Masters of the Obvious
Title: Masters of the Obvious
Pairings: None
Warnings: Crack, lots of crack and discussions about hair.
Word Count: 930
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit it would be seriously ridiculous
Summary: Fíli and Legolas are kindred spirits in all the wrong ways.
It was Legolas who started it, sneering down at his prisoners as they were disarmed by his band. He simply couldn't resist the urge to do a bit of posturing but to be fair, the elf was not expecting the reaction that he got when he pronounced, "You are in our forest, dwarves. My father will not be pleased."
Because while Thorin growled and Balin sighed, Fíli just nudged his brother with a grin. "Your father? So you're a prince then? An actual elf prince, Kíli, look at that."
The young dwarf seemed remarkably unconcerned by being captured or the loss of his knives and Legolas found himself replying with a toss of his hair, "Of course, I am. I am Legolas Thranduilion and you would be wise to show some respect since you are trespassing."
"But there was a path. If there's a path you must want visitors."
"You are not on the path, dwarf. That makes you in the wrong."
"So we got lost; it's not our fault that your signs are terrible and your kingdom is a death trap. Your father should really do something about those spiders instead of letting them molest innocent travelers; it's going to take hours to get the webs out of our beards."
"You do have very nice beards," Legolas admitted, the thought distracting him from his anger over Fíli's insulting words. "I didn't know hair could come in that many colors or keep such interesting shapes. A racial difference I suppose."
"Of course. That's why yours is so much straighter."
"But your looks softer and much easier to braid."
"You don't have any braids."
"That's because I'm an elf. We prefer to let our hair blow free in the wind. Except when fighting obviously."
"Well yeah. You can't fight with your hair in your eyes. It's really hard to throw knives like that and Kíli gets mad when I nick him by accident. Though it's not like he hasn't shot me before." Fíli added with a shrug. By this point the rest of the company had settled on the ground to wait out their conversation and the other elves were staring into the forest with expressions of bored resignation in their eyes. But at Fíli's final statement, Kíli shot up indignantly.
"That was one time! Will you let it go already?"
"You left a scar, little brother. These things take time to fade."
Before this sniping could devolve into a proper argument, Legolas cut in, staring at the younger prince doubtfully. "You know, your brother doesn't really look like a dwarf. He looks like a ranger, just really short and hairier."
"Hey! Watch what you say about my family. Kíli's not short; you're just overly tall and too skinny to boot."
"I'm not skinny, I'm an elf."
"You said that already. Are you confused?"
"Why would I be confused? I'm Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of the Mirkwood. You're the ones who don't know even know where you are."
"I never claimed not to be lost. This forest is really big and it all looks the same to me. But I wouldn't be so proud of being an elf, son of an elf, king of some trees. At least my uncle's king of a mountain."
"Wait... You're a prince? And your brother too?"
"Well, we're pretty sure he's not a changeling."
"Oh. I thought I was the only one." Legolas said with a somewhat disappointed sigh. "Though I'm not sure you really count."
'Why wouldn't we count?"
"Because you're both dwarves. I'm still the only elven prince I know."
"But not the only blond."
"You're not blond. Your hair is the color of muddy straw. Mine is the color of starlight."
"Stars are white and my beard is the color of molten gold. Your hair is just as sickly pale as the rest of you. Are you sure that you're not ill?"
"I am perfectly healthy. Did you not see me kill those spiders? I am the master of these trees."
"So you're an Ent, then?"
"What? No! I'm an elf! Why is that so hard for you to grasp?"
"It's not my fault that you keep saying other things. Speak plainly and there won't be any misunderstandings about what you mean. But if it makes you feel better, I'll admit that some stars are yellowish as long as you concede that I'm blond as well."
"Oh, a compromise. I can do that."
"By Aulë's beard, stop this nonsense!" Thorin shouted, cutting their discussion short as his patience finally broke. "You are both idiots and I would rather be imprisoned already than have to listen to the two of you ramble on. So take me to your father and for pity's sake be silent when you do!"
"Well fine then." Legolas said with a huff, signaling his companions to prod the dwarves to their feet. "There's no need to be so snippy just because your hair is a common color and your beard is short. But if you're so eager to meet your fate, I'm willing to oblige. Now move along, these leagues won't walk themselves."
The elf prince never realized how close he came to strangulation in that moment, three guards required to hold the dwarf lord back. But they did and soon enough the company was traveling again, moving slowly toward Thranduil's wooded hall. The structure was the great pride of his kingdom, an artistry of living architecture grown over centuries and yet the dwarves' reactions were rather well summed up by Fíli's muttered,
"That tree is really big."
