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                       ‘ i fear that i am both too much yet not enough. ’

𝙳𝙰𝙼𝙿 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙶𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙱𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳, 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚄𝙸𝙻 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙶𝚃𝙷𝚂 .    Legolas’ worries shall be safe with him.    No word leave this chamber, where there only echoes the monotonous sound of last water drops dripping from a fallen over piggin onto the floor.    And the occasional mumbles of elves moving across the corridor beyond that door.    Grooming son’s hair as he did in years long passed, the elder allows for his low hums to fade into silence at last — neither pity nor accusation touching his baritone when calm response seeps into perfumed air:

❝  𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚑𝚊𝚙 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎, 𝚗𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 .  ❞    It has been a while since last Thranduil called Legolas “ his leaf “, a term reserved for their moments alone and in privacy, not as king and prince but FATHER AND SON.

Nimble fingers begin to part golden hair into sections for braids to be woven.    ❝  𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.  ❞    He leans forward from behind, just enough for his head to hover above one of Greenleaf’s shoulders and catch a glimpse of his fair face.    ❝  𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎.   ❞

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