Parental Consent: Part III
by Honesty
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"...without sparing so much as a thought for the political ramifications of your folly, or the effect it would have upon your kin. If you were not so damnably ignorant of the facts of diplomatic life you would surely have acted..."

The undulating song of a blackbird floated down from the treetops above them, but Thranduil was in full flow and paid it no heed ... setting forth in lengthy if irritable prose the damage to his reputation and standing in the Elven communities, and in the human communities (who generally aped their betters), the potential knock-on effect where trade was concerned, the volatile state of the market and direct fiscal damage this would bring to the kingdom. The blackbird's second call, and its third, were also unheeded, save, perhaps, by his bedraggled and haggard-looking youngest son, whom he was dragging along by the arm.

Ninety foot above them, Neldorion abandoned his pretences at subtlety, inserted two fingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly. Amazingly, Thranduil managed to ignore the whistle as he had the blackbird calls, and merely started again about the iniquities of Dwarfkind, a subject on which he could speak at almost incredible length.

Neldorion sighed, and let himself drop lightly through the branches until he hit the ground.

"A moment of your precious time, father," he said brightly. He saw Legolas flash him a grateful smile. Thranduil frowned forbiddingly at him.

"Neldorion, what are you doing down here? I commanded you to keep watch for the foes and signal their approach, not play about in the branches."

Neldorion sighed loudly.

"Thus have I done," he said with exaggerated patience. "Four times, if you really want to know - but you were clearly too deep in conversation to hear me."

Legolas seemed to perk up immediately. "They are here?"

Neldorion nodded; Thranduil grimaced at the eagerness in his son's voice.

"Right," he said, drawing himself up to his full height. "Neither of you are to say a word. I alone will speak."

So what else is new? Neldorion asked himself wearily.

*He* certainly hadn't wanted to come. In fact, he'd have been happy to have nothing to do with the whole dreadful affair. But Thranduil had been at his most vehement. He had wanted no witnesses to what he considered his youngest son's shame, so it had to be a member of close kin standing guard. Which meant Neldorion. With the best will in the world, his second brother, Dudol, was not the brightest star in the sky, and jobs of importance tended to come Neldorion's way instead.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Neldorion?" Get back up there before they see-"

The Dwarf party were already in the clearing, barely a hundred yards away. Perhaps it was not just Dudol who went through life with his eyes closed.

Neldorion looked across with interest at the party of three Dwarves before them. They had clearly come for parleying rather than fighting, and they were all also clearly kin. The chief of the three was elderly and white-haired, his beard reaching to his knees, his eyes dark and angry. His son - for it clearly *was* his son - walked to his right, his arm bandaged as though from some recent injury. He, too, looked very, very angry, and his father appeared to have a vice-like grip on his shoulder. The third was shorter than the other two, with a bright red beard, and an axe hefted over his shoulder. Neldorion was no connoisseur of Dwarven body-language, but he had the distinct impression that the redhead was bored rigid.

An almost exact equivalent of their own party, in fact, he thought wryly.

Legolas started forward impatiently, only to be jerked backwards by Thranduil's hold on his arm.

"You," the King said firmly, "are going *nowhere*."

Legolas subsided, but continued to stare across intently at the Dwarf with the injured arm - Gimil? was that his name? - looking more like a lovesick youth of sixty than an Elf-Prince who had lived almost a thousand years. The Dwarf was staring back with a remarkably similar look in his eyes.

Neldorion grimaced. Young love - at the age of nine-hundred-and-odd. Really, it was nauseating beyond words! Still, Legolas had always been somewhat of a late developer, and that Dwarf was clearly no youngster, either. Neldorion did a momentary comparison of Legolas's rather uneventful love-life with his own byzantine history of marriages, affairs and assorted broken hearts of both sexes, and allowed himself a superior smile. At least *he* had never lost his heart to a Dwarf.

Thranduil strode forward, his eyes hard and his head held high.

"Glóin Gróinsson," he said imperiously. "I wish to parley with you on a matter of great importance to both our houses. Will you speak with me?"

"I will," the elder Dwarf growled, and then turned to the redhead beside him. "You are to chaperone Gimli, Gróin. See that he does not attempt to speak to that creature." He clipped his son round the ear to get his attention. "Mind you behave, Gimli." Gimli brushed the words off as though they were a minor irritant, and once more locked eyes with Legolas. The red-haired Dwarf grimaced.

Couldn't agree more, Neldorion thought wryly.

Thranduil's voice snapped him out of his musings. "Neldorion, you are my sentry. If that Dwarf so much as attempts to come near your brother, shoot him."

He did not wait for Neldorion to answer, but strode away with the old Dwarf into the clearing beyond, leaving the two lovers - and their reluctant babysitters - to wait for them.

* * *

"So! You are the father of that dishonourable dirt-grubber who has ensnared my poor son."

Thranduil was the first to speak - a fact his eldest son would have found irritatingly familiar - and perhaps he believed that the elderly and shrunken creature before him would be easily cowed by an imperious manner.

