Post by Admin on Jan 6, 2021 18:35:37 GMT
Author: LegolasLover2003
Summary: Thranduil watches Legolas during a hunt and reflects on his son's readiness to face the world.
After all these years beneath the trees, he is still the Elf I am proud to call son.
Blue eyes that shine like jewels in the depths of the deepest pool look to the world
beyond.
Calm gentle breaths escape his lips as he gazes far and wide, seeking his target.
Death does not hold sway upon this fair life nor has it jaded his heart.
Ears, elegantly pointed, hold the same curves as those which once belonged to his mother.
Fingers, not quite as lithe as my own, twitch with a want to put arrow to string.
Green leaves rustle about him, for nature speaks to my son in ways I have never understood.
He holds his head high, waiting, watching, listening to the world.
In his eyes I can see the focus and determination of a warrior on the brink of battle.
Joy fills my heart at the sight.
Knowing that this young prince is ready to step forth from the forests is like a balm to the soul.
Love wells within me, a pride and calm that I had never thought possible.
My son is more than capable of defending his homeland now.
Never would I hold doubt to the skill of his blades nor the aim of his bow.
Over the tops of the trees he stares, the Elf who stands high in the boughs of his favorite tree.
Prince of the Greenwood is his title, though I sometimes wonder, is he meant for
more?
Quiet descends and the birds cease their predawn noise as the eerie silence descends.
Right now, my son draws forth his bow, his gaze fixed on a point far away.
Setting arrow to the string he lifts the weapon slowly and my gaze follows his own.
Taunt become the muscles in his arms as he aims and waits for the perfect moment.
Under the shadow of the forest, nothing can escape his sight.
Vanity does not become the Elf that is so at one with the natural world around him.
What he aims toward I can see in the distance, a beautiful stag worthy of the hunt.
Xenophobe, a term which has been associated with my cautious rule in these dark days.
Yet... perhaps my son can be more... perhaps he can extend his hand in friendship beyond our
borders?
Zing... the arrow flies from the string, striking the stag and felling him instantly.
And as I look to my son and see the smile on his face, I am not afraid to let him go.
The End
Author's Notes:
Written from Thranduil's point of view while he watched Legolas during one of their hunts in
Mirkwood.
No Swag Stags were harmed in the writing of this story.
Summary: Thranduil watches Legolas during a hunt and reflects on his son's readiness to face the world.
After all these years beneath the trees, he is still the Elf I am proud to call son.
Blue eyes that shine like jewels in the depths of the deepest pool look to the world
beyond.
Calm gentle breaths escape his lips as he gazes far and wide, seeking his target.
Death does not hold sway upon this fair life nor has it jaded his heart.
Ears, elegantly pointed, hold the same curves as those which once belonged to his mother.
Fingers, not quite as lithe as my own, twitch with a want to put arrow to string.
Green leaves rustle about him, for nature speaks to my son in ways I have never understood.
He holds his head high, waiting, watching, listening to the world.
In his eyes I can see the focus and determination of a warrior on the brink of battle.
Joy fills my heart at the sight.
Knowing that this young prince is ready to step forth from the forests is like a balm to the soul.
Love wells within me, a pride and calm that I had never thought possible.
My son is more than capable of defending his homeland now.
Never would I hold doubt to the skill of his blades nor the aim of his bow.
Over the tops of the trees he stares, the Elf who stands high in the boughs of his favorite tree.
Prince of the Greenwood is his title, though I sometimes wonder, is he meant for
more?
Quiet descends and the birds cease their predawn noise as the eerie silence descends.
Right now, my son draws forth his bow, his gaze fixed on a point far away.
Setting arrow to the string he lifts the weapon slowly and my gaze follows his own.
Taunt become the muscles in his arms as he aims and waits for the perfect moment.
Under the shadow of the forest, nothing can escape his sight.
Vanity does not become the Elf that is so at one with the natural world around him.
What he aims toward I can see in the distance, a beautiful stag worthy of the hunt.
Xenophobe, a term which has been associated with my cautious rule in these dark days.
Yet... perhaps my son can be more... perhaps he can extend his hand in friendship beyond our
borders?
Zing... the arrow flies from the string, striking the stag and felling him instantly.
And as I look to my son and see the smile on his face, I am not afraid to let him go.
The End
Author's Notes:
Written from Thranduil's point of view while he watched Legolas during one of their hunts in
Mirkwood.
No Swag Stags were harmed in the writing of this story.
