A/N: This can be read as a series of one-shots or as a story :). It's also part of my From the Ashes universe.
"What is your problem?"
"My problem, King under the Mountain," hissed Thranduil, "is your tragic lack of patience."
Thorin snorted and pulled away from the elf, holding the cold, blue eyes that were glaring down at him in frustration.
"Why do I even need to learn how to dance? It will only look ridiculous. What with the height difference and all, people will think you are wedding a child!" snarled the dwarf.
Thranduil lifted his head to look snidely down his nose at his fiancé.
"With the way you are acting now my king, one could hardly blame the guests for making such an assumption."
Thorin growled and grabbed the front of the elf's tunic, jerking roughly to bend him at the waist. Thranduil caught off guard allowed the dwarf's manhandling until the tip of his nose brushed up against Thorins'.
"I am a child, am I?" he growled and ran the tip of his nose along side Thranduil's. The elf shivered, eyes falling half-mast, and opened his mouth to speak, when a quiet knocking interrupted him. Deftly he pulled free from Thorin and straightened his tunic before calling out.
"You may enter."
A young dwarf lass pushed backwards through the wooden doors, shuffling in and turning to face her lords, her hands piled high, up to the chin with fresh laundry. She blushed, casting her eyes to the floor at the sight of her king and his elven consort, both of whom had their gaze fixed firmly on her.
"My lords," she muttered and made an attempt to curtsey, but the pile of cloth made her tip precariously to one side. She caught herself, but just and with another blush made haste to cross the room to the wardrobe. Thranduil smirked as he watched her go, casting a calculating look at his lover.
"Young maiden," he called, charming his voice to suit his ruse. The dwarf-lass turned from the wardrobe in such haste that she all but toppled to the floor when the hem of her skirt caught under the heel of her boot.
"Your highness?" she squeaked. Thranduil smirked.
"Could I trouble you for a moment?" he asked then gestured to Thorin, "I am attempting to teach your king the finer points of ballroom dancing, however never having been taught the appropriate steps in his youth he is struggling."
The chambermaid held the startled deer look, so he continued.
"Would I be correct in assuming that as a fine dwarven lady you yourself are quite familiar with formal dance?"
The lass stayed frozen, then realizing she was asked a question nodded jerkily. Thranduil reached out to her with one graceful arm.
"If you would be so kind as to help me demonstrate the proper technique for the benefit of your king," he beckoned, "I would be most grateful."
The maid made another shaky nod and crossed the room. Hesitantly she placed her own stubbly hand into the graceful palm of the elf. Slowly they began to dance, the maid stumbling for the first few steps, still nervous with fright. But soon she picked up her confidence when she lost herself in the elf kings blue eyes and graceful, floating movement. None of the dwarven lads she danced with could ever compare to the perfect rhythm held by the King's consort. Her worries faded with every light-footed swirl and mirrored footprint, until she felt elevated to air. Finally the elf spun her out before rolling her back into his arms and gracefully dipping her into a perfect dive before once more pulling her up against him. He finished, like a true gentleman, by placing a courteous kiss on her ruby cheek.
"Ok, I see now," growled Thorin, and with such animal like ferociousness that the poor lass jumped and would have fallen had Thranduil not caught her mid-way to the floor. He released her and thanked her kindly for her help before graciously allowing her leave. She ran on swift feet, her king's growl following her escape like the warning of an angry dog.
"Do you?" asked Thranduil, his every word dripping with amusement. "Shall we try again, or must I ask that fine maiden to share the first dance at our wedding?"
"Fine elf, you win," spat the dwarf, stalking over to roughly place Thranduil's hand on his waist. Thorin maintained an impressive string of bitter muttering about conniving, tree-shaggers and shameless flirts, but Thranduil, who was far too satisfied with his victory, never once gave it heed.
R&R