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.
That's My Duty
Even at a young age – Thorin as a babe, Thranduil a toddler – the present King Under the Mountain and King of Mirkwood were often forced to meet due to politics and treaties and other such things that they knew nothing about at the time.
In the nursery they glared balefully at each other and exchanged incomprehensible, angry words. Thranduil would sneak up to Thorin's cradle and steal his teddy bear from him, laughing at the babe's outraged cry. The dwarf prince retaliated by yanking on the elf's long blond hair if he got too close. So it caught their nurses off guard the day one of the little elves stole Thorin's bear with a giggle, only for Thranduil to grab away the toy and place it back into the dwarf's arms before stomping off to resume playing with his toys.
As young men soon approaching their majority, despite their advisers' pleas and their parents' threats, Thorin and Thranduil could never meet without insulting each other every other second, arguing hotly over how it was better being an elf or dwarf. Their behavior resulted in much wringing of hands, face-palming, and worrying about how the dwarven and elven royal lines would manage to survive.
Things reached a head during one typical exchange when Thranduil asked Thorin if he had ever been mistaken for a dwarf woman, and was answered with a punch across his jaw which sent him tumbling to the ground. Eyes flashing in anger and embarrassment at being caught unawares, he started to get to his feet only to be knocked back down by Dain who growled that the elf looked like a princess. Thranduil yet again struggled to stand but froze in place when Thorin tapped his cousin's shoulder. Dain spun to face him and was punched in the nose by the prince. For a long silent moment, the dwarven prince stared at Dain quietly, rage swirling in his eyes before he marched past him and Thranduil on his way out of the garden. The elf prince never knew if Thorin caught his murmured, "Nice arm, Durin."
Thus considering the long and slightly strange history between the rulers of Mirkwood and Erebor, most present at the feast in the elven king's banquet hall were not completely shocked at the present disruption – though Thranduil, his expression a cold mask, holding a readied bow and arrow on Haldir for five minutes and counting was something new. And seeing Thorin tug repeatedly on the king's arm was different as well.
"Elf, you've made your point! By Mahal, I swear if you don't put that bow and arrow away…," he grumbled into his beard.
"Just wanting to be doubly, doubly sure this matter is cleared up," the elven king coolly replied, tapping the tip of the arrow against Haldir's nose. "Now, for the last time," his tone grew even colder and more majestic as he addressed the whole room, "since it appears no one understood from the beginning: insulting Thorin, King Under the Mountain, is my duty and mine alone."
"As it is mine when it comes to insulting King Thranduil," Thorin put in with an annoyed growl.
A smirk touched the corners of the elven king's mouth for a second, and he shot a look to the dwarf from the corner of his eye.
"This," and here the arrow pressed into Haldir's nose a bit harder, "and more is what shall happen to anyone who dares to insult my dwarf again. Consider this my final warning." And glaring down at the marchwarden of Lorien who (to Thranduil's secret satisfaction) was silently sweating, the elven king put away his weapons and then sprawled lazily back into his seat. Taking up his goblet, he drank as low conversation and music slowly filled the hall once more.
"Daft elf."
"Stubborn dwarf."
Thorin snorted. Thranduil's lips twitched.
Aye, the friendship between the two kings was most unexpected and peculiar.
THE END