My father is infamous for two things: strained interracial relations, and having a good time.

Ever since partaking in the Fellowship of the Ring as one of the nine walkers, our relationship has been what you might politely refer to as somewhat estranged on certain issues. My current fletmate situation hasn't helped.

And for as much as Haldir might refer to me as Legolas Thranduilion, I fear my reputation for my father's more impressive kingly abilities was grossly over exaggerated on film. On this particular morning, however, I was more afraid what and who I would find in my flet the morning following one of his more rather raucous gatherings. From the painful peals of mirth that greeted me upon stumbling from bed, and the clinging stench of pipeweed, it would appear my friends had come solely to laugh at my expense.

"Oh, look, little Leggy's awake!" Tauriel sang.

"Don't—" I groaned, staggering into the flet's small kitchen for my morning tea. Even with my eyes clenched shut, daggers of light shafts were piercing my head.

"Daddy have another kegger, did he?" her low chuckle came from somewhere to my left.

"Shut up," I stumbled into something metallic. Small. The stove?

I sniffed. Gagged. Gimli.

"Well, well," his booming baritone voice grated in my ears like an axe stroke to the skull. "Here's a pretty wine-skin to wrap an Elvish princeling in!"

"Shut up," I groaned. "Shut up shutupshutupshutup…" I groped my way to the kettle, and found the hearth to be disappointingly cool.

"Why is there no tea?" I lamented, clutching my throbbing head.

"Tea?" Gimli shouted in protest as an arrow lodged itself through my eardrums. "You'll be needing something a wee bit stronger than that, laddie!"

I groaned. Sank to the floor.

"Because leaving you alone with an open fire pit last night would've contradicted the prime directive of my position as Captain of your father's Guard," Tauriel chided. "You're helpless after one goblet, bless."

"You sat up all night with me?" I asked, squinting one eye open in surprise. A feat, I feel inclined to tell you, which I immediately regretted.

"Me?" she scoffed. "Some of us have a full time job, remember? No, your friend Gimli had the dubious pleasure of emptying your vomit-filled chamber pot on numerous occasions."

I would apologize, but after what he did to my chamber pot on a near daily basis I'd say he remained still greatly in my debt. "You're a lot less nurturing than your film counterpart," I managed to say thickly.

"That's because on screen I'm the feisty, overcompensating badass and a deliberate cocktease who finds her true fulfillment not in her own independence or professional skills but by abandoning them all for the wonderful, meaningful calling of domesticity."

I grimaced. "And here I thought it was just the whole 'true love at first sight' thing you disapproved of."

"Don't be naïve, Legolas. Clearly that's a healthy romantic ideal to foster, just like the notion that fighting is for boys, and nursing people back to health is for girls. Obviously," I heard her pacing across the stone floor in anger. "Tilda throws what, one plate? And Sigrid just screams until they both take refuge under the table. I mean, scrawny little Bain fights, arthritic old Oín fights, and rat-draggled Kili's septic, for Eru's sake, but he still manages to drag his sorry ass out of bed to stab an orc or two because gender roles."

I frowned and wracked my brain through a wine-induced haze. "It could be the wine, but I thought movie you pretty much killed in that scene," I reminded her.

"Oh, yes," Tauriel seethed. 'The one woman exception to the rule. And what do I do immediately afterwards? I feel a terrible conflict between my duties as the Captain of the Guard and my ovaries. Seriously. And once I've accepted my true calling, and the audience has seen me in the woman's role, I can no longer embrace the wanton recklessness of my past. The reaction shots to Smaug? Old woman whimpering. Tilda clutching her doll. And me? The capable female Captain of the Guard? I'm standing there Looking. Worried," I heard her teeth grinding. "They use us women as emotional fodder for the audience, and nothing more. For the rest of the movie I'm Miss Manipulative, always have a plan and a goading comeback up my sleeve, but when it comes to my boyfriend dying I can't even remember to bring my own fucking athelas let alone muster the neurons to alert the authorities to row him and as many others to safety. Ovaries one, brain zero."

I was hung over. And tired. And it was still way too early in the…afternoon? to be discussing tropes, however pressing. "At least they didn't show you failing to kill Bolg with essentially Excalibur when you had quiver full of arrows and your bow just slung over your back," I groaned, laying my head gently against the tapestry paneling. "So. Effing. Stupid."

"Bless, Gimli. He must be grumpy," she said in the honeyed tones one would use for a small Elfling as her fingers pinched my cheeks. "He almost swore."

