Co-written and edited by my lovely friend, Abby, who is known as DarthAbby on . She, however, is writing the companion piece to this on her Archive of Our Own account with the same username. To get the full experience, please read both if you get the chance, and we'll try to update roughly around the same time. And, as is to be expected, this is heavily, heavily AU, but not in a very bad way, as characters from the Hobbit are being used, and we all love them, don't we? Please enjoy!
"Yet his dear Treasure all scatter'd lay
While he his eyes did pour upon a flower"
- 'The World' by Henry Vaughan
When Headmaster Balin summoned him to his office, Fili Durin was certain that his brother had done something stupid (again) and he had gotten caught in it somehow.
"Whatever Kili did, I wasn't a part of it," he said as he stepped through the door. Sure enough, his little brother was seated before the Headmaster, but neither looked very concerned.
"Neither of you are in trouble," Balin assured him. "Sit down, I've news for you."
"From our uncle?" Kili asked eagerly. Fili perked up as well – he might be nearly eighteen, but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to be excited whenever the heavy royal stationary was in his hand, complete with the seal of the King holding it closed. Both boys might relish the relative normality they experienced at the Erebor Academy, but that didn't mean they wanted no part of the palace life anymore.
"Not directly from His Majesty's hand," Balin shook his head, "But close enough. You boys are aware of the Vatzirgi Twen, I presume?"
It was a rhetorical question, but both nodded anyways. The Vatzirgi Twen, literally translated from Khuzdul as the Strongest Right, was an annual event, held every four years at one of the four participating schools – Erebor Academy, the Rivendell Institution, Mirkwood Hall, and the Hogwarts School. It was a lighthearted competition between the young elves, dwarves, witches, and wizards of the land, to show their skills in various areas of magic and combat and intelligence. That was the idea, at least – the rivalries that had sprung up, especially between the Rivendell elves and the Erebor dwarves, had turned what was supposed to be good fun into a tense competition.
Not that anyone was complaining at this point. It was still fun, just a bit…bloodier at times.
"The next one takes place in Rivendell in two months' time," Balin explained. "Of course, all students between the ages of 16 and 18 are invited to attend, but I wanted to give you two a…special invitation."
"You mean warning us not to set any curtains on fire?" Kili smirked.
"Yes," Balin gave him a stern look. "And to tell you that His Majesty is sending Mister Dwalin –" there was a groan from both boys "– along to keep an eye on you two. There are going to be some very important people there, not the least which being the human Princess, so behave yourselves."
"We will, Headmaster," Fili promised with a slight scowl. "But does it have to be Mister Dwalin?"
"Your uncle chose him specially," Balin said, lips twitching with a hint of a smile. "I believe because you actually listen to him."
"Because he threatens to behead us!" Kili protested in alarm.
Balin just chuckled to himself and waved the young princes away. "Go back to class, lads. Study hard. I would hate for you to be shown up too often in the games."
It was an awful sight to see a king so upset, but to see the Elvish king Thranduil slumped on his throne, with his lips pursed tightly together and his eyebrows coming down so low on his forehead so as to cast a shadow on his eyes, was a very scary affair. He was one to rarely show emotion, and to see him so surly would cause anyone to become upset.
Except, of course, for the two young elves before him – his son and his friend, both bringing the news of their desire to attend the upcoming Vatzirgi Twen that was to be held in Rivendell. Regardless of the dispute between the Mirkwood and Rivendell elves, much less the one between elves and dwarves, it was still a tradition that was upheld every four years, no matter how many arguments and fights had broken out during most of the previous Vatzirgi Twen. He almost felt sorry for the poor Hogwarts students, the only humans who would dare compete between the elves and the dwarves, but decided against it. He was never much for pitying others for their poor decisions, anyway.
"Legolas," he finally spoke, gripping the arms to the throne and pulling himself up to attempt to reason with his son one more time, although by the calm look in his son's eyes and the small smirk at his mouth, Thranduil was sure he wasn't going to get very far, "Please reconsider this decision, as you have far too much to handle already. We are still under the discussion of that promising marriage to those Men-folk near the mortal realm, of which you still continue to argue, and your continuing studies at the Hall."
"That should be no discussion, for I intend to continue them," Legolas insisted, raising his head high and smirking at his father, "What example would it set for our finest school if even their own prince won't attend?"
Thranduil glared at his son and considered grinding his teeth. The young prince was sometimes far too much like his mother in the worst of ways – they both argued very stubbornly with him. The king released a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together. Tauriel, the future captain-of-the-guard and school companion to Legolas, watched on idly with few glances to father and son.
