Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Surprised

1999, Third Age...

Thranduil hurled a glass into the fireplace across the room, just for the satisfaction of hearing it smash against the bricks. It was not that he was just in a bad mood—he was in a terrible mood.

"Galion," he snarled, loud enough to send his butler skidding into the room.

"Your highness?" he said, and credit to him, Galion's voice hardly squeaked.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the butler. "Am I correct in hearing that one of our own has just returned?"

Galion looked cautiously behind him, and then at the open door, as if he hoped someone would come in and spare him the wrath of his king. "Yes, my lord," he said slowly. "Returned this morning."

Thranduil pursed his lips, strolled to the other side of his desk, where he picked up his long robe, woven to look like an autumn sunset, and pulled it on. His crown of leaves and berries followed, and thus attired to look every inch the Elvenking he was, Thranduil fixed his eyes upon Galion, really one of the few elves in his kingdom that he implicitly trusted.

"Walk with me, Galion," Thranduil told him and quit his study in a flash of burnished gold, like a fire meant to consume the hall and just as deadly.

Galion almost had to jog to keep up with his majesty's naturally long-legged pace. "Apparently, the Elder Council sent an emissary to the Lonely Mountain, sire," he said quietly, "to see if the rumors were true that dwarves had established a stronghold there."

Thranduil's jaw tightened, and his pace quickened, if that were even possible. Galion tried to remember if the king wore his sword today...

Finally, the Elvenking stopped, only right before the enormous beech doors marking the entrance to his throne room. His two guards made ready to open the way for their king, but he stilled them with a single wave of his hand as he waited for Galion to catch up. "I did not give them license to send any sort of emissary," he hissed.

How dare the Elder Council undermine his authority? How dare they presume to establish good relations with dwarves? Dwarves! Thranduil signalled to his guards, and on his command, they swung open the mighty doors, and their king stormed into the throne room.

"Bring this emissary to the throne room," he said coolly as he ascended to his throne, "and stop along the way and fetch Lord Filron." Thranduil knew exactly who was behind this little move. If Lord Filron sought to bring wretched dwarves into his schemes, then Thranduil certainly intended to put a stop to it.

The Elvenking despised being caught off-guard, but if someone asked him to put to name one thing that he possibly hated more than surprises? In a word, dwarves. Greedy little miners.

If that fool Lord Filron had sent an emissary to the dwarves, it would only be a matter of time before other friendly overtures would have to be made. Thranduil adjusted the rings on his fingers as he stared across the vast space of his hall. He would have to take care not to underestimate Filron's maneuvers. Dwarves, indeed.

It would be a dark day in Mandos before Thranduil ever willingly sought out good relations with dwarves.

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