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Thranduil sighs as he takes a swift gulp of coffee before returning his hands to the steering wheel, feeling like the most miserable person in the world.

“Can you please tell me why I’m going to school on a Saturday morning again?” he asks his son, who is currently preoccupied grinning to his phone. Saturdays are meant for rolling in bed till 1pm in Thranduil’s favourite pair of sweatpants, and not driving his son’s ass to school to meet his teacher. Thranduil had important things to do – things such as catching up with the latest episode of Orange Is The New Black. Meeting old, boring and stuffy high school teachers isn’t exactly the top of his priorities.

“Because you couldn’t make it yesterday,” Legolas begins, looking up from his phone and pushing back the stray strands of blonde hair obscuring his face. “And I have been failing Math.”

Thranduil frowns and side eyes his son. “But you’re good at Math.”

“Maybe I need help,” Legolas gives a sweet smile that is laced with Scheme and Conspiracy.

“Please tell me this isn’t one of those 17 year old teenage rebellion thing I need to worry about,” Thranduil says and he turns into the school’s open car park. Even as he says it, he really doubts so.

Legolas is the best son anyone could ever ask for. He doesn’t stab people in his spare time, he tells Thranduil when he’ll be coming home late (or not coming home at all for the next three days), he likes doing the dishes – and really, that’s all Thranduil needs Legolas to be. Legolas is like an independent domestic cat that does what he wants but is nice to occasionally coddle and cuddle.

Legolas snorts, “Dad, please.”



Thranduil just knew he should have spent those 15 minutes he used on grabbing a cup of flat white from Starbucks on getting ready in the morning instead. No amount of coffee can replace the earth-shattering regret he feels when he meets Legolas’ teacher – Mr Bowman, who is definitely not stuffy or old, but is in fact, devastatingly charming with his white button down and ruffled black hair. Meanwhile, Thranduil is in his grey sweatpants and hoodie, looking like he just rolled out of bed (he did). Not to mention his waist-length blonde hair is currently twisted in a bun and is held together by a single wooden chopstick. Yes, a chopstick because Thranduil couldn’t find his rubber band and had casually snatched a chopstick instead. Life just doesn’t work out sometimes.

“Mr Oropherion, I don’t meet parents much, but we are here today to discuss about Legolas’ failure in his recent class test,” Mr Bowman says in a firm but gentle tone. But Hot Dishevelled Man was the only thing Thranduil hears.

“Okay, I don’t see the problem here,” Thranduil frankly replies. And he really doesn’t, it's only a class test, right?

Mr Bowman’s eyes widen, seemingly taken aback by his comment. It probably sounded harsher than Thranduil meant it to be. Legolas did tell him he always sounds sarcastic and snarky when he speaks, even when he’s not. He has learned to let people assume whatever they liked.

“Well, yes.” Mr Bowman starts flipping through the stack of papers on his desk. “The problem here is that Legolas has always been topping my class in math, with scores nearing 100%, and this time round, he only scored 23.”

“Out of?”

“100,” the teacher says, pushing Legolas’ test paper towards him.

Thranduil eyes the bright red ‘23’ at the top of the page and cannot help the stupefied snort that escapes his lips. “Wow Greenleaf,” he comments, glancing at his son beside him.

Legolas only shrugs with a sheepish grin.

Mr Bowman chooses to interrupt at this point. “Just out of concern, is there anything going on? Maybe a sudden irregularity or event that might have distracted Legolas?”

Thranduil thinks about it and answers seriously, “Well, he did miss our biweekly movie night on Tuesday.”

Legolas squints in the way he always does when he is not amused by his father’s snark. “That was one time dad, you need to get over it.”

“I will get over it when you get your ass on the couch to watch Tangled with me,” he replies, absolutely relishing the look of bewilderment on Mr Bowman’s face. He smiles good-naturedly at the teacher. “I’m just joking,” he clarifies, “Rest assured, Legolas is perfectly fine at home. Am I right?”

Thranduil directs the last portion at Legolas, to which his son mockingly puts on a resentful expression and mumbles. “I guess.”

Mr Bowman looks satisfied with their apparent good relations and nods. “I’m glad I have nothing to worry about then. Thank you for taking time out your busy schedule for this meeting, Mr Oropherion.”

He stands up and offers his hand to Thranduil to shake and Thranduil takes it. “No problem, I enjoy meeting new eye candy.”