End
Pairings: None
Warnings: Crack, lots of crack and discussions about hair.
Word Count: 930
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit it would be seriously ridiculous
Summary: Fíli and Legolas are kindred spirits in all the wrong ways.
It was Legolas who started it, sneering down at his prisoners as they were disarmed by his band. He simply couldn't resist the urge to do a bit of posturing but to be fair, the elf was not expecting the reaction that he got when he pronounced, "You are in our forest, dwarves. My father will not be pleased."
Because while Thorin growled and Balin sighed, Fíli just nudged his brother with a grin. "Your father? So you're a prince then? An actual elf prince, Kíli, look at that."
The young dwarf seemed remarkably unconcerned by being captured or the loss of his knives and Legolas found himself replying with a toss of his hair, "Of course, I am. I am Legolas Thranduilion and you would be wise to show some respect since you are trespassing."
"But there was a path. If there's a path you must want visitors."
"You are not on the path, dwarf. That makes you in the wrong."
"So we got lost; it's not our fault that your signs are terrible and your kingdom is a death trap. Your father should really do something about those spiders instead of letting them molest innocent travelers; it's going to take hours to get the webs out of our beards."
"You do have very nice beards," Legolas admitted, the thought distracting him from his anger over Fíli's insulting words. "I didn't know hair could come in that many colors or keep such interesting shapes. A racial difference I suppose."
"Of course. That's why yours is so much straighter."
"But your looks softer and much easier to braid."
"You don't have any braids."
"That's because I'm an elf. We prefer to let our hair blow free in the wind. Except when fighting obviously."
"Well yeah. You can't fight with your hair in your eyes. It's really hard to throw knives like that and Kíli gets mad when I nick him by accident. Though it's not like he hasn't shot me before." Fíli added with a shrug. By this point the rest of the company had settled on the ground to wait out their conversation and the other elves were staring into the forest with expressions of bored resignation in their eyes. But at Fíli's final statement, Kíli shot up indignantly.
"That was one time! Will you let it go already?"
"You left a scar, little brother. These things take time to fade."
Before this sniping could devolve into a proper argument, Legolas cut in, staring at the younger prince doubtfully. "You know, your brother doesn't really look like a dwarf. He looks like a ranger, just really short and hairier."
"Hey! Watch what you say about my family. Kíli's not short; you're just overly tall and too skinny to boot."
"I'm not skinny, I'm an elf."
"You said that already. Are you confused?"
"Why would I be confused? I'm Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of the Mirkwood. You're the ones who don't know even know where you are."
"I never claimed not to be lost. This forest is really big and it all looks the same to me. But I wouldn't be so proud of being an elf, son of an elf, king of some trees. At least my uncle's king of a mountain."
"Wait... You're a prince? And your brother too?"
"Well, we're pretty sure he's not a changeling."
"Oh. I thought I was the only one." Legolas said with a somewhat disappointed sigh. "Though I'm not sure you really count."
'Why wouldn't we count?"
"Because you're both dwarves. I'm still the only elven prince I know."
"But not the only blond."
"You're not blond. Your hair is the color of muddy straw. Mine is the color of starlight."
"Stars are white and my beard is the color of molten gold. Your hair is just as sickly pale as the rest of you. Are you sure that you're not ill?"
"I am perfectly healthy. Did you not see me kill those spiders? I am the master of these trees."
"So you're an Ent, then?"
"What? No! I'm an elf! Why is that so hard for you to grasp?"
"It's not my fault that you keep saying other things. Speak plainly and there won't be any misunderstandings about what you mean. But if it makes you feel better, I'll admit that some stars are yellowish as long as you concede that I'm blond as well."
"Oh, a compromise. I can do that."
"By Aulë's beard, stop this nonsense!" Thorin shouted, cutting their discussion short as his patience finally broke. "You are both idiots and I would rather be imprisoned already than have to listen to the two of you ramble on. So take me to your father and for pity's sake be silent when you do!"
"Well fine then." Legolas said with a huff, signaling his companions to prod the dwarves to their feet. "There's no need to be so snippy just because your hair is a common color and your beard is short. But if you're so eager to meet your fate, I'm willing to oblige. Now move along, these leagues won't walk themselves."
The elf prince never realized how close he came to strangulation in that moment, three guards required to hold the dwarf lord back. But they did and soon enough the company was traveling again, moving slowly toward Thranduil's wooded hall. The structure was the great pride of his kingdom, an artistry of living architecture grown over centuries and yet the dwarves' reactions were rather well summed up by Fíli's muttered,
"That tree is really big."
End