The Art of Elven Enforcement (And Other Dangerous Myths)
Lord of the rings x game of thrones crossover
Relationship: Legolas/Daenerys
Summary: The elves actually trying to enforce these rules for previous chapter. Elven Decrees on the Management and Containment of Scaled Guests
Words: 1203
The ink on King Thranduil’s "Official Decree on Scaled Containment" was barely dry before the Guard Captain of the Woodland Realm, a stoic commander named Galion, realized he had been handed a collective death sentence wrapped in fine parchment.
It was mid-morning in the training yards, and according to Section I, Subsection B of the new rules, Rhaegal, the green-and-bronze dragon, was permitted in wide outer caverns and training yards but was strictly ordered not to cause architectural ruin simply by existing.
Galion stood at the edge of the cobblestones, clutching the parchment like a shield. In the center of the yard, Rhaegal was attempting to scratch an itch behind his left horn. Every time his massive, bronze-gold hind leg thumped against the ground, the vibrations traveled up the stone, rattling the elven longbows resting on the nearby racks.
"Excuse me," Galion said, his voice a perfect, crystalline pitch of elven authority.
Rhaegal did not look up. He extended a massive, ribbed wing to catch the morning sun, completely obliterating a row of carefully cultivated white gem-orchids that Thranduil had imported from the valley centuries ago. The delicate petals scattered into the dirt like snow.
"According to the King's decree," Galion tried again, stepping a single, measured pace closer, "you are required to maintain a tactical and watchful stance without… defacing the flora. And your tail is currently resting inside the communal well."
Rhaegal shifted his weight. His massive tail swung lazily, catching the stone lip of the well. With a sickening crunch, the ancient carved masonry gave way, tumbling down into the dark water below. The dragon blinked down at the splashing sound, tilted his head, and let out a low, vibrant hum that sounded suspiciously like a shrug.
"We are tracking the violations," a junior guard whispered frantically from behind a marble pillar, dipping a quill into ink. "That is one well, twelve orchids, and he is currently breathing a light fog of sulfur onto the weapon racks."
"Do not write 'sulfur fog,' write 'unauthorized atmospheric adjustments,'" Galion corrected, rubbing his temples. "Where is the Prince? He is supposed to be the designated dragon handler."
"Prince Legolas is currently occupied with Section I, Subsection D," the guard replied, checking his notes. "The hatchling."
Deep within the subterranean library of the Woodland Realm, the situation was significantly more chaotic, despite the culprit being roughly the size of a well-fed hound.
Aevaxion had discovered that elven history was exceptionally delicious. Specifically, the leather bindings of the Third Age trade registries.
"No," Legolas said. His voice was calm, but there was a faint, frantic tremor in his shoulders. He was kneeling beneath an archway of carved roots, reaching under a heavy oak table where Aevaxion was currently wedged. "Aevaxion, release the ledger. That is the linen archive of the year 2400. It is irreplaceable."
The golden hatchling let out a muffled chirp, his bright molten-gold scales scraping against the underside of the desk. He chewed with enthusiastic determination, a tiny wisp of dark gray smoke curling out from the corner of his jaws.
"Lego! Throw it!" Rhaego’s voice echoed through the high-ceilinged room. The young boy scrambled over a pile of silk cushions, a thick oaken branch gripped in his small hands. "He doesn't want the boring books! He wants the stick!"
"The King has banned sticks indoors, Rhaego," Legolas said, adjusting his grip as Aevaxion suddenly lunged forward, entirely bypassing the ledger to plant both front claws firmly on Legolas’ leather-clad shin. With the agility of a squirrel, the tiny dragon scrambled up the prince's tunic, using the intricate elven embroidery as handholds.
"Elbereth give me strength," Legolas muttered, freezing entirely as Aevaxion draped himself across the back of his neck like a heavy, radiating scarf. The dragon began to purr, a rhythmic, deep vibration that resonated right through Legolas’ collarbone.
Daenerys stepped around a towering bookshelf, her silver hair catching the amber glow of the library's lanterns. She was carrying a small basket of dried mountain berries, a quiet, thoroughly unhelpful smile playing on her lips.
"I see the enforcement is going well," she noted, leaning against a carved pillar.
"Your son is instigating a rebellion against the domestic codes," Legolas said, though he didn't dare move his head, lest Aevaxion decide his silver-blonde braids were also a chew toy. "And your hatchling has no respect for the hierarchy of the realm."
"Dragons don't recognize kings, Legolas," Daenerys said softly, walking over to offer a berry to the small beast on his shoulders. Aevaxion snapped it up with a delighted click of his teeth. "They recognize strength. And, apparently, very comfortable shoulders."
"Lego's shoulders are the best!" Rhaego declared, dropping the branch with a loud clatter that made three nearby scholars look up in visible agony. "Even Drogon thinks so!"
Right on cue, a massive shadow fell over the stained-glass windows of the high library terrace. The glass didn't shatter—mostly because the window was thrown wide to allow air—but the gargantuan, obsidian-scaled head of the Black Dread lowered itself into the frame. His ember-red eyes narrowed, tracking Legolas with a protective, deeply judgmental glare. He let out a low, raspy growl that caused several loose scrolls to slide off the upper balconies and flutter to the floor.
Legolas sighed, his eyes meeting Daenerys'. "Section I, Rule One: Drogon must remain head-only at doorways or balconies. Technically, he is compliant."
"See?" Daenerys teased gently, her hand brushing against Legolas' arm as she reached to adjust the hatchling's tail. "We are a perfectly lawful people."
By twilight, Galion was presenting his final report in the Throne Room. The King sat upon his high seat of living wood, his crown of autumn leaves perfectly straight, his expression an impenetrable mask of royal dignity.
"To summarize, Your Majesty," Galion read, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of the day. "The green one destroyed the southern well and three centuries of botany. The pale gold one entered the guest wing and systematically chewed the heels off forty-two pairs of ceremonial silk slippers. The black one has parked himself on the eastern bridge, meaning the evening patrol has to climb down the cliff face and scale the valley manually to avoid being breathed upon."
Thranduil remained silent for a long moment. He looked down at the parchment scroll Galion handed him, then looked across the vast hall, where Viserion was currently curled around the base of a massive pillar. The cream-and-gold dragon was snoring softly, a small puddle of drool forming on the polished white marble.
"And my son?" Thranduil asked softly.
"Prince Legolas is currently in the lower gardens, sire," Galion replied grimly. "He is… covered in soot, missing a portion of his sleeve, and appears to be playing a game involving a broken branch and the hatchling."
Thranduil closed his eyes. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the situation seemed to age the immortal king by a fraction of a century.
"Galion," the Elvenking said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet whisper.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Burn the decree."
"Sire?"
"Burn it," Thranduil repeated, opening his cold, piercing eyes. "Before the dragons do it for us and make a mockery of my grammar. Dismissed."
Thank you for reading!! If you want to read more one-shots following Daenerys, Legolas, and child Rhaego navigating life in Mirkwood — complete with four dragons, elven panic, gentle chaos, and the slow-burning affection growing between a fire-born queen and an immortal prince. the links are below:
