Disclaimer: I don't own it. I don't know who owns it.
Authors Note: Bonus question! If anyone can tell me what Amtrack is (it's mentioned in the story) you will get a kazillion dollars to be paid in full by 2400!
Legolas and Ankara walked into the dining room. It was a moderate sized room, at least for a palace, with a large wooden table in the middle. Ankara and Legolas crossed the room and entered the kitchen.
"Did you get the menu?" The cook called as they came into the kitchen.
Legolas looked at Ankara. "Yeah...yeah we did."
"Good. Some of these servants have been reading a bit too much of Spy Magazine, if you ask me. Not that the Bigfoot edition wasn't good, but...too much of a good thing can be bad. Take salt for example. You put a little bit on some well done furry woodland creature, it's delicious. Too much and...," The cook looked at Ankara and Legolas who were starting to look bored. "You're dinners are over there."
"Thank you!" Ankara burst in appreciation for the food and silence.
Legolas and Ankara had barely sat down with their pates before, as Legolas had predicted, King Thranduil walked in.
"Legolas! How nice to see you! And...you...! Nice...to...see...er,...you," He greeted them.
"Dad, this is Ankara."
"Ah. Let me get my food."
He returned after a few moments. "Now Amtrack..."
"Ankara."
"Yes. Where do you live?"
"I live on the outskirts of the forest."
"Which part?"
"The western edge."
"Oh! So you must be of the Clearia household."
"Um...no...my last name is Lira."
"That's what I said."
"Yeah..."
Legolas watched the whole conversation and could only hope for the best. His father hadn't left yet; a good sign, and Ankara hadn't run screaming; an even better sign.
"So Anne Cleara..."
"Ankara Lira."
"...yes. How old are you?"
"I'm 5,992"
"Ah. Legolas is 6,049. Only a difference of...of-"
"57 years."
"Yes. Thank you. Now, what do you think of my son Legolas?"
Legolas began shoveling assorted berries into his mouth and ducked his head to shield himself from gaze. The stick fight was still strongly etched in his mind.
"He's...er...very nice...," Ankara began weakly. "I've only known him for a little bit, but he's a very...likeable elf from what I can tell."
Thranduil sat back in his chair. "What do you plan on doing in 5,000 years, Ankara?"
"Well, I was thinking of going into gardening, herbal remedies or possibly-"
Suddenly Legolas had a coughing fit which sounded astoundingly alike to 'Spamming, spamming, spamming, spammer,' but Thranduil didn't notice. Ankara shot him a death glare.
Thranduil stood up as soon as the coughing fit was over. "Well, Ankara, it was a pleasure to meet you. And if, in 5,000 years or so, you have not found that perfect someone, I'm sure that my son would be happy to marry you."
And with that he quickly left. Ankara said nothing, but grasped the arms of her chair firmly. Legolas looked up from his diminished pile of assorted berries.
"Ankara," he began timidly, "can you ...calm down?"
"Why," Ankara said through clenched teeth.
"Your knuckles have turned white from holding the chair too hard.
"Oh," She slowly loosened her grip. "I can't believe he thought I liked you and would marry you!" She burst after a second.
"Heh. At least you made a good first impression..."
"He barely even knew my name! Amtrack?! Anne Cleara?!"
"I told you to just go with the flow. I tried to warn you..."
"Well, you didn't warn me for a proposal!"
"That was him. Not me."
"That's my one comfort," Ankara looked at the clock. "I really should be going. Thanks for the dinner."
"It was nice having you here. And believe me, a proposal is better than being banned from the kingdom."
Ankara rolled her eyes. "Just keep telling yourself that, Elf boy. I still have bruises from the stick fight."
And with that, Ankara left Mirkwood palace and headed home.