I batted her hands away. "Shut up."

"Aaand he dropped the Bolg bomb," she continued. "Shall we tell him?"

He heaved a sigh, accompanied by the incessant jingle of chain mail, echoing longer than a stonefall in Khazad-dûm."We might as well get it over with, lass."

I rubbed my aching temples between my fingertips. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" I asked them blearily.

I heard Tauriel's chortle, and could imagine an identically smug grin. "Oh, regret doesn't even begin to cover it, mellon." A warm mug was placed carefully in my hands. "Drink up."

"This tea?" I said groggily, braving the light again to catch a glimpse of the dark, steaming liquid.

"Something 'a wee bit stronger'," she assured me with a wink.

"Ai, ERU!" I coughed as the burning liquid hit my throat and my headache cleared as the fire of a thousand balrogs scorched my insides. "What is this?"

"Old Dwarvish hangover remedy," Tauriel shrugged as I sputtered and hacked. "According to Gimli. My money's still on dwarf piss."

Water. Lembas. Athelas. Something! "Call Elessar," I moaned, clutching at my chest and stomach. "I think I'm dying."

"Don't worry your pointy-eared head, laddie," Gimli slapped me on the back. "I've brought you a proper Elvish healer, right here."

"I would shave off your beard, Dwarf, if you stood but a little higher from the ground," Tauriel scowled.

"That's the part where you're supposed to say 'you would die before your stroke fell', laddie," he prodded me with his armored elbow.

"That was before you poisoned me," I glared at him, my eyes still tearing. "As my bodyguard, if she wants to shave you, I say go ahead."

"Now don't be hasty!" he exclaimed, taking a step back with his hands waving in peace.

"Don't go pretending you're Treebeard again, or you'll be Nobeard." I will never forgive The Two Towers movie for lending him an entire second arsenal of annoying quotations.

"Would that be yet another failed and feeble attempt at a joke, Legolas?" Tauriel asked, bemused.

"I'm tired. Hungover, and possibly dying of a dwarven overdose," I informed her. "I'm not proud of it."

The corners of her clever eyes and lips upturned oh-so-subtly. After six hundred years, I knew that expression could be the portent of nothing good. "Speaking of things you're not proud of, you should see the Esgaroth Herald this morning. There's a lovely centerfold with you twerking on Bolg."

I spat tea across the stone floor and silk carpeting. "WHAT-?!" I choked. "Give me that!" I tore the paper from her hands, eyes searching frantically.

Unlucky in Love: Prince Legolas' Night on the Town after Abrupt Tauriel Break-Up

Sources close to the couple report the toxic troubles in the fallout from the Tauriel split after the Elf Captain was photographed openly holding hands with hot dwarven hunk, Kili. Friends say they are "concerned" for the Prince's judgment and safety after a late night liaison in Laketown. The orc in question has been identified as Bolg, son of Azog, who might just be doing some defiling of his own. Gimli son of Gloin, the Prince's long time lover, could not be reached for comment.

"That's a still from that thrice-cursed movie!" I cried, aghast. "This is…this…'might be doing some defiling of his own?'" I yelped. "That picture is completely out of context! And fictional! And that orch is completely CGI'ed!"

"He's got ice in his heart and a club in his hands and a vulnerable side he keeps well hidden," Tauriel purred, pulling the paper from my disbelieving hands. "This one's definitely going in the scrap book next to Legolas by Laura."

"Oh, Eru," I whimpered. "I need more wine."

"Are you certain that's a good idea, laddie?" Gimli asked, busying himself with making breakfast. If there was ever a chance to make a fire, my Dwarven friend was always on it.

"Nothing was ever wiser," I lamented as sausages began to crackle. "Has my father seen this?" I contemplated his reaction with no small amount of dread.

"Oh, King Thranduil has been quite busy this morning," she said with an air of amusement. "Apparently he's only just now discovered the Dwarf Racist Party Dad Tumblr, and won't have time for such petty issues like your most recent tabloid spread, however shameful."

I looked up at her ruefully. "I suppose I have you to thank for that."

She smiled. "That's what friends are for, mellon. Even swotty, stuck up, shit-faced Sindarin babies who can't take their liquor."

"You just don't want to talk to him about our supposed 'break up'," I returned.

"You just don't want to talk to him at all," she shot back.

