A/N: Well, as a Christmas present here's the next chapter. You might have noticed that this story is focussed more on the relational and psychological side of things rather than on action, but that doesn't mean nothing happens. I just try to find explanations for why things happened the way they did in the Hobbit movies. That means I stray off canon at times.

Disclaimer: There are two short quotes from the movie "The desolation of Smaug" in this chapter that serve solely as timestamps. The copyright for them is held by other parties, not me. Apart from that, I only own my imagination and a laptop.

I know, I know, Christmas inertia is settling in. But how about you get a little exercise after all the festive meals, press that Review button and type up a line or two? I am fairly certain that burns at least one calorie ...

\*/*\*/

Chapter 7: The difference between facts and truth

"You turned away from the suffering of my people, the inferno that destroyed us!"

Thalanir, unrecognisable behind the face guard of his helmet, but standing closest to the Elvenking, was appalled at the scene that was playing out before his eyes. Supposed king or not, how dare that dwarf attack the ancient Firstborn in so insolent a manner? And how dare he twist the facts of history into what was bordering on an outright lie?

He had been there himself, on that day 171 years ago, as a very young warrior on his first big mission under the direct command of his king. The Elves had sent messengers to the Lonely Mountain days in advance, warning them of the looming danger of Smaug. They had sent a smaller detachment to Dale, offering to help evacuate the city. The Elvenking had personally pleaded with Thrór, imploring him to abandon the mountain for the safety of asylum on the outskirts of the Woodland Realm. And the Elven army had advanced further than was strictly safe on that fateful day, until eventually, seeing the hopelessness of situation, Thranduil had ordered a retreat.

Of course, Thorin had only seen the Elven troops turn away, not the anguish in their king's noble face. He had not heard the pain in Thranduil's voice as he spoke to his soldiers that night, discussing what could be done in aid of the people of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor at that point, nor had he witnessed the downcast silence that reigned in the palace for days after their return from that futile mission.

And apparently Oakenshield also chose to ignore the offers of help that the Elvenking had extended after the attack, which had been turned down by a dwarf king consumed by gold sickness and pride. How dare he!

Thalanir forced his thoughts away from that dwarf's impertinence, lest he give some outward sign of his outrage. He averted his eyes, scanning the throne room for anything untoward ... or should he say anything else untoward? A slight movement by the doorway – a moving shadow, really – caught his attention. He focussed his gaze on the armour-clad figure and realised half in shock, half in relief that it was the crown prince who had arrived at some point ... and, judging by his positively murderous expression, had heard more than enough.

Luckily the Elvenking chose the very next moment to put an end to this farce and gestured for Thorin to be taken to the dungeons. Thalanir, along with the guard opposite him, manoeuvred the flailing dwarf from the throne room. As they passed Legolas, the prince gave Oakenshield a look of such utter disdain as Thalanir had never seen from his long-time friend. Handing Thorin over to the not-too-tender care of Elros and seeing him locked up safely felt better than anything had in a very long time.

\*/*\*/

"... all of them are safely detained in the dungeons. We await your orders as to how to proceed, sire," Legolas finished his report, taking half a step back and inclining his head a fraction in deference to protocol.

The Elvenking regarded his son pensively, replaying his account in his mind for a minute and wondering at some odd phrasings and slight hesitations that he had noticed.

"Oakenshield carried a Gondolin sword, you say?" he finally asked, though nothing interested him less at the moment. Anything to keep talking to Legolas and find out what was troubling him without having to wait for a private moment much – much – later.

"Aye, sire. He claimed it had been given to him, but I do not know how this could be true," the crown prince admitted.

Thranduil smiled sourly. "Oh, if Mithrandir is involved, anything is possible," he scoffed. "Though I am surprised the wizard sent them into the Woodland Realm all by themselves ..."

"Maybe he got tired of their impertinence, too," Legolas muttered, earning himself a half-raised eyebrow on his father's side.

"Care to elaborate?" the king asked nonchalantly.

"My exposure to dwarves has been limited so far, but I find their lack of propriety and manners quite challenging."

Thranduil chuckled. "It is, is it not?" he agreed, but a strange air about his son caused him to turn serious again a moment later. "It is not their lack of table manners, though, that is bothering you." It was more of a statement than a question, and Legolas knew it.

"Respectfully, I would deem that a discussion to be had in a private setting, sire," he replied guardedly.

The king nodded. "I thought as much. Join me for dinner?"

\*/*\*/

"Well then, out with it," Thranduil said as soon as all staff had left the private royal dining room that was tucked away deep in the heart of the Elvenking's palace.

