Title: The King and the Pie-maker

Author: sheraiah

Rating: G

Disclaimer: Not mine and no profit is being made. I own only the plot and the OCs.

Warnings: elfling cuteness and fluff

Characters; Thranduil, Legolas

Pairing: none

                                                 ~

King Thranduil paced the length of his council chamber, swearing under his breath in frustration. The petition that his counselors were heatedly debating should not have caused such controversy. To the king, it seemed simple. Unfortunately, two of his high council members had taken opposite views and not only refused to compromise, but had drawn the rest of the council in on either side resulting in a lengthy argument. Not for the first time during this council session, he found himself heartily wishing for his wife’s presence. ‘Valillis would have had them in complete accord within the first hour,’ he thought sourly, ‘And so skillfully that they would have thought it all their own idea.’ Not having his late wife’s proficiency in dealing with difficult diplomatic situations, Thranduil was at the point of tossing the whole council out on their rumps. The squabble reached a new crescendo and the Elvenking abruptly reached the end of his notoriously short patience.

“Enough!”

The room fell silent in the face of the woodland king’s wrath.

“As you are incapable of the simple act of compromise, you are dismissed until such time as you acquire enough wisdom to reach an agreement.” None of them dared meet his eyes as they filed out of the room. He sighed deeply, enough for one day. Thranduil quickly made his way through the doorway and down the corridor to the one, guaranteed antidote to his kingdom’s politics.

                                                         ~

The Queen’s gardens had been created specifically for Thranduil’s wife, as a begetting day gift from her doting spouse. The intent behind the gift was to create a place that Valillis could use as a refuge from the stresses of her responsibilities as queen. After her death, Thranduil had ordered it converted to a place where his son could spend his days, playing in the safe, sheltered, and private grounds with either his father or nursemaid in attendance.

The king was not certain that he would find his son in the gardens; it had rained for the last couple of days, clearing only that morning. However, true to his Sylvan heritage, Legolas loved being outdoors and would become irritable if he was cooped up for too long inside the stronghold. The sound of elfling giggles reached Thranduil’s ears as soon as he passed the garden gate and he quickened his pace, eager to spend time with his young son. The sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks, unable to decide whether to laugh or be dismayed.

Legolas sat on the edge of the largest mud puddle in the gardens, small bowls and tart pans surrounding him, streaked with mud from the top of his head to the tips of his bare toes. He looked up and, seeing Thranduil, his small, dirty face split into an ear-to-ear grin.

“Ada! See, Ada? I cooking! I making pies!” He held up a mud-filled tart pan for Thranduil’s inspection. The king removed his formal robes, leaving him in the simple shirt and breeches he habitually wore underneath. He draped the robes over the unoccupied end of the bench Legolas’ nursemaid was seated on, nodding pleasantly to the elleth. She smiled up at him.

“I have found, Sire, that he is much easier to reason with if I allow him to get as filthy as he wishes every once in a while. It does him no harm, and makes bath time much more pleasant,” she said, gracing the elfling with an affectionate gaze.

“Ithilwen, if he is happy and safe, I am not inclined to disagree with your methods. I recall doing something similar as a child. A bit of mud never hurt any elfling,” he said, an amused twinkle in his eye. A small, muddy hand grasped his and tugged.

“Ada, sit down! I share wif you. Make pies wif me, Ada, pwease!” Legolas led his chuckling father to the puddle.

“Very well, ion-nin, but you must teach me how. It has been a long time since I made pies,” Thranduil stated, allowing his son to pull him into a seated position at the edge of the puddle. Legolas handed him a tart pan. “Now what must I do, Legolas?”

“Put it in de pan and go like dis!” Legolas scooped a glob of mud up in a pan and slapped his hand down on it hard, splashing mud all over the two of them. The elfling giggled.

“Like this, little squirrel?” Thranduil copied his son’s actions, creating an even larger splash. Legolas squealed with delight. The elfling jumped to his feet, bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Ada make pies wike Yegoyas!”

“Yes, Ada makes pies like Legolas, “ Thranduil laughed.

“Do it again, Ada!”

                                                    ~

Luinloth fought the urge to sigh, again. The councilors had sought him out when they were unable to locate the king and he had been listening to them quibble for the last hour. Given that they had actually managed to agree on the current petition, he resisted fearing to upset the delicate balance that had been achieved, such that it was. No wonder they drove the king to distraction.

However, he was unwilling to provide them with what they wished. They had come to him requesting that he take them to the king so that the petition could be dispensed with and they could get back in Thranduil’s good graces. Luinloth had a fairly good idea where his king was, but he would be covered in honey and staked to an anthill before he would tell the councilors. Finally, he raised his hands in a gesture for silence.

“My lords and ladies, I cannot take you to the king but I can carry your news to him and will gladly do so.” Grumbling, the councilors had no choice but to acquiesce. Thranduil’s assistant shook his head in bemusement and set off for the Queen’s Gardens in search of his king.

A few moments later, Luinloth stood at the gate to the gardens, the corners of his mouth twitching with suppressed mirth. There, at the edge of a large mud puddle, sat the fierce warrior king of the woodland realm. Thranduil’s face bore a small, muddy handprint on each cheek. His elaborately braided side locks were liberally caked with mud, and his once pristine shirt bore a dozen small handprints and smudges of mud. The king’s arms were muddy up to the elbows, but his face bore as relaxed an expression as his assistant had seen on it since the queen’s death. Legolas sat on his father’s filthy knee, muddy from crown to heel and giggling and clapping his hands.

Luinloth turned to leave without approaching the pair. The council could wait; moments of peace in the king’s life were far too precious to be disturbed. As he made his way back into the stronghold, Luinloth heard the young prince’s voice behind him.

“Do it again, Ada!”