"I will trouble you to keep a civil tongue in your head, King of Mirkwood," Glóin growled, drawing his axe and leaning heavily on it for emphasis. "Dishonour is not a trait limited to Dwarf-kind."

"Oh! So you seek revenge for that small matter-"

"A month in your stinking dungeons is no small matter."

"Small or not, to set your son to seduce mine is a foul tactic. I did not expect such perfidy-"

"How *dare* you!" Glóin drew himself up to his full height, every hair bristling like a cat's. "Do you believe that I rejoice," he said; "that my only son has joined himself for life to a peroxide Elven bimbo?"

"Perox-?" Thranduil stopped short. In truth he had always wondered about Legolas's tales of an unfortunate encounter with an ill-tempered Istari, which had apparently turned his hair yellow. "How dare you, sir? My son is no bimbo!" he said quickly. "It was *your* wanton spawn who seduced my fine, brave boy. No Elf would *ever* attempt to seduce a Dwarf."

"It is not Dwarven habit to engage in seduction."

"Indeed. I doubt your uncouth folk are capable of it."

Glóin shifted his stance slightly, placing slightly less weight on the handle of his axe ready to draw it if necessary. "And what are you insinuating?"

"There are enchantments that are well within a Dwarf's capabilities."

"You suggest such-" Both hands were now on the handle of the axe, and Glóin's voice was a subterranean growl. "No Dwarf would ever do such a thing. Our deepest laws forbid it."

"It must *be* so. My poor son genuinely believes he loves that brat of yours. He *cannot* be in his right mind to think such a thing. Only the strongest of Morgul-spells could affect him so gravely."

"You seem to know much of such enchantments to speak thus. Can you say it is not your son's doing?"

"I both can and do. Legolas would never love such a mean creature."

"Think you I brought up Gimli to such unnatural desires?" Glóin cried. "I taught him to hate your kind, and not to love them. It is unthinkable that he should thus dishonour his family. My boy was a fine upstanding Dwarf until he was seduced by that scheming son of yours."

"How dare you speak of Legolas so? My son would *never* do such a thing!"

"No more so would mine," Glóin said vehemently, and folded his arms across his chest, resting them firmly on the handle of his axe.

There was a sudden silence as Elf-King and Dwarf-Lord glared across at each other. Glóin may have had the disadvantage of height, but the fieriness of his glare more than compensated for the shortness of his stature.

"And yet," Thrandruil said deliberately, "it has come to pass. What say you? How can you explain that."

"I cannot. And nor can you."

Thranduil sighed. "No, I cannot. I would not have had him chose thus."

"No more would I," Glóin said firmly.

"No," Thranduil said gloomily. "It only remains, then, to decide how we are going to resolve this despicable situation."

"Resolve it-" Glóin said contemptuously. "And what do you propose to do about it?"

"Do? But end it, of course. They will come back to their senses, I suppose, if we but keep them apart long enough."

"We would be wasting our time."

"Wasting our time? What mean you?"

"I mean," Glóin said bitterly, "that it is far too late for my son to be dissuaded. Our kind give their hearts but once - and Gimli has chosen to give his to your son."

For the first time, Thranduil felt truly shocked. He at least could still dream of an eventual suitable daughter-in-law, once Legolas had got this madness out of his system. "But once? But that is terrible - I had not realised!" He looked down at the old Dwarf and realised that he had tears in his eyes. "Let us talk this through as comrades, Glóin. There must be something we can do."

* * *

"Neldorion..."

Neldorion sighed. He knew that tone of voice - and the doe-eyed look that went with it. Legolas was about to try and use charm on him. "What is it, Legolas?" he asked grudgingly.

"You remember that time after the Battle of Five Armies when you went out wenching in Dale?"

"Yes...?" Neldorion had a horrible feeling about this.

"You remember who covered up for you until you got home?"

"Yes...?"

"You remember you said you owed me a favour."

"Yes... But the answer's no. Absolutely not, in fact. The old fool'll have my head if he comes back and you're necking with that Dwarf." Big imploring eyes looking across at him. Damn. Typical spoilt younger brother. "Oh, well ... go on, then. But if you get caught it's nothing to do with me."

He glanced across at the two Dwarves, and saw Gimli give Legolas a grim smile and then turn to the red-haired Dwarf beside him. He could just catch their conversation.

"Remember what happened to Hráf Ironfist's second-best helmet?"

There was no answer, but the red-haired Dwarf's grip on his axe tightened.

"He still wants to know who was responsible."

The Dwarf blenched. "You would not!"

Gimli gave him one of his grim smiles. "Fear not, Gróin. Your secret is safe." And then he turned his back and went to join Legolas. Side by side they headed towards the edge of Mirkwood, where a dense copse on the forest's edge gave thick cover.

Neldorion and Gróin watched them go, and then both turned away. As Neldorion lowered himself to the ground to wait he heard Gróin grunt out a single, emphatic word. It sounded remarkably like "Families!"

"I know," he said ruefully, more to himself than his companion. "But for our families, all our lives would be simple."


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