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Thorin crushed the dry leaves under his boots as he walked amongst the trees. He had left Thranduil behind, sitting under an evergreen. Moping.
The elf was moping.
Thorin shook his head. Such moody creatures, elves. One season goes and another comes and you’d think the whole world were dying. It was all, plants this and the trees that. Thorin didn’t have time for such sentimentality.
He didn’t. Which is why he absolutely was not hunting the forest ground for perfect autumnal leaves of every shade of red for one particularly dramatic elf.
He just happened to have a handful of leaves, that’s all.
With a sigh, Thorin turned and headed back towards the one spot of green left. Thranduil had his face in the pines, breathing in the scent. Thorin rolled his eyes. “Stop that,” he said. When Thranduil made no move to stop romancing the tree, Thorin tugged on his sleeve. “Sit, you idiot.”
“It won’t live through the winter,” Thranduil said, sinking down onto the dirt at the base of the pine. Thorin followed suit. “And the green is all gone. The trees have gone to sleep.” Mahal, the elf’s eyes were shining.
“Here.” Thorin thrust the leaves into Thranduil’s hands. Thranduil stared at them, confused. “For your crown.” Still no move from the elf, so Thorin plucked the wilted crown from Thranduil’s head and proceeded to fill it with autumn. Thranduil watched him curiously and bowed his head for Thorin to place it upon his brow once more.
“Now stop moping. Spring will be here before you know it.”
Thranduil’s usually still face broke into a smile. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you.”
Thorin rolled his eyes. “Neither, I’d thank you,” he said gruffly. His hands, however, were gentle as they took Thranduil’s.
“And I thank you,” said Thranduil. He pressed a kiss to Thorin’s head, then leaned back to watch the changing of the season.