. Only a large cup of wine would calm his mind now.
...
Over the next few weeks, Thranduil did not question the dwarves personally again. Their basic needs were taken care of and Thranduil's guards regularly asked them if they were willing to cooperate. Thranduil was more than glad not to have to interact with them again.
He still lost enough sleep as it was and although he knew he should not keep the dwarves imprisoned indefinitely, he was happy to postpone the decision for now.
Tauriel had tried to corner him twice more, but he had sent such a glare that even she backed off again wordlessly. Legolas took to glancing at him worriedly and occasionally asked if everything was well.
...
The knock on Thranduil's bedroom door came early in the morning. Thranduil sat up and groaned. The festivities had been a success but now his head throbbed in pain from all the wine he had drunk.
"Surely it can wait?" Thranduil called out.
"I'm afraid not, my lord. The dwarves seem to have escaped during the night," Tauriel's muffled voice came through the door.
Thranduil groaned and let himself fall back against his pillows. So the time for pondering had passed and they needed to prepare for dragon fire.
"Call for a meeting in the council chamber in fifteen minutes. And have someone prepare plenty of willow-bark tea."
...
None of the others in the council chamber looked any better than he felt. Legolas sat with his head propped up in his hands and blinking against the light of the torches. Tauriel at least looked properly awake, even though her braids had none of their usual tidiness. The other members of the council were in various states of wakefulness or lack thereof.
A guard and two ordinary servants stood pale-faced at the side of the room, one of the servants shifting from foot to foot, the other twisting his hands. The guard was motionless. None of them met Thranduil's eyes.
"Alright, I think all are present now. What happened?" Thranduil asked into the round.
"Gwalothion came to me this morning telling me the dwarves had escaped during the night," Tauriel replied.
"How could that happen?" Thranduil demanded. "I assume they were securely locked in their cells?"
"They were, my lord," the guard replied tersely. "I'm afraid we all had a bit too much to drink and when I woke this morning, I found the keys to the cells in the wrong pocket. I immediately rushed to the cells, but the dwarves were already gone. They must have had help."
Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are we sure they left the palace or could they still be hiding in a remote corner of the caves?"
"I'm afraid they are gone, sire," Tauriel said and nodded towards the servants.
"When we threw the empty wine and apple barrels into the river to return them to Lake-Town this morning, some of them were much heavier than usual, my lord."
The other servant nodded. "We thought nothing of it at the time, my lord, but when we were on our way back we overheard this guard telling Captain Tauriel what had happened and realized the dwarves must have escaped that way."
"I sent one score of guards after them along the river at once," Tauriel said. "The dwarves' weapons are gone as well. I suspect that one of them may have escaped the initial capture and somehow followed us inside. There were several reports of footsteps that that couldn't be traced and of missing food. We should have been more thorough. I will certainly investigate how anyone could gain entrance to our caves without us noticing."
Thranduil nodded. "Take another score of guards after them first. Try to recapture them before they reach the edge of the forest but turn back and do not leave the forest if they manage to escape you. I think that is all for now."
Legolas also seemed to be properly awake by now.
"I'll go with you," he said to Tauriel. "I'll get the guards and meet you at the exit by the river."
Tauriel nodded and Legolas hurried out of the room after the other council members and the servants.
Thranduil began following them as well.
"There is one more thing, sire," Tauriel said quietly and Thranduil stopped. "I found this in the armoury when I saw that their weapons were gone."
She handed him a small square of paper. At his nod, she bowed slightly and left.
Thranduil stared at the piece of paper for a moment before unfolding it. It bore Thranduil's own letter head.
"To Thranduil, King of the Woodelves.
I would thank you for your hospitality, but it was sadly lacking.
I would compliment you on the comforts of your abode, but we knew none of them.
I would wish for your beard to grow ever longer, but alas, you are lacking in that regard as well.
So I shall say this instead: I will forever find joy in the memory of your lack of gracefulness.
May your lips never stumble as your feet do.
Thorin of Erebor, son of Thrain son of Thror."
Thranduil cursed. His fist collided with the massive wooden table and he cursed some more.
He reread the note and then glared at it for a moment. Briefly, he ran his fingers over the letters before pulling them away as if burned.
Thranduil refolded the piece of paper and slipped it into a pocket.
He hated dwarves.