Work Text:
Thranduil sat with a goblet of wine in his hand, the food in front of him still untouched. He was in the most miserable mood and nothing could change that, surely not the vastly-inferior-to-Dorwinion’s red that they were serving. But still he kept sipping it, in the hope that a bit of alcohol could fog his intellect and make the night more bearable.
His daughter, his only daughter, was going to marry a dwarf! And not any dwarf, but their King! That was even worse! He still hadn’t been able to explain why it was worse, but it was, he knew that!
And yet his daughter, his smart, beautiful daughter, really wanted to do it.
How was it possible?
She’s always been rebellious, she would do something just to irritate him, but wasn’t that a little too much?
It all started when she’d heard about Thorin’s quest to reclaim Erebor. He blamed Gandalf and Galadriel, with all their speeches about the Enemy that wasn’t yet defeated, that something needed to be done about the Dragon… they’ve manipulated her! So when the Dwarves had passed through Mirkwood she had decided to follow them and help them, against her father and king’s wishes.
And he had done nothing! He had thought she was just trying to infuriate him, so he had let her go. He hadn’t listened to Legolas, who had tried to convince him that she was serious, that it wasn’t a stunt, because he had been so sure that seeing no reaction from her father would make her desist…
Instead, she had gone all the way, and in the process she’d fallen in love with Thorin!
And now Thranduil was in Erebor, at the banquet to celebrate the official engagement between Oliviel, Princess of the Woodland Realm, and Thorin II, King under the Mountain.
He turned to look at them, and sighed. The anger he was feeling subsided a little bit because he had to admit that his daughter looked radiant: she was smiling, laughing, she looked so happy, her eyes were sparkling, especially when she looked at her fiancé.
And then Thranduil made the mistake of following her gaze, and when his eyes landed on Thorin, all his anger was back. How was it possible? How could she be happy at the thought of marrying Thorin Oakenshield?
How was possible for an elf to be attracted to a dwarf?
He was giving the Dwarven King a murderous look, trying to convey all his rage, when a mellifluous voice called him from behind: “King Thranduil?”
He turned abruptly, and since he was sitting on one of those stupid, low dwarven chairs, he found himself facing an ample bosom. Immediately he looked up, and was met by the most perfect face he had ever seen, and two magnificent amber eyes that were smiling at him.
He remained silent for a little while, bewildered, looking into those eyes, when he noticed the eyebrows attached to them curving in a perplexed way.
That shook him enough to answer: “Yes, I’m him. I mean, it’s me, I am King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm,” he managed to regain some dignity towards the end of that sentence, and was rewarded by those eyes smiling again. And the rest of the face, too. Including the mouth, with those full lips, that looked so soft and smooth, encircling white, shining teeth.
“I am Dìs, Thorin’s sister,” and Thranduil had to become aware of the fact that that perfect face was attached to a - considerably stunning - body that was now extending an arm, offering a hand. He rushed to take that hand, and awkwardly squeezed it.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“How is it possible” he replied: “that you are Thorin’s sister, you’re so much more beautiful than him!”
What in all Ilúvatar’s creation was happening?!? Was he flirting with Thorin’s sister? And badly so, in addition?!
Despite his better judgment, he kept doing it, inviting her to sit near him, saying obvious gallant things, complimenting her at every occasion, asking about her life even if it was off topic.
Dìs had wanted to meet him because they were the closest relatives to the two betrotheds, and so she deemed useful for them to discuss the future wedding.
And they discussed, a lot of things.
Most of them were not about Oliviel and Thorin.
Some of them were, inexplicably, about their own relationships’ status (both widowed, what a coincidence!, Thranduil remarked a couple of times).
After a time that seemed too short, Dìs said she was needed elsewhere and had to go. Thranduil watched her walk away, bewitched, when his eyes met his daughter’s. She raised one eyebrow, looking at him in a very smug way.
As if she’s read his mind, it seemed she was telling him: “Do you finally understand, now, how it is possible?”