Chapter Text
Legolas considered it an excellent piece of good fortune that he had arrived just in time for a feast. He had heard that the elves of Imladris were not as inclined to feasts and celebrations as their woodland cousins. He had arrived merely for an errand that Thranduil could have sent anybody for because Legolas had wanted some adventure, but he was being detained for a supposedly important, but likely incredibly dull council.
Legolas lifted his glass in the toast to whoever this banquet was being held in honor for (someone named Frodo? That didn’t sound like an Elvish name) and downed it in one go. Unfortunately, Lord Elrond’s wine was not as good as Thranduil’s. Or perhaps all the good stuff was at the upper table and Lord Elrond was just being a stingy bastard. Either way, it didn’t matter. Legolas was well on his way to drinking all of it regardless of quality. Well, maybe not all of it. There was still the promise of that odious council, and no doubt Elrond would not take it kindly if Legolas was hung over during it.
In addition to the wine, the conversation could also use an improvement. Were all the elves in the house of Elrond this exceptionally dull, or had Legolas just drawn an unlucky seating arrangement?
It appeared it wasn’t just the elves, though. Almost directly across the table from Legolas, an old dwarf was regaling a…Legolas squinted at the creature. Legolas didn’t know what he was. Or if it was a he, really. Legolas hoped that it was, because if not, Legolas feared for its species. Well, maybe not. Orcs seemed to reproduce well enough for being so unspeakably ugly. At least, Legolas presumed that they reproduced. He had never seen a female orc and wasn’t sure if they actually existed, or if there was some other way orcs were brought into the world to blight it. Else how were there always so damn many of them? Anyways, whatever that person was, he was not an orc. He was exceptionally patient, though. That old dwarf had been rambling on for ages now and the snatches that Legolas caught of their conversation were pretty damn boring. There was also a younger dwarf beside the older one who interjected on occasion, and it was on one of those occasions when their eyes accidentally met.
Weirdly enough, Legolas had this eerie feeling that he had seen the dwarf before. Both of them, actually. But before he could articulate it, the dwarf gruffly asked, “What are you looking at, elf?”
“I was merely struck at how ugly you are, even for a dwarf. Are you sure you’re not some sort of goblin mutant?” Oh, that’s why the two dwarves seemed so familiar! Damn, Legolas had already used that retort before.
The two dwarves shot up and started yelling and growling what were probably threats, but they were hardly articulate enough for Legolas to really get what they were saying. It didn’t matter the words, though, all that mattered was the intent. Legolas stood up and was priming himself for the first good fight of the feast before the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end from the combined forces of powerful glares. Legolas looked and found Lord Elrond, Mithrandir, and Glorfindel staring at him like they were trying to set him on fire. Legolas slowly sat back down. The dwarves did not seem pacified by Legolas’s retreat, though.
It was actually the older dwarf’s conversation partner that managed to ease the tensions. “Glóin, what were you saying about the mining excavation?” he asked. The old dwarf looked from Legolas to the speaker. “And Gimli, weren’t you saying something about the forging of axes?” The young one, Gimli, nodded slowly. “Come! Tell me! I have heard little news from the mountain since Bilbo left, and I fain would hear more!”
Glóin and Gimli both sat back down after giving wary looks to Legolas as they resumed their conversation with Legolas’s unlikely savior. However, Gimli would pause and glare at Legolas every few minutes. Legolas shrugged and took another sip of his wine. Whatever.