He hears Legolas snorting in the background and Mr Bowman’s brows furrow. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said it was a pleasure meeting you,” Thranduil coolly replies, picking up his cup of coffee and turning to leave the small office space.

Once the two of them return to the empty car park, Thranduil says, “You never told me your teacher was hot.”

“Because he’s my teacher and that’s gross?” Legolas eyes him questionably and adds, “But you’re welcome.”



Thranduil finds out the real reason why Legolas failed his class test the following Monday. He comes home from work expecting the usual silence to greet him back, only to find tendrils of conversations floating from the kitchen.

“Thanks for helping me. I like math, but I’m just bad at it.”

“Why do you like math then?”

“Because it’s the same everywhere.”

Thranduil rolls his eyes and pads towards the voices. “Hey Legolas,” he greets, noticing a boy with wavy black hair sitting beside his son.

Legolas raises his head, meeting the knowing eyes of his father. “Hi dad,” he says calmly, “This is Aragorn. He’s helping me with math.”

“Hello Mr Oropherion,” Legolas’-reason-for-failing-math, now known as Aragorn, politely greets.

“Thank you for helping my Baby Greenleaf in his horrifyingly horrible math,” he sarcastically says as he finds a bottle of sparkling water in his fridge. He mentally notes to himself that Legolas’ type is ‘scruffy surfer boys’.

“Please don’t call me that in front of Aragorn,” Legolas groans, humouring his attempted display of being an embarrassing father.

“No problem, sir,” Aragorn smoothly replies. “And I think it’s a cute nickname.”



A month later, Thranduil makes another trip down to school after receiving a call from Mr Bowman that Legolas was involved in a fight. He rushes down from his workplace immediately. When he finds Legolas perfectly unharmed and examining the décor of the private meeting room with mild curiosity, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank Heavens you’re okay, I thought all those lessons of hapkido was for nothing,” Thranduil says as he settles himself down on the cushioned chair beside Legolas.

“Hey,” Legolas simply greets.

Mr Bowman clears his throat, uncomfortable with how casually the duo is taking the matter. “As I was saying over the phone, Mr Oropherion, Legolas was caught in a fight with a fellow student in the boys washroom.”

“But Legolas is unharmed.”

“The other student is suffering from multiple bruising, which fortunately, does not warrant a hospital visit.”

Thranduil pretends not to see the inconspicuous smug look Legolas had for two seconds and kicks him below the table. Mr Bowman pointedly ignores it, and asks, “So why did you hit him, Legolas?”

"He called me a fag, and that Aragorn and I were disgusting. I just threw him a tiny warning punch, I wasn't even putting effort into it."

Thranduil stares at him, unimpressed.

Legolas sighs, "then he attempted to hit me back so I only acted on self-defense."

Thranduil waits for his son to continue, knowing there would be an elaboration when prompted. He and Legolas operate on a very candid relationship.

"He also said sissy fathers produce fag children like me and insulted your hair."

"Okay then he deserved it," Thranduil solemnly agrees and Legolas high-fives him.

Mr Bowman frowns, obviously disagreeing that the boy should be punched for insulting Thranduil’s hair. "It is still against the school's guidelines to be involved in a fight."

"Mr Bowman," Thranduil interjects, leaning forward in his seat to look straight at him. "Are you homophobic?"

The teacher looks alarmed at the accusation and vehemently denies it. "No, of course not-"

"Then does the school tolerate hate crimes towards homosexual students?"

"Well, no-"

"Then it's settled," Thranduil concludes convincingly, bearing no room for argument. "Legolas has no fault in this as he only acted in self-defense. In fact, it should be the other student who should be apologizing to our poor Legolas for projecting hateful, homophobic slurs that are intended to lower the self-esteem and morale of Legolas and make him feel inferior for his sexuality. And the law, the school, you, and I, will not stand for it. Yes?”

“Well… yes,” Mr Bowman agrees, unable to point out faults in an argument so confidently relayed, especially when coming from a very attractive man. He reminds himself to phone the other boy’s parents later on to pass on the message.

“Excellent. It is great seeing you again, Mr Bowman.” Thranduil stands up and his lips lift in a coy smile. “And for the trouble you have caused me by finding a problem when there was none, you will treat me to a cup of coffee after school to apologise.”

He doesn’t refuse.




A/N: I wanted to add a part whereby Thranduil says, “there are no rules in this house. I’m not your regular dad; I’m a cool dad. Right, Legolas?” to which Legolas replies “please stop talking” but I couldn’t do it.