Parental Consent: Part II
by Honesty
-----

The feast had ended - after seven long and sumptuous courses - and now the speeches had begun. It looked like they, too, would go on for some time.

Which was unhelpful. All Legolas had wanted on his arrival back in Mirkwood had been beer, bath and bed - and even if he couldn't share any of them with Gimli, he'd happily have had them alone. But no! Parade through the forest, ceremonial reception, seven-course feast and speeches! Speech after speech from dignitary after dignitary, and all he wanted to do was to lay his head down on his empty plate and go to sleep.

In fact he could feel himself beginning to go glassy-eyed now. He wondered if they'd notice.

It was all because of that business with the Ring, of course - he was now considered a Hero, and therefore had to be honoured as such. And yet he had done as little as any of the Fellowship, and far less than many who had fought in the Battle Under the Trees.

But still .... Father had decided that he deserved all honour for his achievements, and who was he to protest?

Father ... father was going to be something a problem.

He'd always had a good relationship with Thranduil, in a live-and-let-live kind of way. The king had always been fond of him, in a somewhat preoccupied fashion, quite happy to let him do as he pleased, so long as he fulfilled his duties and gave no offence. It was one of those priviledges of being third of three sons - neither 'the heir' or 'the spare'.

Unfortunately, now that he really needed Thranduil's absent-minded indulgence he had suddenly and unfortunately become the very apple of his eye.

He looked up, to see his two older brothers watching him across the table. They appeared to be laughing at something, probably him. He reflected ruefully that they'd probably consider his elevation to the status of favoured son to be fitting revenge for all they years they'd had under father's watchful care while he'd been out and about, and beyond the reach of parental authority. Well, he certainly couldn't deny them that. He gave them a wry smile, and got a pair of sympathetic glances in return. He'd get used to it, somehow.

His head nodded lower, and he jerked it upright again. He would probably be called on to say a few words in a moment.

* * *

"So, m'boy - it's good to have you back."

Legolas gave his father a bright smile. "It's good to be back here, dad. I've missed the old place."

The ceremonial gatherings had finished now; but any relief Legolas might have felt at this had vanished when it became apparent that Thranduil now expected a private audience with him, and whisked him off to his private sitting room.

"That's good to hear. Can't have you forgetting your roots, eh? Especially now you're hob-nobbing with the high and mighty of the world."

Legolas winced slightly. "Oh, no, father!" he said. "I love Mirkwood."

"Now listen, dear boy. I won't keep you long, because I can see you're longing to get some sleep after your long journey, but there's a little matter come up that I need to discuss with you."

Legolas tensed, slightly. His eldest brother, Neldorion, had warned him about this. "He's got great things planned for you," he'd said, his smile faintly mocking. "Quite the golden boy, you are." And then he had slapped Legolas on the back with quite unnecessary bonhommie. "Good luck, our kid."

Thranduil, however, seemed quite oblivious to his son's trepidation. "Do not fret, Legolas! It's nothing to worry about - quite the reverse, in fact. I've had a very advantageous offer for your hand in marriage."

"Oh." He hadn't meant to say that. He certainly hadn't meant it to sound so worried.

"Oh my dear boy! It's wonderful news. She's a lovely lady, and her parents are extremely well-connected, and very wealthy."

"Father ... there's no easy way to tell you this, but - my heart is already pledged."

There. And that was just the easy bit over with. To tell Thranduil that the person to whom his heart was pledged was not only male, but a Dwarf male to boot, not to mention the son of a Dwarf that Thranduil particularly loathed. That would be the hard bit.

"Oh ... so you have found a consort already. Well, that presents no problem. In these enlightened days it's perfectly acceptable to have a mistress as well as a wife."

A century ago, Legolas might have accepted that, but things had changed. "My father," he said with all the authority he possessed. "I will not do that - for you or anyone."

"Well, there's no need to get uppity about it. It was but a suggestion. So who *is* the maiden who inspires such devotion. She must be very comely." An image of Gimli's undeniably homely face came into Legolas's mind, and he allowed himself a small, private smile. "Is she a maiden of Lorien, or of Imladris?"

