Gandalf was not overly surprised when he and Bilbo were approached by a host of Woodland elves, all heavily armed and looking less than pleased with him in particular. He recognized them all immediately, and in fact, had known many of them since they were tiny elflings, but that would not help him now. Now, they were accomplished warriors, born leaders and well-practiced captains. They were some the deadliest Thranduils army had to offer, and they were very clearly here for a single purpose.

"Come with us, Mithrandir."

He could get out of this situation if he so desired, but probably not without seriously harming at least one of the elves, and while he certainly did not want to speak to Thranduil at this present time he did not see any to other choice. So he stood, dusted himself off, and prepared to be taken to the Elvenking.

As he stood one of the elves passed the little hobbit what appeared to be a bowl of steaming soup, a cup of strong herbal tea, and a warm blanket to wrap around himself, "We are sorry for your loss." Then, bowing deeply to the tiny creature he returned to his ranks.

Without another word they turned, expecting the wizard to follow. Sometimes it was just better to get things over with than prolong the inevitable, "Eat your soup, dear Bilbo, I shall return shortly."

Then, he trailed after the troop of elves, eye registering their every slight limp and bloodstains of their robes. It had been a fierce and bloody battle, not even the best the elves had to offer had gotten away free. It was no wonder so many dwarves and men had fallen.

They marched him across the frozen stones, and he ignored the harsh whispers and glares from the other elves that still milled around. Always, they would take their Kings side. Gandalf did not think in his living memory there was a society more loving and loyal to their rulers than the woodelves were to Thranduil and Legolas and Thranduil was obviously not pleased with him.

Finally they came to a sudden stop before the flaps of a great white tent, the same tent he had taken council in earlier that day with Bard and the King. With a sigh the ancient wizard pushed pass the tent flaps and into the much warmer space within.

A fire burned, the obvious source of the heat, yet the tent was almost completely empty otherwise. He was not an elf, and did not have their eyesight and in the growing twilight it was difficult to get a good look at Thranduil, who stood with is back to him and eyes gazing outward to the world outside.

Except, something was off with his presence.

He was good at concealing himself and his feelings, but he did not feel quite as imposing as usual, though he was clearly just as angry as Gandalf had expected him to be. It wasn't until the only other living thing in the tent turned to face him that he put two and two together.

It did not feel like the King, because it was not the King. It was the Prince.

There Legolas stood, every bit as large and proud as his father ever was. Back straight, eyes hard and face a mask of nothing. Usually an air of brightness and laughter flowed around the prince, but today there was no such air. In fact, Gandalf was having trouble sensing anything from the elf at all. Another trick he had learned from his father, one of many he was sure.

For a moment, Gandalf faltered. He had been expecting Thranduil, had been certain he was being taken to the King but now that he stood before the young elf he was no sure exactly what to do. It was easy to forgot, sometimes, exactly who the cheerful and fun loving elfling was. A Prince and a warrior, an elf who had seen more horrors than many yet still laughed with the quickness and sincerity of a child. But he was not laughing now.

"Mithrandir."

"Legolas, I am so glad to see that you are well."

"Are you?"

Gandalf nearly got a chill form the ice in his voice, and found it quite evenness more unnerving than his fathers tempter had ever been, "Yes. Of course."

"What of my people, Mithrandir, are you glad to see them well? The humans of Laketown?"

Gandalf was no fool, he knew when he was being set up, he just did not quite understand how, "I am glad to see everyone well that is well, and I hope that everyone who is not will soon be."

"And the dwarves?"

"Everyone, elfling. Everyone includes everyone."

"Prince. Not elfling."

Gandalf blinked in surprise, Legolas insisted almost as a rule to never be addressed by his formal titles. He disliked it greatly, and it was usually only humans he did not correct when they addressed him as such. He knew the young elf was angry with him, could sense it vibrating in the air around him and feel the cold leaking from his Fae. But he did not think he was quite this angry with him.

"Are their lives worth more than ours, Mithrandir?"

Usually, Gandalf would assume such a question was asked to make a point about something, but the sincerity in Legola's voice startled him further, "I hold no lives above others, Legolas, you know this."

"I thought I did, but your actions as of late have led me to question what I once thought was fact."

"Legolas-"

"Or have you just grown thoughtless?"

Part of the wizard now wished he was dealing with the ElvenKing, at least then he knew what to expect. This situation was completely foreign territory and he was unable to even hazard a guess as to what was going to happen. It was not very often that he found himself floundering as such, and he wasn't a fan.

"What was it you expected to happen, waking a dragon? Did you even spare the people of Laketown a thought, or of us when you set those dwarves in to rile him?"

"All the signs led me to believe that he had passed on from this world-"

"Yet Elrond, Galadriel, and Saruman all disagreed with you and you disregarded their opinions like an ignorant child. Foolishly assuming you know better than everyone else, at all times, in situations where you are not even the one to deal with the repercussions."

Legolas was usually bursting with pent up energy, getting him to stand or sit still was more trouble than it was worth, yet now he stood rooted in one spot with fists clenched against his sides. His bow and twin knives were still strung across his back, and Gandalf found himself wishing that they weren't.

"Do you know where Smaug would have gone had Bard not slain him? Dul Guldur. All of Greenwood, all of my people and everything we love would not have stood a chance against his flames. We would have been burnt to cinders in a day, our centuries of fighting and suffering would have been for nothing. And for what? So that a group of dwarves could have their treasures back?"

Finally, the young elf broke eye contact to gaze behind the wizard at something that was happening outside of the tent, leaving Gandalf feeling somewhat like a scolded child. The worst part was, that after everything that had happened he wasn't sure if he would be able to defend himself. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to either, Legolas' anger was so hard to inflict upon yourself that when you did, one could not help but feel as though they deserved it.

And Legolas had never, in all his years of life, been this angry with him.

Gandalf felt ashamed, he knew his reasons for this quest. For coming to Thorin in the first place. But he could also see how his actions looked from the outside, especially from the perspective of the woodleves. It would be many long years before he would be welcomed back to the Greenwood with open arms, if he ever was at all. Thranduil was good with grudges to begin with, and Gandalf knew what happened to those who upset his Greenleaf.

And he definitely fell into that category now.

Galion it appeared was what Legolas he become distracted by, as the butler come rushing into the tent. The look he gave the wizard could have turned water to stone, so withering it was, but other than that he gave no indication that the wizard existed, "Legolas, I'm sorry to interrupt, but your father needs you. Now."

Legolas nodded, once, and Galion nearly sprinted from the room again.

There was a sinking feeling in the wizards stomach, as if he had swallowed several large stones, "Legolas, where is your father?"

If he thought Legolas' expression and demeanor had been cold before, it was nothing to how he appeared now, "He is with the healers. Along with the rest of my people who have been wounded in this battle you started."

Legolas let his words hang in in the air for several minutes, to let them properly sink in. The affect was that Gandalf was nearly certain he had swallowed boulders and not stones, for how deep his stomach had sunk.

"Bilbo may remain for as long as he likes, and we will arrange for an escort back to Imladris should he choose to stay. But I want you out of my camp and my lands my sunrise, if you are not out, I will have you thrown out."

The Prince made to storm from the tent, slamming his shoulder into the Gandalf's as he went, yet he paused in the doorway, "Oh, and Mithrandir?"

He did not turn to see if he had the wizard attention, and so he gave a verbal response, "Yes?

"I would take this time to pray to whatever Valar might listen to you that I am still a Prince the next time you see me, and not a King. For your sake."

…..

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