There was a still silence where Thranduil stared at Legolas, and Legolas looked calmly back. No matter what he said, his son would still do what he wanted, he realized with a small frown. It wasn't a matter of asking if he could go, it was a matter of asking if he had his father's permission, no doubt a formality that the Mirkwood Hall had seen fit to enforce. The only way Thranduil would win was if he could gain something from his son as well, and since the school was so precious to him….
"I will allow you to go to the Vatzirgi Twen, but only on one condition," he finally spoke, and Legolas instantly became wary. He stood and moved to a nearby table, where scrolls and parchment littered the surface, and waved Legolas to move beside him. The only thing that was out of place was a smooth and sleek folder, a human-made object, with an impressive royal seal gracing the cover. Thranduil opened the folder, and nestled in it was a small, informal, gray-toned painting of a girl. As a magical portrait, it moved, alternating between laughing at something unseen to the side and giving the painter an exasperated look. Continuing on was information on the girl, and finally, a contract. "Agree to marry the girl." As Legolas stepped away with a noise of disagreement, Thranduil sighed and thrust it into his possession, "It's doubtful she'll agree, her parents say that she is stubborn, and very firmly against the idea of an arranged marriage."
"The sentiment is shared," Legolas scoffed, Tauriel taking the folder from him and gazing over it on her own. She gave an appreciative hum, no doubt noticing some weapon or fighting skill that the girl was adept in.
"It's your only chance to attend," Thranduil insisted, folding his arms and giving him a very sharp glare, "If you do not agree, I will find a way to take both the tournament and Mirkwood Hall from you."
Legolas's glare was steely, but Thranduil instead smirked back at him. Tauriel coughed, handing the folder to the prince, only for him to find it open on the area meant for his signature, underneath his father's and multiple advisors'. With a sigh, he took a quill and signed with a flourish, glaring at the burgundy ink before leaving the folder on the table and marching away, a sour look on his face as his father watched on in satisfaction.
"If the girl somehow agrees to this," Tauriel spoke quietly with a small, amused smile, "It will be a very entertaining matrimony."
"I believe that is the reason the three advisors have agreed," Thranduil scoffed, gesturing to the folder for Tauriel. "Take it with you on your trip. The princess is a student at Hogwarts, and very likely to attend the contests. It would do well for you to recognize her before he makes a complete fool of himself."
"Yes, sire," Tauriel bowed, taking the folder and moving out into the hall, finally bursting into laughter as Legolas scowled back at her. "Y-you walked in there so confident, and somehow he turned it around and-and – !"
"Yes, I'm well aware, seeing as I was present," Legolas snapped, glaring at her as she enjoyed his misery.
"Perhaps she isn't as awful as you'd like to believe," she insisted once she regained her composure, shifting through the file to find more information on her, "She's quite pretty from what I can make of the picture."
"I don't care how she looks," he huffed as they walked through the cavernous halls, moving to wind through the woods back to their fair school. "That's not the point."
"The point, however, is that you sold your future happiness to compete in games for two weeks," Tauriel sniffed haughtily, "Which wasn't very wise on your part."
"Then why didn't you stop me?" he asked rather loudly, and Tauriel raised a slender brow before scoffing.
"I am not your caretaker, Your Highness, and you should learn to identify what are mistakes, especially if they are coming from you."
He sighed, rubbing his temples and shutting his eyes. Although he had wanted so badly to go to school with Tauriel and the other elves, the schoolwork was far harder than he expected, and the pressure of trying to be so perfect was making him weary. The contests were mostly a vacation that he desperately needed – plus, he felt that he would've done anything to get away from his father for a short while.
Perhaps, of course, there was a silver lining to all that he'd just agreed to, and it was just that he couldn't see it at the moment. Right now he was very, very blinded by how much worse he'd made his situation, all for a chance to show up some other students in the archery tournament.
Elrond Undomiel, Headmaster of the Rivendell Institution and Lord of the Valley of Imladris, was trying very hard not to draw his sword at the moment. It wouldn't be in any way becoming of a Lord or a Headmaster, and besides, the poor elf in front of his was not to blame in any case.
'Don't kill the messenger' his wife had told him many times, usually with amusement in her eyes as they learned of the latest mischief Arwen had gotten into, usually with at least one other elf and a certain human by her side.
It wasn't his daughter causing his grief this time, though, although he did want a word with her about appropriate behavior in the classroom. No, this time it was his sons, although that wasn't giving him much incentive to keep his sword in its scabbard.
If the way the fidgety elf kept backing towards the door was any indication, however, he needed to turn the anger down, at least for the moment. "Find them," he said, the words falling from his mouth in a brisk snap more suited for the battlefield than a school office. "At once. And then bring them here."