No, he had not been looking forward to this. "Father ... my love is no maiden."

"By Elbereth! You would throw away a good marriage contract for a trollop?"

"No! I mean-" So much for Elven eloquence. Legolas could feel himself starting to stammer.

"Legolas, how dare you? If you mean to ally yourself with a woman of low repute you had better have a good reason for doing so."

This did not get better. The thunderous silence which followed this remark did give Legolas the time to regain coherence and start to gather his wits. "You misunderstand me, father," he said with slow deliberation. "I give my love to neither maiden nor" - he paused, and could find no politer term for it - "trollop. The one I have taken as soul-mate is male."

Thranduil went very pink, and then very pale. These were storm-signals, and Legolas braced himself.

"Male? Oh no, Legolas! Tell me I have not read you right."

"I am sorry, sire, for it is beyond my power to do so."

"No!" The word was roared loud enough to wake the dead. "No son of mine goes mincing through the treetops like that Haldir of Lor-" He broke off, aghast. "Please tell me it's not Haldir of Lorien," he whispered.

In spite of himself, Legolas started laughing. "Father - relax! I can assure you it is *not* Haldir of Lorien. In fact my love is no Elf."

Thranduil sagged back in his chair. "Well ... I suppose it could be worse, my lad. It has not been unknown for Elves to unite with the race of Men - and much good has come of the union. Is he of high birth?"

At last, a question that Legolas could answer with a clear conscience - almost.

"He is accounted a Lord among his people. But my father, I must tell you-"

"That is something, certainly. And who is his lord?"

This was ludicrous. This was absurd; but since the conversation was likely to go on some time anyway... Really, Legolas had nothing left to lose by this point, except possibly his sanity and his life.

"His lord is Thorin Stonehelm III, King of the Dwarves of Erebor. My lover is a Dwarf."

"Oh." Thranduil had suddenly gone very silent. "And *which* Dwarf would this be?"

"His name is Gimli. He is the son of Glóin, who was of the companions of Thorin Oakenshield."

Silence. Long moments of silence, as Thranduil digested this information, ruminated over it, and then fired it forth again in an explosion of furious bile.

"A Dwarf! A dirt-grubbing, gold-loving, hard-handed child of rock - the spawn of one of that accursed party! And you - my own son - have the nerve to stand there calmly before me and tell me that you have taken this - this *thing* as your lover."

Legolas raised his chin, his cheeks very pink. Not from anyone would he hear Gimli maligned so. "I do so dare, father."

"But - but this is preposterous! You must have been ensorcelled, my son, to entertain any such notion. You must have been the victim of some morgul-spell to make you act thus."

"No spells, father. I chose freely, and I do stand by that choice."

Thranduil leapt to his feet, his eyes stormy-bright. "Legolas! May I remind you of the penalty for disobedience to your King! Would you make yourself a traitor for so slight a reason?"

"My King, you command my allegiance in all matters except my heart - and that I alone may govern."

"It seems to me as though your heart - or some other organ - is governing you, not you it. Legolas, I insist you break off this alliance - or depart forever from my kingdom."

"If you ask me to leave, I will. Dearly as I love Mirkwood - and my family - I will not sacrifice him to remain here."

There was a pause; and Legolas could see his father struggling for control, his face growing purpler and purpler with every moment. Indeed, he was beginning to feel faintly alarmed. He susepcted that steam would shortly start to emerge from his sire's ears if someone did not puncture him.

It was some minutes before Thranduil was able to speak, but when he did, it was with iron self-control.

"You are dismissed, Legolas. I will give you until tomorrow noon to think upon your folly - and I trust you will think better of it. Now go! before I change my mind."

Legolas left, swiftly.

Once the door had shut behind him, he leant against the wall, trying to get his breath back and fighting down the urge to start laughing - or perhaps screaming - hysterically. Poor father! His own son, and the son of an old enemy!

Really, it had gone better than he'd had any right to expect. He was still alive, whole, and probably still sane, and with any luck Thranduil would have begun to cool before they next spoke.

Gathering his wits, he headed off in search of his chambers, wondering whether Gimli was faring any better with Glóin.


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