"Alright," I conceded. "Point taken." Gimli often said I hid behind her as if she was my mother's skirts when it came to the issue of my father. It was one of those rare, refreshing topics of conversation on which we found ourselves agreeing completely, so naturally it became a frequent discussion.

"Seriously though, how bad was it?" I cringed, taking my place at the table where a plate of soft, glazed lembas and fruit waited as well as a pitcher of cold cream and—thank the Valar—my morning tea.

Tauriel perched on the table top, swinging her feet freely. "Are you sure you even want to know?"

"I have the terrible feeling that myself and most of Middle Earth are about to find out anyways," I nodded to the cursed tabloid set next to her.

"Well, you told the king exactly where he could put his dwarven prejudices," she said. "Called him out on his treatment of the Silvan minority and demanded that at least a half of the Eryn Lasgalen Council be replaced with Silvan counterparts for a more balanced perspective, as well as a nominative representative from both Erebor and Esgaroth."

I swallowed a sip of tea, letting it soothe my throat where Gimli's unnamed concoction had left it raw. "That doesn't sound too terrible."

"There's more," Tauriel warned. "The two of you had quite the row."

"I'm not about to get banished, am I?" I asked with chagrin.

"No, no. Daddy dearest demanded you leave the party, and…" here she paused, mouth still open and eyebrows raised, gauging my reaction so far.

"Go on," I prompted with mounting unease.

"—At which time you publicly professed your undying love for me. We eloped."

I aspirated a sip of tea and flaky lembas and required Gimli's assistance to breathe again in the form of what I would later be informed was called the Heimlich maneuver.

"I'm just fucking with you, Legolas," Tauriel said primly over the lip of her glass, but the façade of dignity didn't last long. "And apparently so is Gimli!" She fell sideways into a chair, splashing tea, then proceeded to laugh loud and long until tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Are you nearly finished?" I reprimanded her shameless outburst, shoving Gimli away. "And what in the name of Arda are you doing—!?"

"My Uncle Oín was a healer!" he grumped, clearly hurt. "I believe thanks are in order, you pompous Elvish Princeling!"

"The same dear old deaf Uncle Oín who dropped you on a your head as a baby?" I retorted, gathering myself dizzily to my feet.

"Aye, that's the one, laddie."

Tauriel was still howling merrily.

"Seriously?" I asked, wiping breakfast from my already partied clothes. "Are. You. Quite. Done. Yet."

"I had a couple of slash fanfic jokes," she hiccoughed. "You know, 'Prince Legolas Carrying Bolg's Baby' sort of mpreg headlines to throw at you, but I think I'm done now, yes."

"Bolg? You told me I was the father!" Gimli bellowed in mock outrage. And here we went again. I finished my breakfast in stewing silence, as they continued to embarrass themselves at my expense. Long after I'd finished Tauriel was still giggling nasally as Gimli slapped his great thighs.

"Would one of you, whenever you're done, please inform me as to what actually happened." I requested with all the politeness I could muster.

"Oh, mellon," she dabbed her still streaming eyes with her sleeve. "In truth, you went on at length about our restrictive immigration policy, declared your undying love for boating, did some thrilling interpretive dance and sang what appeared to be some original pieces about botany and bird-watching, of all things before proceeding to buy plot of land in Ithilien. From what Gimli tells me you later also smoked and planned a lovely little Valinor vacation for just the two of you," she grinned in summation. "Tongues will wag."

I flushed. I'd actually been giving the whole Valinor thing thought for a long time now. "For the last time Tauriel, if you—or anyone else out there is still listening—we're so not a couple."

"Yes, Legolas," she rolled her twinkling eyes impishly. "Because nothing says 'we're not gay' like building a ship together then sailing off into the sunset. No one really cares about Aragorn and Arwen, and the whole Farmir/Eowyn thing is a bit forced, if you ask me. It's time you faced it: you two are the fandom's favorite OTP."

"I get shipped with everyone," I reminded her. "It doesn't matter who else is in the boat, it's STILL someone's OTP."

"Could be worse, lad," Gimli opined somberly. "You could be paired with that beardless boy wonder Kili."

"Yeah," I poked her with one of the plaits of his bristling beard, "You're just jealous that my dwarf is an actual dwarf." We were then met with the typical complaints of 'mind the beard!' and 'nobody touches a dwarf!' and cajoled in the name of Durin's saggy left—well, you get the idea—to unhand him at once.

"I'm jealous?" she snickered. "Have you seen The Desolation of Smaug?"