"Of course, sir."
Elrond couldn't really blame him for the way he scurried out the door like a pack of Wargs was on his heels, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He turned to scowl at the window. The twins were going to be the death of him, he was sure. Arwen had been bad enough in her school days, infuriatingly persuasive with the other students as well, but Elladan and Elrohir…! He was beginning to think that the old human saying of 'the terrible twos' was less an observation on the age and more on the number of children one had of the same age.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Maybe, just maybe, if the stars aligned and the gods were kind, he could convince the boys to contain themselves at least until the first competition of the Vatzirgi Twen. If he could just get everyone through the preparations and opening feast unscathed…
He held no illusions about the first event (set to be a steeplechase, Elrohir's favorite) – once it started, all bets were off when it came to his sons. But if he could just get them to calm down a bit until then, just to not break anything in the six weeks until the horses were ready to go…
Well, if he managed that, he would declare himself the best Vatzirgi Twen host in the land, and damn any who thought otherwise because they never had to deal with Elladan and Elrohir while trying to set the whole thing up.
Harry sucked in a breath, his eyes zooming in on the tongs of the fork piercing the sleeve of his school jumper, very close to his own skin. Prying the metal from his sleeve and the wood table top, he turned to his friend and saw that she was not glaring at her food as he had expected, but was instead glaring at a letter on an empty plate. He gave a world-weary sigh, moving both the fork and the knife away from her immediate area, and taking the spoon as well for good measure.
"Hermione," Harry began before she shoved the parchment to his face, pointing angrily at it even though he very well could not see it.
"The bloody prince has agreed. Now the pressure is all on me, and if I continue to disagree, then all the blame will be on me," she huffed, slumping forward in her seat and giving a very angry pout, causing Ron to scoot away to avoid being in her direct of sight.
It'd taken five years at Hogwarts for Hermione to inform others of her royal age and her being heir to the throne of the race of Men, but Harry had known all along. Her parents had graciously taken him in as a young orphan when his aunt and uncle in the mortal realm wouldn't take him in, and he'd recently been named captain of the guard for defeating Voldemort – with the help of the princess and Ron, of course, which her parents were none too happy about, but he did get rid of him, which they were very happy about. He was also Hermione's personal guard, as well as one of her best and closest friends. So, naturally, no matter how violent she may seem, he did need to talk to her.
"Hermione, perhaps if you tried reasoning with your parents more and describing how you felt, maybe then they'd – " Harry began before Dumbledore rose from his seat, arms spread for silence as Hermione turned and looked at the Headmaster curiously.
"It is with excitement and warning that I remind those between the ages of sixteen and eighteen that the Vatzirgi Twen is upon us," he began grandly. "It is a great time where we may further develop our ties to our allies the elves and the dwarves, and it is with great warning that I remind you that the tasks and competitions you face are not to be taken lightly," Dumbledore insisted, staring out over the sea of faces seriously for a moment or two before brightening, "I am also pleased to announce that, this year, it will take place in Rivendell, the beautiful Elvish Institute that will welcome you warmly, just as both Mirkwood Hall and Erebor Academy would, and as we would to our guests." His eyes strayed pointedly to some of the more mischievous students before continuing. "Professor McGonagall and I will accompany you on your journey, and will be there to wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors." And with that, he sat back down and turned to McGonagall, who seemed to be very exasperated at Dumbledore's last minute change of plans.
"Great, now I'll have an outlet," Hermione said with a bitter smile, looking around for her fork to retrieve a piece of food and becoming puzzled when she could not find it.
Harry grimaced. The Vatirgi Twen was a tournament originating with the dwarves that involved multiple contests through a span of two weeks. It was held at a different school every four years, almost like the Triwizard Tournament back in their fourth year, although this contest wasn't international. Hogwarts was the only wizarding school willing to go against the dwarves anymore, as long ago a dwarf had bitten off the ear of a Durmstrang student. Hermione, of course, defended Hrogun the Tearer, whom everyone had incorrectly thought was Hrogun the Terror. Seeing as it was only for those old enough to attend, Harry had only heard stories as to how gruesome the mock battles and jousts were, and the disputes between each group of elves and the dwarves as well. He knew that Hermione would certainly be able to handle herself, but he was worried that the added pressure would make her crack.
With a sigh, he turned to his meal and glanced over the letter as he ate. Perhaps Hermione would turn out all right in the end of it; it certainly seemed that she usually knew what to do far more than Harry ever did.
Besides, after Voldemort, how bad could some dwarves and elves really be?
Thank you for reading, please review if you get the chance!