#dlkjfg

“ how do you destroy a monster without becoming one ? ”

That query could stem only from the mouth of an innocent basking in the faux bliss of naivety, or slip from the tongue of one become a monster in their own eyes.    Rooted to the spot, motionless as though he were hewn from marble, Thranduil can not avert his attention from the distant lake visible from here; high up, everything appears smaller.    He inevitably finds himself reminded of the dragon whose corpse stains the Anduin with foul evidence of its decay, that same mind wandering to the man who had slain the beast.    Could Smaug still speak, would he call Bard a monster for snuffing out his flame, wretched ?    Whereas men praise him as savior, noble at heart.

❝  I may not be the one upon whom you ought to bestow such concerns, is your desire an answer of simplicity.  ❞    While the cool wind whips thinnest strands across his fair face and grey clouds gather above to swallow sun’s light, Thranduil continues in an equally as even tone as he began:    ❝  There is violence in all of us.  We may be born monsters and it takes one to end another, perhaps monsters do not exist at all.  ❞    And slow motion sways the ellon’s minimally narrowed gaze toward his company, likely unsettling the lingering stare of piercing bright blues.    ❝  It would depend on the definition of the term, I deem.  ❞