"Tauriel has received a taste of her own medicine, it seems," Legolas replied, glaring daggers at his plate as if it had offended him somehow.

The king snorted in disbelief. "What? One of them really tried to flirt with her?"

"With some utterly disgusting innuendo," his son spat out.

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. He had lived long enough to know some of the crude humour – or what they considered to be such – among some of the peoples of Middle Earth. He was also familiar with some of the rough language that tended to be used even within Elven armies, but it had its strict boundaries. The things that belonged exclusively within the sacred bond of marriage were categorically off limits, and such insinuations would be fairly, if not completely, unfamiliar to his comparatively young and innocent son.

"She gave him quite an appropriate reply, I have to admit," Legolas continued. "However, at the same time she seemed both flustered and ... flattered!" The crown prince sounded appalled, but also confused and worried.

Thranduil pondered that for a long moment. "That is most certainly troubling," he finally agreed. "The entire thing is simply too suspicious, especially in light of all other recent events and developments." He briefly considered his options and finally decided: "Put all guards and patrols on high alert. During the feast, have all guard posts doubled. No vacation for anyone until we know what we are up against. And send Tauriel to report to me. I think it is time for a spelling lesson."

\*/*\*/

"Do not give him hope where there is none."

The stern words seemed to echo in the Elvenking's study long after Tauriel had left, appropriately chastised.

"That was cruel, ada," Legolas stated, swinging down from a hidden overhead nook at the top of one of the carved pillars.

"It was nothing but the truth. And I told you it was time she had it spelt out for her," the king replied calmly, pouring another goblet of deep red berry juice – yes, berry juice, although nobody needed to know that this was what he kept in the ever-present carafe on his desk – and handing it to his son. "And it was well-deserved, especially considering her insolent insinuation."

Legolas didn't have to see his father's face to recognise the rage and grief in that statement. He accepted the goblet with a nod but caught his father's hand before he could pull it back. "She knows nothing about you if she is dumb enough to say such a thing," he offered quietly.

Thranduil sighed, putting his other hand over his son's and cradling it in his warm grip. "Thank you, ion-nín. These past few days ..."

"I know," Legolas replied softly – and he did. The sinister goings-on in the forest, Oakenshield's attack on the king's integrity, and now Tauriel's questioning of his politics and character were bound to weigh on the Elvenking's heart.

"Pay her no mind, please. It just surprises me that she said these things to your face. She normally does it behind the back of the other Sindar in this realm."

"How can she ... everyone knows that ..."

"... that naneth was Silvan. Yes, of course everyone knows. Just like everyone knows the true story about your retreat at Erebor." Legolas set the goblet aside and gently gripped his father's shoulder. "Everyone who truly knows you also knows about your great heart and your love for all your people. Do not let these two fools get to you."

Thranduil sighed and gave his son's neck a grateful squeeze. "How did you become so wise, ion-nín?" he asked, a note of wonder in his voice.

"I learned from the best, adar," Legolas replied. Then he added, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes: "Though I guess you also had something to do with it."

"Cheeky!" the king chuckled, feeling more settled again.

"I think that might be your fault, too," the prince grinned, glad to see his father's thoughts off the all-pervading gloom for a few moments.

And sure enough, Thranduil's mood soon turned sober again. "Something about this entire business does not sit right with me," he admitted. "These dwarves will try anything to reach the Lonely Mountain before Durin's Day. Frankly, I feel torn between keeping them locked up here indefinitely to prevent worse for all of us, and escorting them to Erebor myself to drop them in the dragon's lair and be done with them forever."

"But how would they escape? There is no way ..." Legolas objected, confused by the king's words.

"Something entered our halls with them ... something invisible ... and evil."

Legolas stared at his father, the ominous statement chilling him to the core. He knew that all Firstborn possessed the ability to sense evil, but to varying degrees. The Elvenking, having fought at the gates of Mordor, would recognise it before most others, so Legolas was not entirely surprised that he had noticed nothing so far. He shuddered at the thought of evil entering these halls of his people, moving unhindered among these light-filled fëar, and at his own having been oblivious to it.

Thranduil seemed to read his thoughts. "Do not blame yourself. In fact, I am glad that you have not noticed yet. Sensitivity grows, rather than diminishes, with increasing exposure. It also means that most of our people will have noticed nothing, either. I would rather have them be at peace as long as possible, until I know what exactly we are facing."

Unfortunately the reprieve was not even to last another day.