"You mean that film that makes me into a surly, possessive, stalking, bitchy Aryan Edward Cullen?"

"That's the one."

"After repeatedly telling fans and the actors there wouldn't be a love triangle?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Legolas. Obviously what Kili and I had was merely a 'cross-cultural curiosity'," she made snide air quotes to match her tone. "I don't know how any audience could have possibly misconstrued it as a romance given the constant love theme, awkward eye contact, and the dwarf explicitly stating his affections and your father beating us both over the head with yours."

"That was so painful," I grimaced, taking another sip of tea.

She grunted her affirmation through a bite of lembas. "And now somehow the fandom is under the impression that I'm responsible for your OOCness."

"That's dumb," I interjected. "It's lazy screenwriting, and the audience ought to know better. They could've still done the whole stupid love triangle thing without making me a jealous wreck."

"Or me a cocktease," she took a needlessly vehement bite of bread. "I started it, remember. 'He's tall, for a dwarf'. What the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

"I was already being creepy before that. And then that scene where I'm like, looming over the two of you like you were Bella Swan or something?" I shook my head. "The real fans would've still thrown a fit, but I think it would've gone down better if I was, I don't know, sad. Pining, you know? I mean, you got to be all poignantly happy about it, for at least a couple seconds before my dad trampled your hopes and dreams like he always does."

"Oh, yeah, because that rounded out my character when it's followed immediately by my seeking out Kili again," she slammed her glass down. "They didn't even try to disguise it as coincidence, didn't even try to show the relationship happening over a long period of distrust and time. I'm the only round character, the only female, and with this proximity the only thing they did is make me look purposefully shallow," she concluded bitterly. "Can't have Legolas? Well, I guess I'll immediately go after the only other supernatural archer I know. Cross cultural understanding my ass, did you see the look they had me giving him right when the barrels were about to break free again? Not to mention the Laketown debacle. Florence Nightengale much?"

"Aye, lass. If it was a 'cross cultural' understanding they were after, you could've spoken to Balin. Or Bofur. Those two had many a tale to tell. Or Oín, my uncle. He was a healer, too, and you'd've at least had that in common—in the movie! In the movie!" he waved her off as she whetted her long knives with an eye to his beard.

"Gimli, that's…a really good point actually," I mused it over. "Why didn't they have you talk to them instead? If it wasn't a romance, I mean."

"Or both lads," Gimli shrugged, tucking the long tail of his beard into his thick belt for safe-keeping. "What's the point, I ask you, lass, in bringing up the only female dwarf with a name in the entire canon, only to never see her or mention her again? If you ask me, it would've been better had he flagged you down to ask about his brother."

"That actually would've been a good excuse to make me stop and engage in conversation with him," Tauriel thought it over with a brooding nod. "That's a surprisingly good point—for a Dwarf."

"So much for cross-cultural understanding," I took another swig of tea as Gimli chuckled. "I still don't like it, it's not canon—not that they're aren't some non-canon things I'm really appreciative of—" I glanced at her quickly before she could protest. "But they went about it the laziest way possible. I think some of the less die-hard fans might've even enjoyed the whole you and Kili thing, you know, if it hadn't been so obviously shoe-horned in there and didn't make you into 'black Princess Leia with a bow' and recycled all of Arwen's and Katniss' plot points," I admitted.

"You forgot the 'only good looking people are good' trope, and 'only good looking people fall in love' trope, " she tutted. "Good looks conquer all. I mean, true love and finding shared humanity across cultures."

"Don't let it get to you, Tauriel. The fandom blames you instead of the screenwriters and producers because it's easier to make one woman the target rather than address the culture that created her. And if they're too stupid to put the blame where it truly belongs they don't deserve you, anyways," I told my friend. "They can just go back to watching their stupid Mary Sues and supposed Strong Female Characters and rot."

That at least elicited a coy smile. "Oh, and I suppose you do?"

"Obviously," I affirmed, raising my mug to her. "I'm the good looking knight errant on a white horse. I've got a famous sword and a possessive, overprotective, misogynistic personality. As far as movie love interests go, I'm your ideal choice!"

"Which still leaves me the Elf in the refrigerator," she finished glumly, small chin in her hands.

"Nay, lass," Gimli spoke around the stem of his pipe, puffing pungent tobacco aroma throughout the flet. "Haven't you seen the movie yet? There's a dragon heading right for you. Make that the Elf in the incinerator."

"Gimli—!"