So, Thranduil has designed his own wedding outfit. Yet another excuse for a jolly good row it seems, LOL!

.o00o.

Chp II

Designer Clothing

"Goodness!"exclaimed Brangwyn as Thranduil came hurrying back across the room with a whole wodge of drawings in his hand. "I didn't know you were an artist!"

"Yes, he is," said Thorin looking up. "And a very good one too. He's done a whole series of drawings of me, you know, and they're really life-like."

"Ooo," said Brangwyn, clapping her hands, "I should really like to see those."

But Thorin cleared his throat and a flush rose up his neck. "Well, umm, sorry, Brangwyn," he muttered. "They're meant for private viewing only, if you know what I mean."

Thranduil laughed at his discomfort. "I drew them to keep me company whilst we are apart. Almost as good as the real thing, I must admit," he smiled and he began to feel quite aroused just thinking about them. But then he spread out his designs for his wedding outfit on the table.

"Oh my," sighed Brangwyn. "That is absolutely glorious!" And they bent their heads together over the drawings whilst a pleased Thranduil pointed out the details of his design.

"The whitest silk," he said, "embroidered with silver thread. And the matching stole is lined with the palest, palest green. It will look like starlight shining through the trees of Mirkwood when I have it on."

Thorin threw a bored glance over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was about and then he roared, "N-o-o-o!"

Thranduil and Brangwyn looked up at him, blinking.

"You will NOT wear that!" he yelled. "It looks like a – a - dress!" And he remembered the drunken conversation he had had with Dain over who was going to wear the white wedding gown.

"It does not," said Thranduil indignantly. "It looks just like a surcoat – except with long sleeves – and a sort of long, swirly bit behind – and the stole."

"It looks like a DRESS!" wailed Thorin, "and I refuse to be seen with you if you wear it. We'll be a complete laughing-stock!"

Brangwyn slipped quietly from the room again.

"Dain wanted to know who fucked whom," Thorin continued forcefully, "and who would get to wear the white dress. This will put all sorts of ideas into people's heads."

"You didn't," snarled Thranduil, "talk about our sex life with Dain of all people, did you?"

"Well, I was drunk," shouted Thorin, "and he caught me on the back foot. It was after he suggested that I ask you to marry me and I was feeling pretty mellow towards him."

"You will never, NEVER, discuss what goes on between us in the bedroom with ANYONE!" threatened the elven king, grabbing Thorin by the collar.

"Or you'll what?" sneered Thorin. "Kill me? Leave me?"

Thranduil thrust his face into that of the dwarf's. "No, I'll…I'll…." And he paused. So close. So close to those beautiful eyes and those gorgeous lips….those soft, pink lips…..that silken beard…that powerful neck. And he groaned and kissed him full on the mouth.

"You just can't keep your hands off me, can you?" Thorin taunted.

"No," said Thranduil softly. And he pushed him forward onto the dining table, dragging down his breeches and unbuttoning his own as he did so.

It was fast and hard and satisfying.

"And the thing about my design," gasped Thranduil afterwards, collapsing in an exhausted heap on Thorin's back, "is that it has all these lovely big buttons down the front and I shan't be wearing anything underneath."

"You should have said," murmured Thorin, "and I might have appreciated it more."

.o00o.

They met up with Brangwyn a few hours later down in the dining hall.

"Everything all right?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Er, yes," said Thorin. "He gets to wear the dress – umm – surcoat. And very good I think he'll look in it too. Nice buttons."

Then they were joined by her betrothed, Young Thorin. "We've been talking about our weddings," said Brangwyn.

"Ah, yes," said Dain's son. "I'm all ready to do my bit, you know. Shall I go down to the dwarven kitchens and organise the catering?"

"What?" exclaimed Thranduil. "But I thought we were having it in Mirkwood?"

"Well, you can have yours in Mirkwood, if that's what you want, but ours is a purely dwarven wedding," said the prince firmly.

"But I want us all to get married together," cried Brangwyn, sounding a bit upset. "And if Thorin insists on getting married in Mirkwood, then that's where I want us to get married, too."

"You're marrying me, not an elf," snapped the lad. "What has Mirkwood got to do with it?"

"Yes, come on Thranduil," interrupted Thorin. "It's obvious that we should get married here. I mean, three dwarves and only one elf."

"Yes, and don't you like to keep on reminding me of what an outsider I am!" shouted Thranduil, rising to his feet. "I know I'm outnumbered, but all the more reason why you should consider my opinions and desires and perhaps put them first." And he strode from the hall.

Thorin ran after him and Brangwyn put her head in her hands. "This is the third row they've had today," she groaned to her betrothed. "And if this wedding day ever happens, I shall be very, very surprised."

.o00o.

Thorin reached his apartment just as Thranduil slammed the door in his face. The dwarf opened it cautiously and peeked around the edge, only to draw back quickly as a china vase smashed in pieces by his ear.

"Thranduil," he called gently. "Now stop that." He took another peek and the elven king was standing there angrily, his arms folded and glaring at him. Then he tossed his silver gilt hair and, marching to the other side of the room, he stared out of the window. Thorin came quietly up behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder – which Thranduil shrugged off.

"My love," said the dwarf, "if we can't even decide about the catering, how shall we manage our married life?"

"So, you're suggesting that we don't get married, then," was the stiff response.

"No," said Thorin, "I'm suggesting that we get this sorted out." He put his arm around the elf's shoulder again. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's just lie on the bed and talk." And he led him to the bed and pulled him down upon the pillows.

They lay face to face and Thranduil ran a hand down one of Thorin's braids with a sigh. "One day, we shall have a row and you will leave me, I just know it."

"You know nothing," smiled his lover. And he bent forward and kissed him tenderly. Their tongues entwined and they both closed their eyes and savoured the taste of each other. "Now, about the wedding," Thorin finally continued.

"Yes, I know I'm wrong," said Thranduil. "If we don't get married in Erebor then we shall miss the opportunity of getting married with Brangwyn. And we both want that. And so, I am content."

"What? To get married here?" Thorin asked.

"Yes," agreed the elf.

Thorin grinned. "Have no fear. We shall treat you and all your retinue like dwarven kings. None of you shall have any complaints."

"Lots of vegetarian food?" asked Thranduil.

"Well, I don't know about that," was the frowning response. "That might be just a bit too much to ask." Then when he saw the elf's face drop, he rolled him on his back and laughed gleefully. "Don't worry," he smiled, leaning over him, "we'll have lots and lots of lettuce. Mountains of it. And it'll be all yours."

Thranduil reached up and wrapped his arms around Thorin's neck. "I want a cuddle," he said.

"Now, is that a euphemism, by any chance?" the dwarf asked with a grin.

"Of course," said the elven king, unbuttoning Thorin's shirt and breeches.

"Totally insatiable," said the dwarf.

"Then we're a good match," was the laughing response, "and good matches should get married."

"Hmm, that's an idea," said Thorin as he wriggled into position. "Now just pass me that bottle of oil."

.o00o.

Next time it's the third and final chapter: The Wedding Day. At last!

This will be the final chapter in my final Thorinduil story – at least for the time being. But there will be more, I promise you. I've just enjoyed writing about these two far too much to let go!